Wild Child

by A. S. Green

  “Natalie. I want you so badly.”

  “You can have me.” Her hands are warm on my face. “Just look at me, Jax. Know that it’s me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I want to go slow, to test myself, but I don’t have that kind of self-restraint.

  My hand is still gripping the back of her knee, but this time—this time—I lift it, opening her to me. She gasps, and I slam into her, feeling the stretch of her over my length. We both cry out at the fucking relief of being joined again. “Yes!”

  “Oh, Jesus, Natalie. You undo me.” I’m lost in the sensation of her tight, slick sex. My body takes over. Damn thing has a mind of its own. She digs her heels into my ass. My hips move like pistons, and the pressure in my balls burns a path right up my spine. This is going to be over too quick, before it’s even really begun.

  I don’t know if it’s the lingering fear of seeing her in that alley, the unmitigated relief that she’s safe, or the unearthly pleasure of her body, but I pump wilder. Fuck, I’m going to come. She isn’t nearly there yet.

  Natalie calls out my name, and it brings me back to my senses. I pull out against her objection and drop to my knees on the floor, dragging her to the edge of the bed. My mouth descends on her. She’s so hot. Wet. Delicious.

  Her fingers scratch and claw at the sheets as her flesh swells against my tongue. “Jax! Oh. Oh, God.”

  I rise up, blind with lust, and slam into her so hard her jaw drops open in a silent scream. I fit my mouth over hers, tasting her lips, remembering what it is to kiss and fuck at the same time. But it’s not really fucking.

  Something has shifted. Tears are welling in my eyes. God. So weak. This is why I can’t do this. The intimacy is too much.

  Her hand reaches up and strokes my face. “I love you, Jackson Sparke. You know I’ve always loved you.”

  Her thumbs wipe the tears off my cheeks, and my heart swells in my chest, threatening to burst. “I love you, too. Always have, Natalie.” My wild child. “Always will.”

  I thrust once more, and her eyes close. Her core grabs onto my dick and spasms, milking my orgasm out of me as I spurt into the condom. God, it won’t stop. When I open my eyes, we’re both shocked, unbelieving how fast, how frantic, and how out of control the last few minutes have been.

  More tears spill out over my bottom lids, and I collapse onto her, saying her name over and over and over again.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Natalie

  An hour later, Jax and I are sitting close together in his massive bed, leaning against the headboard. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts, but other than that, we’re still naked. The burgundy sheet is drawn up to our waists, and there’s a shoebox in Jax’s lap.

  Slowly, almost as if they’re too hot to touch, he takes three partially faded Polaroids out of the box and lays them in my hands.

  “This guy,” Jax says, his throat thick, “his name was Howard Fink. He was from Newark. He got the camera off eBay and had it sent over to us. We spent a whole day taking stupid pictures. This is Charlie here. And Ridgeway…and me.”

  I take a deep breath. Charlie Ridgeway is two people. The task of helping Jax deal with his past has just doubled.

  In the photo, they’re all dressed in camo, but Charlie’s also wearing a pink feather boa and appears to be twirling the end. It’s hard to really see their faces, but I can tell Ridgeway is laughing. He’s shorter than Charlie and Jax by at least five inches, with a thick, squat build. I get this weird thought that if he were an animal, he’d make a perfect bulldog.

  Jax looks the more stoic of the three but, even so, I think he’s smiling. His head is turned toward Charlie.

  The next two photos are the three of them all geared up—helmets, mirrored shades. Each of them holds a rifle in a menacing pose.

  His hand goes back into the box, and he pulls out a plastic bag with pink rubber bands in it. He looks at it like he forgot he had them, turns the bag over once, then puts it back in the box.

  Next out are two In Memoriam cards. Each has a color photo on the front of a handsome, smiling man wearing a navy-blue uniform. The American flag and what I presume to be the navy’s flag hang in the background.

  “This is Charlie,” Jax says, holding up one of the cards. “He had three days left before his leave. He was supposed to be getting married that weekend.”

  I make a whimper of dismay in the back of my throat.

  Jax continues like he’s on a mission. “His girl, Kailey, was from Georgia. Charlie met her in college.”

  “He’s very handsome.” I don’t know what else to say. Obviously he was so much more than that.

  “We were taken out by friendly fire. There had been some fuckup in communications. They took out our rear pylon, and the Chinook started spinning.”

  I suck in my breath at the thought of being taken down by their own guys. After all Jax had already been through with his shitty parents, then losing his gram. To lose his best friends like that… I can barely stand the thought. It helps to explain the changes I’ve seen in him, but knowing the cause of his pain doesn’t make it any better.

  I take his hand in mine and hold on tight.

  “It was so dark. First because it was night, but then the smoke was so thick… You wouldn’t think black could get blacker, but I swear it did. We went down over a river. You know how hard it is to go down over water in Afghanistan?”

  He wipes the back of his hand against the side of his face. “It was both a blessing and a curse because that ended the fire, but I couldn’t get Charlie out, and we were sinking. I don’t even know where Ridgeway ended up.

  “It was so fucking dark. Blazing hot, and then ice-cold. So cold I didn’t think I’d ever make it out.” His grip tightens on my hand.

  “But you did,” I say quietly, reaching across my body with my other hand to stroke his arm.

  He nods. “I did. But I was alone. My injury got me discharged. Even from the reserves.”

  I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. I hear him swallow.

  “And that’s why you won’t fly anymore,” I say, fitting the last puzzle piece together.

  “No helicopters,” he says, practically growling on the word. “No airplanes. Not even a fucking Ferris wheel.”

  My mouth curls up in the barest of smiles, even though it’s too sad to be funny.

  “Kailey’s married to someone else now. She named her baby Charlie, though. Cool of her husband to be okay with that.”

  He takes a second of quiet contemplation, and I let him have that time to get himself together. He clears his throat, then continues to move through the box of keepsakes. While his hand sometimes shakes, he doesn’t cry.

  “I hear him sometimes. Charlie. He…um…talks to me. Sort of.”

  I wrap my arm around his waist. “What does he say?”

  “Mostly he tells me not to screw things up with you.”

  “Sounds like a smart man.” I laugh a little before I realize he isn’t joking.

  “I went to therapy for a while.” Now he sounds nervous, like he’s afraid I’m going to judge him for that.

  “That’s good.”

  We sit in silence for a while. When I look up at his face, I notice the purple shadows under his eyes. His skin looks even paler than before.

  “You’re exhausted,” I say. “Maybe we should sleep.”

  He makes a sound of half amusement, half derision. “Natalie, I haven’t slept in weeks.”

  “More of those bad dreams?” I remember how violently he woke up from one when we were in New Orleans.

  He turns his head, and his eyes travel all over my face. “You’re the only thing that keeps me from sleeping.”

  I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  “You’re not fired, by the way. I don’t think I could stand it if you left me again.”

  “Jax,” I say, feeling the weight of what’s coming. We’re going to be together. We’re going to make this work.

/>   “Would you move in here?” he asks. “With me?”

  Whoa. That’s more than what I thought was coming. I blink twice. “Are you serious?”

  “We can take it slow. I’ve got a job to do in Philly in a couple days, so you’ll have the place to yourself until I get back. Get used to the space. See if it’s comfortable for you.”

  This is a big step. For anyone, even for someone as impulsive as I know Jax can be. “You don’t have to do this, Jax.”

  He shakes his head. “I want you here. Next to me. Every night. When I’m gone, I want to know that you’re keeping my bed warm. You know I’ve never asked anyone else to do this.”

  “So why now?”

  “Because life’s short. If Charlie hadn’t taught me that before, what happened tonight…that only made it more clear. I’ve been kicking myself for six years, wondering why in the hell I ever let you walk out of my life. And you’re right. I do need your help.”

  I make a small joke to ease the tension. “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten pretty good at my job.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He glances down at the photos in my hands. “And now you know it.”

  He takes the photos from me, gently, reverently, and puts them back in the box. He closes the cover and gets up, carrying the box over to the bookshelves where it takes its place of honor.

  “Jax?”

  His backside flexes as he turns to face me. “Hmm?”

  “This job in Philly. Is it dangerous?”

  There’s a beat of silence before the hint of a smile touches his lips. “Could involve torture.”

  “What?” I sit up straighter as adrenaline spikes my gut.

  His eyes don’t look tired anymore. They are dark and smoldering. “Pure torture being away from you.”

  Without taking his eyes off me, Jax walks to the bedside table, opens the drawer, and throws a handful of condoms on the pillow.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Natalie

  The Next Day

  As penance for the mishap with the radios, Mo has brought in lunch for us, including Nisi, who wasn’t there for last night’s drama. She’s not about to be left out again—she knows Jax checked me out of Hotel Melinda this morning and that we’re officially shacking up—and I can see in her eyes the questions she’s just dying to ask me.

  Right now there are six of us in the break room. I’m sitting at one of the round tables; Jax is standing directly behind me with his hand wrapped warmly over my shoulder. He’s still keeping the PDA in check, but he’s no longer hiding our relationship from anybody. The change in him has me strung so tight it’s like being back in the middle school lunchroom with my very first boyfriend.

  Nisi and Spencer are sitting across the table from me. Nisi looks like she’s about to break into the “Hallelujah” chorus or—given her enormous hoop earrings and the black-and-silver paisley pantsuit—something more along the lines of Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby.”

  Titus is taking up the whole left side of the table, and there’s an empty seat to my right for Mo. For the moment, he’s still unloading the sandwiches from the carryout sack. Then he turns it upside down and dumps a bunch of single-serving chip bags in the center of the table.

  “Have at it,” he says.

  Jax grabs a sandwich first. Then me, then everyone else dives in. I’m starving. Everything tastes good, sounds good, feels good. And not just because of Jax, or last night—after the chaos in the alley and near firing, of course—or even this morning, when we moved me out of Melinda’s apartment and hauled my suitcases back through command with everyone watching. But that’s certainly part of it.

  I’m feeling great because these people, this place is now home. I may have only been here two months, but I feel like a New Yorker—despite the fact they still tease me about my accent and probably always will.

  Jax balls up his sandwich wrapper and tosses it toward the trash can, scoring two points.

  “Whoa, boss!” says Spencer right as he’s about to take another bite. “You killed that sandwich as quick as Johnny Rotten killed the disco.”

  I glance up at Jax. He’s looking at Spencer with his eyebrows raised.

  When Spencer starts to explain, Jax holds up his hand. “I’m familiar with the reference, Spence.”

  Nisi mutters, “Cool, but nobody killed the disco.”

  Jax gives her a quick glance before turning to me and saying, “When you’ve got a second?” He leans his head toward the hallway.

  “Sure.”

  After he leaves, I sit there staring at my half-eaten sandwich. Did he mean for me to follow him right away? Nisi gives me the eyes and says, “I’ll wrap that up for you,” so I guess that answers that.

  Jax is waiting for me out in the hall. He leads me in the direction of his apartment, but we stop just outside the interview room. He gives me a smile, glances back toward the break room, then quickly kisses my lips.

  “What’s up?” I ask, playing it cool.

  “Nothing much. It’s just a little thing. You could have finished your lunch.”

  “Jax, what’s going on?”

  “Okay, well, I saw an ad this morning. There’s an estate sale in Soho, starting tomorrow. The auction house posted a vintage hi-fi. A Marantz 4300.”

  I scrunch up my eyebrows, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me. Is this information about a new case he’s working?

  “It comes with an oak cabinet. Original turntable, and the speakers still have their grille cloth.”

  “Okay.” That additional information hasn’t cleared anything up for me, but it’s been ages since I’ve heard Jax talk about vintage stereo equipment, so my curiosity is piqued. “What about it?”

  “They’re selling the deceased’s entire vinyl collection, too. I was wondering if you wanted to get it?”

  “Me?” My voice goes up like a squeak.

  Jax’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and his warm smile melts my heart. “I was thinking more like us.”

  Oh, lordy. I give Jax’s hand a squeeze to make sure this is real.

  “I wouldn’t mind checking out an estate sale,” says a deep voice at the opposite end of the hall.

  Both Jax and I look to find Titus, Nisi, Mo, and Spencer standing outside the break room.

  Titus puts his hands on his hips, which emphasizes the massiveness of his chest. “I need a new print for my dining room.”

  “Me, too,” Nisi adds.

  Mo chimes in with a “Me, three.”

  Jax and I turn to face each other again, and we’re wearing matching expressions of surprise. It makes me laugh, then it makes Jax smile, and he says, “Everyone get back to work.”

  As they return to their stations, I lean my forehead against Jax’s shoulder, resting it there. “I would love to check out vintage stereo equipment with you, Jackson Sparke.”

  “I hope you’ll be willing to explore a lot more than that with me,” he says, “but this is a good start.”

  He kisses the top of my head, and moisture rushes into my eyes. I lean back, and I think he expects me to return to my station, too.

  Instead, I pull him into the interview room and lock the door.

  He glances at the handle when he hears the click, then smiles at me. “Something I can help you with, Ms. O’Brien?” His finger drags a lock of hair behind my ear, and his thumb smooths over my eyebrow, ending with both hands gently cupping my jaw.

  “I have no doubt, Mr. Sparke.”

  He lowers his head and touches his lips to mine. We hold like that, just feeling each other’s mouths for a moment, until his chest expands. I touch the tip of my tongue to his bottom lip and all bets are off. Jax’s arm wraps around my back, arching me into him and searing me with his kiss.

  I swear I can hear music playing. Drums kick in, but maybe that’s my heart.

  Chapter Fifty

  Natalie

  Five Days Later

  I’ve been living in Jax’s apartment for an en
tire workweek, but Jax has been gone with that job in Philly. I wish I was out on the road with him. I think that’s why I keep getting these weird flashes of car sickness, as if we’re back in the SUV together, crossing the country.

  I’ve felt like this all morning, and staring at my monitor is only making things worse. By eleven o’clock, everything starts to seize. I run for the bathroom, getting there in the nick of time. When I come out, wiping my mouth, Nisi is standing in the hallway, and she pushes me back into the bathroom.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Fine. Just nerves. Or maybe food poisoning. I had a questionable frozen chicken kiev last night.”

  “You’re not pregnant?” she asks, quirking one eyebrow.

  “What? No.” I turn toward the mirror and pretend there’s a great need to fix my hair.

  “You’re sure?” she asks, leaning one hip against the counter. She drums her new manicure against the porcelain.

  I glance over at her. I really would like someone to talk to. “I took a test a while ago, but it was negative. I’m just unusually late. I think it’s stress.”

  “Exactly how late are you?” she asks, casually fiddling with several long strands of a silver necklace that hangs to her waist.

  “Six or seven weeks?” I say, but it comes out like a question, because it can’t be true.

  Nisi drops the end of her necklace and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Take it again.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  She eyes me for a second, then says, “Mmm-hmm. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

  I lunge for her arm. “Nisi, I can’t—” Sit in the bathroom all morning. I finish the last part in my head because she’s already out the door.

  When she returns to the office, she spots me at my desk, then jerks her head toward the bathroom. She’s not as subtle as she thinks, but fortunately everyone else is focused on their surveillance monitors, or their credit-card tracing, or talking to new clients who have a need for security.

  I get up and follow her to the bathroom. A few minutes later I’m staring down at a humongous blue plus sign, not to mention a future I had not planned. “Oh, shit.”