Heat spiralled through her as she kissed him back, desire plucking deep inside, his clean masculine scent playing havoc with her already overloaded senses. Reaching up, she twined her arms around his neck, the sensation of all that lean strength against her, above her, surrounding her making her blood sizzle and her core heat.
The kiss grew shallower, the moulding of his mouth on hers lighter as he drew back. They were both breathing a lot heavier when he finally lifted his head.
A little alarm shrieked in the back of her mind as she raised her eyelashes to look up at him, part of her so afraid he’d reject her, while part of her wanted to yank him back down for more of those hot, sweet kisses.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered huskily.
“I’m not,” she replied breathlessly.
“Really? So why is your heart pounding against my chest like a bird about to take flight?”
She swallowed. “Maybe for the same reason yours is?”
His grin was unexpected, a flash of humour striking through the desire in his eyes. “I know why my heart is pounding, and it’s got nothing to do with fear.”
They were still so close, his words puffing against her mouth. All she could do was continue to take in deep breaths and just lose herself in those hot eyes.
She felt like she could have stayed that way forever, dreamy, his scent filling her lungs, but she suddenly became aware that slowly Jason was straightening, his hand sliding away from the back of her head as he took her with him.
Now fear did spike through her, the dread that this was it, a kiss and a gentle let-down. Was this it? Had she imagined it? Had she-
“Izzy, I need to talk to you.” His voice was still husky.
Dreading what she’d hear, Izzy was still so acutely conscious that his arm remained around her, his hand in the small of her back.
Correctly interpreting her expression, Jason shook his head. “Not what you think, Iz.”
“Okay.” What was he thinking? His eyes still held desire, didn’t they?
She could feel herself go just a little cold when he moved back from her, his hand sliding from her waist. Oh no, if she’d just kissed him back, lost herself in him only to have him let her down gently, she’d die. Just die. In more ways than one. The mortification would be too much. Seeing him every day would hurt too much. She’d have to take her misbehaving cat and move.
“Iz.”
At the gently chiding tone, she forced herself to refocus.
“Not what you think.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her brow, nuzzled her temple, the simple action relaxing her a little. “I need to explain what happened.”
Her nerves tightened. “This needs explaining?”
“No. This was desire, plain and simple. I wanted to kiss you.” As if to prove a point, he pressed his lips again to her brow. “I enjoy kissing you.”
Okay, that didn’t sound too bad.
Didn’t sound too bad? Who was she kidding? It sounded just great. But… “Then explain what?”
“Why I freaked out the other night.” He drew back, grimaced. “It’s not easy for me to spill my guts like this, but I want to. No,” he corrected himself, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to, I have to.”
“You freaked out?” Still puzzled, she frowned.
“It wasn’t my proudest moment,” he replied wryly.
“You freaked out over kissing me?”
“Not because of you. Because of me.”
Izzy rubbed her brow. “You’ve lost me, Jason.”
With a sigh, he took her hand, closing his fingers around her smaller ones and squeezing gently. “I think this’ll be easier if we do it in comfort.” Then he laughed a little. “Actually, nothing will make this easier. I just think it’d be nicer of we did it somewhere other than just standing in the hallway.” With that, he changed direction and headed into the lounge.
Hand in his, Izzy followed, feeling as though she was dreaming. This handsome, self-assured man had actually freaked out about kissing her because of himself? What could he possibly mean?
Leading her to one of the armchairs, Jason steered her down by the simple process of lifting her hand, bringing her in front of him and then lowering her hand. Instinctively, she sat on the armchair.
“Coffee?” he asked as soon as she was seated. “Tea? Milo? Cold drink?”
What? “Um…Milo. Please.”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Milk and one sugar.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She watched him leave through the big doorway before turning to look at the coffee table right before her.
Wow, this was actually happening to her. She was sitting in his lounge with, if she wasn’t mistaken, Il Divo playing in the background. Strange choice of music, she’d somehow thought he’d be into heavy rock, but there you had it. And here she was, after all the hurt, the bruised confidence, Jason Dawson had actually kissed her again, denied he’d been repulsed - well, hell, he’d certainly proven that with that toe-curling, panty-wetting kiss out in the foyer - and now he said it wasn’t her who had the problem, it was him.
She froze. It wasn’t her, it was him? Wasn’t that some old cliché she read in books and saw in movies? Oh Lord, was he trying to kindly ease her away? Like she had to be weaned like a lovesick calf? Crap on a stick!
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she gave herself a mental head slap. This was no movie, no book, this was real life. And after she’d practically sucked the tongue right out of his head, he had a right to expect her to listen.
But what would it mean for her? For them? Was there a ‘them’? Surely a man didn’t kiss a woman like that if he didn’t intend…something? So what were his intentions? What did she want?
Fisting her hands, she banged her knuckles softly together while nibbling her well-kissed bottom lip. There was no doubting her attraction to him, especially since he’d kissed her the first time. No doubting she wanted more. Cripes, she’d only met him recently but it wasn’t as though it had happened in the usual fashion. Nothing normal about being sprung first on her neighbour’s balcony, then contemplating breaking into his house, not to mention her cat happily doing B and Es every time he took it into his bat-eared head.
Speaking of which, she spotted the culprit brightly bouncing into the room like he owned the place. He meowed happily at her before jumping up onto the back of the sofa and looking around. His gaze fell on the pile of clean clothes folded on the cushions and he made to jump down onto it.
“Stop!”
Startled, he looked at Izzy out of big eyes.
“This is not your house, Arnie,” she hissed. “Behave yourself.”
Like that would help. She bit her lip as he looked at her while placing out one paw and literally sliding down the sofa to fall onto the pile of folded clothes and lie sprawled out just as he’d landed. Then, to add insult to injury, he proceeded to clean his paw, toes spreading out as he busily nibbled and licked the soft pads.
About to go and pick him up, Izzy just started to push upwards when Jason’s voice slid through her like warm honey. “Hope this isn’t too hot. I’d just boiled the kettle when you arrived so it should still be hot enough.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she replied, flustered, as Jason bent down to hand her the mug of Milo.
His nearness made her nerves jitter, her insides do a little flip of awareness. Damn, he was handsome in a rough, tough kind of way. No pretty boy, no classical handsomeness, just an honest man’s face with a handsome, hard edge. The kind of rough handsomeness that had a woman taking a second peek when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Expecting him to take the other armchair, she was taken aback when instead he sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her, his jean-clad legs spread apart, his forearms resting on his thighs as he held his own mug of Milo by the handle, his other hand cupping the bottom of it.
He wasn’t close enough for his knees to actually touch her,
but it wouldn’t take much movement for it to happen. Seeking to put a little breathing space between them - God, the man was sucking out her breath with just his nearness - Izzy slid back in the armchair, placed her knees together and primly held her mug in an identical hold.
Rather than speak straight away, Jason studied her. His gaze slid slowly over her face before he captured her gaze with his. No desire reflected in the depths this time, but something else - determination and intensity.
The man could do intensity like she’d never seen a man do before, just like she’d never seen another man study her face as though he was really seeing her.
Kinda hard not to see her, she filled out her clothes enough.
Stop it.
“Izzy, I really like you,” Jason began.
“Okay,” was all she could think to reply. Sounded way better than after that kiss, I’m kind of lusting after you.
“I really want to get to know you better.”
This was a little delightfully old fashioned. She relaxed a little. “So would I.”
Frowning, Jason thrust one hand through his hair, dishevelling it. “This isn’t coming out the way I planned.”
“You planned to talk to me?”
“Of course.” It was his turn to blink. “As soon as I figured out what was wrong with me, I knew I was going to talk to you about this.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
Staring thoughtfully above her head, he took a mouthful of Milo. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Was he going to ask her on a date? Tell her what? He’d already apologized, he’d already - oh wait. Yeah. His freak out. She did a mental head knock. Her brains had been truly addled by that kiss.
His gaze dropped down to her, his mouth twisting up on one side, clearly doing an internal debate.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”
“I’m trying to decide which beginning.”
“How many beginnings do you have?”
“You’d be surprised. How far back do you want to go?”
Her eyes widened. “How far back do we need to go?”
That flicker of humour appeared fleetingly. “A long time ago in a little town far, far away…”
She couldn’t help but grin back. “Do I get popcorn for this epic story?”
“It’s not so epic.” The humour faded. “Sorry, I didn’t think. You just got home from work. Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine. I’d rather hear what you have to say.”
“You sure? About the food, I mean?” He started to push upwards. “I could grab some biccies or make a sandwich or something-”
“Jason, I’m fine. Honestly. Just tell me.”
He eased back down onto the coffee table. “Okay.”
She waited, but he didn’t start. Instead, he looked down at the mug of Milo cradled in his hands. When the silence lengthened she leaned forward to lay a hand on his jean-clad knee. There was a small hole in it showing some of the skin beneath. “Jason? Are you all right?” Geez, how bad could it be?
In a move totally unexpected, he laid his hand over hers. His palm was really warm, almost hot from the mug, the calluses rough against her hand. He didn’t grab her, just smoothed his palm across the back of her hand in slow sweeps.
Cripes, she felt every sweep down to her toes and back up to her loins.
Nice as it was, his continued silence was becoming unnerving. An unwelcome thought flashed through her head - was he playing her?
As if he felt her inner tension starting to coil upwards, Jason lifted his head and looked at her. “I want to date you, get to know you, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
That was like a slap in the face. Shit, he was playing her! Heart dropping clear out the bottom of her shoes, she yanked her hand away from beneath his.
Obviously correctly interpreting her action, Jason held up one hand while quickly placing the Milo beside him on the coffee table. “Wait! Wait wait wait! That came out all wrong!”
Izzy shoved to her feet. “You don’t say!” God, why did she let him do this? Idiot!
He just as quickly shot to his. “My father bashed my mother and I’m shit scared that I’m just like him!”
She froze. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s it in a nutshell.” Frustrated, he tunnelled his hand through his hair again. “Damn it to hell, I didn’t want it to just fall out like that. I wanted to explain properly.”
“Properly?”
“Please, Iz, just sit down.” He gestured to the armchair behind her. “I swear I’m not giving you the brush off. I’ll tell you everything, and if you still want to take a chance on me, I’m all yours.”
Completely uncertain just what she was wading into, now more than a little perturbed, Izzy cautiously resumed her seat. For a man she suspected might be playing her, he looked decidedly frustrated and - okay, there was a kicker. As he subsided onto the coffee table again, his eyes were troubled and uncertain.
Cripes, Jason Dawson, tough man, was uncertain? What did he have to be uncertain about? He could have almost any woman in the city. The man was good looking and confident. Apparently. If she walked out now he could go downtown and within an hour have a woman in his bed, and not a paid one, either.
But right now, as he looked at her, he seemed…lost. God, he was lost. There was even a hint of trepidation in his eyes.
It hit her with hard clarity. The man was being honest, he was afraid that whatever he’d reveal would make her walk away. He didn’t want her to walk away.
Man, maybe he had more problems than she did.
“Just hear me out, Iz, please?”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“You mean apart from my family?”
“I mean, any other women?”
“No.”
“But you’re telling me?”
“You’re different.”
“You mean I’m safer.”
“I mean, before you I’ve never been interested enough in a woman to take it further.”
Oh boy. That this man would really be interested in her enough to tell her his experiences was heart-warming. It sent little tingles down her spine. But still, what he’d said - abusive? She knew some people who’d come from abusive backgrounds. Two of them became abusers, three of them were happily married.
Then again, abuse came in many forms and people came out of abusive situations differently. That he would want to share his situation with her before anything happened between them - if it happened - meant he was serious.
Besides, she might be a bit of a nitwit at times but she wasn’t a complete drongo. She’d listen, watch, judge for herself. It wasn’t as if there was anything between them yet.
Slowly, Izzy nodded. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together. Without further hesitation he began quietly, “My father abused my mother, physically, mentally and emotionally. My brother, Brand, and I were troublemakers and heading down that same pathway. We got drunk, got into fights, harassed people a few times, ran with a bad crowd. Not my proudest memories. I’m not proud of the fact that I knew my father hit my mother when I wasn’t there and I did nothing about it, except one time…” At her arched eyebrow, he said briefly, “He nearly put me in hospital.”
She winced.
“When I got older he never hit Mum in front of me, and he was good at keeping her bruises from my sight under her clothes. Not like I was going to look, right?”
“Be creepy if you did.”
“Yeah.” Picking up the mug of Milo, he turned it round and round in his hands. “One day my brother lifted his hand to our mother, he hit her. I went ape shit. He hit our mother. Neither Brand nor I had ever raised a hand to a woman regardless of Dad doing it. That Brand did it that day made me see clearly. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we got into a fight and I took Mum and drove here to the city. Her brother, my Uncle
Harris, took us in, taught me a trade, and I’ve done the best I can to keep my head down and work hard, make both he and Mum proud. Uncle Harris gave me a second chance at a decent life and I took it.”
And she’d thought some bad crap had happened to her. At least her whole life had been happy except for that horrible time. “He’s a nice man. You work for him.”
“Yep. Best man ever. My cousins follow close behind. They taught me a lot about family, about being able to get into an argument without trying to kill or deliberately hurt each other.” Swirling the Milo around in the mug, Jason smiled slightly. “Now that was a real learning curve for us all.”
“I bet.” Especially after what he’d been used to. Relaxing back in the armchair, Izzy drank some Milo and listened, watching him, gauging the way he looked, his expression, his tone of voice.
Jason regarded her with that intent way he had. “I’ve been out with several women, nothing serious. Nothing to worry about. I believed after all this time that I wasn’t like my father, that I’ve learned to be a decent bloke.”
Izzy smiled. “I think you might be a decent bloke.”
His visage remained deadly serious. “I’ve worked hard to be a worthwhile human being. Then the other night I lost control.”
“You got into a fight?”
Now he looked incredulous. “No, Iz. When I grabbed you, kissed you, didn’t give you a say, didn’t think how you felt. I just grabbed you.”
Understanding dawned. “You mean…?”
“I mean,” he said tightly, “my father forced my mother to do things she didn’t want to do. I’m afraid I forced you.”
Now it all made sense. Leaning forward in turn, Izzy looked him right in the eyes. “Jason, what you did and what your father did are worlds apart.”
The muscle in his jaw ticced.
“Seriously. Jason.” She laid her hand on his arm. “If you were like your Dad, you wouldn’t have stopped. But you did. In fact,” she sought to ease his tension, “you let me go and took off like a rocket.”
“I realised what I’d done-”
“Jason, I did not feel forced or threatened. If you’d bothered to stay it would have been clear to you. Trust me, if you’d done anything I didn’t want I’d have fought back. Now, if you hadn’t let me go then, that would be force in my book.”
Promises Page 13
