Jackson

by Jackson (retail) (epub)

  She smiled at his offering. “That’s some variety you’ve got there, sir.”

  He pointed at the tray before shoving his hands in his front pockets. “I wasn’t sure if your throat would be too sore to swallow, so I brought a few things to see what you could tolerate.”

  She swallowed, testing to see if there was any soreness from her ordeal last night. “My neck and shoulders are tender, but my throat is fine. I don’t think I’ll have a problem eating. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

  She looked at the time again and cringed. She hadn’t slept in this late in a long time. There was no way her charges wouldn’t be aware what was going on with her absence.

  “Considering I wasn’t there to make breakfast, I assume Seneca and Brooklyn know?”

  “After yesterday’s ‘security drill,’ I told Storm and Colton to tell them the kitchen would be closed down for the rest of the day.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop her. “It’s for the best, Aja. Gleason and Jennings were here this morning picking up the collected evidence and to question Eli Bennett. They used your attack as an excuse to get in the door.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  Jackson answered on an audible huff. “A whole bunch of nothing.”

  She swatted at the air. “I’m not surprised. He’s sleazy, not stupid. Eli’s too slippery to let you catch him that way.”

  He slid his hands into his pockets, backing away slowly toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone to eat. I’ll come back later to take the tray. If you need anything, I’ll be milling about the house all day.”

  “You don’t have to go. In fact, I’d love it if you spared me a minute.”

  He stopped, then retraced his steps back to her bedside, sitting in the spot she patted next to her. “Thank you for showing better sense than I did last night. I don’t know what I was thinking by coming on to you in the middle of my kitchen.”

  It wasn’t her finest moment, that was for certain. Aja had never had to beg a man for his company. Despite being a plus-size woman who’d grown up in a society that told her big girls weren’t desirable and should be “grateful” for whatever attention they received from would-be suitors, Aja never, absolutely never, subscribed to that notion. According to Chaka Khan and Whitney Houston, she was every woman, which in her mind meant every man should treasure her fabulousness.

  But last night, her need to reclaim control over her life, her house, her sense of safety, had demanded she lose herself in something that would help her forget, if only for a moment. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

  He took her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “Please don’t forget that before your attack, we were on your couch engaged in some heavy petting I wholeheartedly wanted to lead to sex. The idea of making love to you was no hardship. I wanted what you were offering, but it wasn’t the right time.”

  He rubbed the spot he’d kissed with the pad of his thumb before looking at her. “If we ever get back to that moment—and I hope like hell we do—I want it to be because it’s what we both want, not because we’re running from something. I’m a proud man, Aja. My ego couldn’t take it if anything but your desire for me landed you in my arms.”

  She couldn’t help the warmth that spread through her, touching all the cold parts she thought were immune to the slick talk from a handsome man. What is it about this man that makes me feel so safe, even in my weakness?

  “Understood, but I still apologize.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Focus on resting. If you need me for anything, holler and I’ll be here.”

  He tried to stand, but she put her hand on his thigh. “I actually do have something I need your help with.”

  “What is it?”

  “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

  He let his eyes pass over her as if he were trying to gauge whether she’d finally lost her damn mind. “What are you up to, Aja?”

  She held up her hands. “I promise, it’s nothing that’s gonna make you have to draw your weapon.”

  He watched her carefully for another brief moment, then held his hands up in surrender. “All right then. I’m in.”

  * * *

  “I do not get paid enough for this.” Jackson cringed as he mixed what he thought amounted to floury slime. “Are you sure this is gonna end up being edible? It feels disgusting.” He tried to pull his hand free of the gooey white mess clinging to his fingers, but the more he pulled, the more it seemed to stick to his skin.

  “It will be edible once you add some more flour in there. You’ve got too much butter and water. That’s why it keeps falling apart and sticking to you like that. Here, let me.”

  She stepped closer to him, leaning over his arm slightly as she poured flour into the large mixing bowl. “Don’t you need measuring cups or something?” he asked.

  She pulled away from him, grimacing as if he’d struck her with the back of a mixing spoon. “Real cooks don’t need measurements. We eyeball it and season to taste. Don’t insult the lessons my grandmothers, mama, aunties, and all the ancestors have handed down to me through the generations by asking about some measuring cups. Now move on outta my way and let me save these pastries.”

  He lifted his ashen hands and grabbed a hand towel to clean off the pastry mix. He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet with one hand and milk from the fridge with the other and filled them to the brim before resting them on the counter.

  “All right, taskmaster. Take a break and have some milk and cookies with me.”

  She finished mixing the contents to her satisfaction and tore off a piece of plastic wrap, carefully laying it over the top of the bowl. “I told you I’m making those as treats for the crews arriving tomorrow. If you keep eating them, there won’t be any left.”

  He snatched a snickerdoodle and hummed his appreciation when the rich flavors of butter, sugar, and cinnamon came together in his mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way.” He chewed the rest of the cookie in his hand. “Your cooking is amazing, but the way you bake would make a man sell his soul to the devil for a taste. Did your aunt Jo teach you how to bake like this?”

  There was a distant look in her eye, a mix of sadness and happiness that spoke of good memories past. “No, my mother taught me. My dad was in the army, and every time he was deployed, I’d turn into a worrying little ball of anxiety. To keep me calm, my mother taught me how to make his favorites. Its monotony is an assurance of sorts. It will always be here, always be like this. After last night, I needed that.”

  Jackson sipped at the sweating glass of milk in front of him as everything clicked together in his mind. This was her way of reclaiming her normal, of working through her attack. He’d never seen anyone use baking as therapy before, but if the outcome was Aja could process what happened to her, he was all for it.

  “Is it working now?”

  She circled the rim of her glass before offering him a thoughtful smile. “Part of the charm of this ranch is me helping the people I care about to find a little happy while they’re here. If a sweet treat takes them out of their revolving hells for a moment and gives them a chance to feel safe, treasured, taken care of, then all this work is worth it.”

  She finished her cookies and drank half her glass of milk, then she got back to work, kneading dough, working out every inch of the sadness and apprehension that weighed her down. It sparked something in him, something that made him get up, put the evidence of his snack away, and get back to work at her side. If she was doing this to work through the hell she’d experienced last night, he wanted to do everything he could to be helpful and supportive of her process.

  He stood next to her, stilled her working hands, and added flour to the countertop to facilitate her kneading. He couldn’t do this work for her, but he could make it easier, and fo
r the rest of the day, that was exactly what he did. He worked by her side, creating something sweet and pretty out of something tasteless and messy. And at the end of their day, when he was tired and covered in flour and sugar, because he couldn’t seem to pour either without getting it all over himself, he watched the worry lines etched into her face disappear, and he knew it was all worth it.

  Chapter 18

  Jackson sat on the edge of the queen-size bed in the guest room, exhausted after their day of baking. Who knew mixing, kneading, and frosting could be such hard work.

  It was hard but rewarding. Especially after watching the way Aja’s body relaxed by the end of the day. The tension wasn’t completely gone, but she didn’t look like she was scared, waiting to see what jumped out from around the corner at her.

  A creak pulled him out of his musings, and he caught sight of Aja leaning against the doorjamb. Her face was fresh, clear of the flour dust he’d more than likely been responsible for with all his clumsy handling of the ingredients. She wore an A-line tank again, this time coupled with a pair of lady boxer shorts that landed at the tops of her thighs. He took in the image, his eyes feasting on the sight of her lush flesh. If a big ass was his first weakness when it came to women, thick thighs ran a close second, and everything in him wanted to know what those thighs felt like wrapped tightly around his waist.

  His gaze traveled upward until it landed on her face again. She was smiling, really smiling the way she had when she’d brought him a slice of cake in the great room.

  “What are you up to?”

  She glanced at him through hooded lids. “Who says I have to be up to something? I was thinking how good it was for me to spend the day laughing at your expense. I thought I should reward buffoonery of that caliber.” She stepped inside the room, the hypnotic sway of her hips and thighs lulling him into a daze. When she stopped in front of him, she held out a cookie on a napkin. “There was an extra oatmeal raisin cookie left all by its lonesome, so I figured you’d enjoy it.” Her smile widened as she extended her hand closer to him. “Don’t you want a taste of my cookie, Ranger?”

  He bit his lip, trying his damnedest to remember exactly why he was there. “Wanting your cookie isn’t the problem, and you know that. I’m trying to look out for you, Aja. What you went through—”

  “I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time reliving past hurts and traumas. I refuse to do it anymore. Restoration Ranch is all about rebuilding, renewing, and finding a safe space. That bastard tried to take that from me last night. But I won’t let him do it. I won’t let him take the thing that’s made me feel the safest since I returned to this land.”

  His heart pounded as he listened to her, need pulsing through his vessels in hard, thumping beats. Strong, resilient, tougher than the strongest steel, this woman tore through his defenses and common sense the way nothing else had. “What is it, Aja? What’s the thing that’s made you feel the safest?”

  He took the cookie out of her hand and rested it on the nightstand. He spread his thighs and pulled her between them, keeping a firm grip at her waist. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensual rhythm of his touch, leaning into him as she spoke. “You, Jackson. I always feel safe with you.”

  Good Lord, she knew the right words to say to pull him over the edge. But he couldn’t let her do this without letting her know what she was getting into. “Aja, I’m not the relationship type. This could go sideways if we both aren’t on the same page. There’s a lot to risk. I can give you today, but tomorrow isn’t on the agenda.”

  Panic commingled with anticipation sat in his chest like a large boulder perched precariously at the top of a hill. Any moment, it could tip over, its momentum and heft generating enough power and speed to crush him. She could say no. It was well within her rights, and he would never think to sway her decision for his benefit. But knowing his admission could remove this opportunity to share something this special with her made his heart race a few beats faster than normal.

  He wanted this. He wanted the privilege of knowing her body as intimately as he understood his own. If she changed her mind, he’d accept it. But damn if he didn’t want the chance to be with Aja in this bed with nothing separating them.

  She widened her smile. “Then we’d better use the time we have. The cover of night is burning, Ranger.”

  Why wasn’t he a better man?

  The question kept gnawing at him as he pulled Aja down onto the bed with him, lips locked together and hands moving frantically against whichever body part they could reach. If he were a better man, he’d spend more time at home with his family. If he were a better man, he’d have seen through Lana’s lies and stopped her from destroying so many lives, the least of which the one they’d built together. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t be ripping Aja’s clothes off her like some addict chasing his next hit.

  No, if Jackson were a better man, he would never have allowed Aja to cross the imaginary line between the professional and the personal. But he wasn’t a better man, and since he’d decided he had a reservation in one of the devil’s hottest dwelling spaces a long time ago, he figured he’d better enjoy whatever pleasure was left to him before he closed his eyes to this earth.

  They were both shaking by the time they were naked, and Jackson pulled Aja on top of him. The feel of her heat pressed against his when she straddled him made lust unfurl in his belly, snaking its tentacles up, twisting itself around his insides as he fought himself to keep from thrusting up. That was all it would take—a simple movement of his hips and he could be buried inside her, flesh to flesh with nothing between them.

  Tormented with the need to join with her body, he sat up, kissing her, demanding entrance to her mouth. If he couldn’t feel her complete warmth one way, he’d taste it instead. A muted relief spread through his body as his tongue touched hers. She tasted of heat and fire and need, and he feasted on the offering like a starving man uncertain of where his next meal would come from.

  He was lost in the feel of her hips rocking back and forth on him, begging for him to answer in kind. He pulled his lips away from her tempting mouth, nibbling at her full bottom lip, promising himself he’d find out what it looked like spread around his girth before the sun rose. He turned them around, switching their positions so she was now beneath him, strewn across the rumpled fabric of bed linens, looking like the perfect mix of beauty and want.

  He slid a finger between her wet folds and smiled as her hips chased his touch with each swivel. He gave in and allowed her the prize she sought, letting his finger slip into her entrance. “So wet for me,” he whispered as he watched her close her eyes and fall under the spell of his rhythmic strokes. When he removed his hand from her opening, she mewled an almost anguished sound that made him ache to fulfill her vocalized need. “Sweetie, I’ve got to get a condom, or neither one of us is getting what we want tonight.”

  “Hurry” was her only answer. He walked quickly to the chest of drawers against the opposite wall. As he searched through the folds of his wallet, silently despairing he wouldn’t find a condom while simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t, he held his breath. Not having a condom would be the exact thing he needed to give him an excuse to stop and think about why this was all kinds of fucked up. But as his finger grazed the top of the foil packet tucked away behind his billfold, Jackson knew he wouldn’t be engaging in any thoughts that would stop this. He had the means, the motivation, and Aja lying on his bed with her fingers disappearing in and out of her wet pussy as she waited for him, moaned for him to hurry. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for since their first meeting.

  Yeah, he was going to hell with gasoline drawers on, and he didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. At least not in this moment anyway. He crawled back to her, his mouth watering as he watched her fingers disappear again. How he could be both envious and enthralled at the same time was beyond him, but as much as each dip of those digits made fire lic
k at his skin, the need to be inside her burned through him like hot knives against bared flesh.

  “God, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

  He stroked himself once, letting out a long hiss. He was so ready. He hadn’t touched her yet and his body was trembling on the edge. It wouldn’t take much for him to lose control. One more stroke and he was certain he could reach release if he sat here between her legs watching her pleasure herself, teasing her way toward her own orgasm.

  He could watch her play in her pretty cunt all day. He moaned. It was loud, deep, and long, and he didn’t care if anyone heard it for miles. It was becoming his predicted response to what the old folks would call her sassiness. He called it confidence, though, because that was what it was. She was sure of herself. Sure she belonged in her own skin, certain that the man she was allowing into her space would appreciate her the way she did herself. She was certain life held something for her, and with a little hard work, she’d somehow tap into it. To understand one’s self like that was a gift. One he used to believe he possessed himself. But as of late, as he spent more time with Aja, he wondered if he’d been substituting work competence for life confidence.

  There was a difference. It was subtle, but it was still there.

  He leaned into the kiss before his subconscious could remind him what a bad idea this was. Yeah, that was actual truth, but it didn’t mean Jackson would attempt to resist this any longer.

  His lips covered hers, hard and firm, a display of his intent. He didn’t want her to think their joining was born out of her ability to convince him. He’d wanted Aja since the first moment she’d walked into his office, and her knowing was important enough to him that he devoured her mouth, pouring all his need and desires into that one kiss.