by J. Kenner
“Don’t. ” He lunges toward me, startling me, and I try to take another step back. But there’s nowhere to go. I’d parked the Mustang close to the hangar, and now we’ve reached the metal exterior.
He slams me back against it. The impact reverberates through my body and I’m thrumming with energy. With need. But this isn’t about sex—not yet. It’s about communication. About getting through to him. Because I am afraid—so terribly afraid—that I am losing the man who fought so hard to get me back.
We’ve walked through fire, he and I, and I can’t stand the thought that in the end it will be Robert Cabot Reed who destroys us.
I’m breathing hard, and so is he. His arms are around me, caging me in place. And just then I’m thinking that this moment could go anywhere and that maybe I’ve made a mistake, because Jackson has a temper and sometimes he really does need to beat the shit out of something, and right now I’m a little scared that something might end up being me.
I watch his face as he forces himself to breathe. As he grabs on to control like a lifeline. “Don’t push me, Syl. Not today. Not now. ”
“Screw that, Jackson. We had a deal. You want to run off and fight? Want to kick the shit out of something? You don’t run to the ring, remember? You run to me. ”
“Not today. ” His jaw is tight, his voice equally so. He’s trying to hold it together, but I am determined to break it. To force the explosion. To make him break through and lash out and to finally—finally—work through all the shit that has been building up inside him.
“Why not, Jackson? Why not today?”
“Because, goddammit, I’m not running toward a fight. I’m running away from you. ”
His words are like a knife, and they slice through me, cold and unexpected. My eyes sting, and I look away, blinking furiously, not wanting him to see that he has hurt me. Because Jackson Steele is the one person in all the world who would never, ever hurt me. He’s my warrior. My knight. My goddamn protector.
And that’s when the truth hits me, as hard as the slap I’d laid upon his cheek. I get it. That’s what this is about.
I turn my head so that I am looking at him, though he will not meet my eyes. I lift my hand and cup his cheek. A muscle twitches beneath my palm, and I feel the tightness of his jaw. He’s doing everything he can to hold it together even as I’m doing the only thing I can think of to make him let go.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I say gently. “I made you leave me once before because I was trying to protect myself. I’m not letting you leave now because you think you’re doing the same thing. ”
“I’m the idiot?” His voice is low, with a dangerous edge. “You’re wrapped up with a man who has a child. A man who might be going to jail. A man who is the reason the project you care most about in the world is going to fall apart, because you’re going to lose your architect to a goddamn prison. ”
“You’re wrong. You’re what I care about most in the world. ”
He winces, just a little, and I continue on.
“You’re scared,” I say. “Do you think I don’t get that? Hell, Jackson, I’m fucking terrified. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. And I hate the universe for even threatening to take you from me. And I sure as hell couldn’t survive you leaving. ”
He looks at me now, his blue eyes boring straight into mine, and I can see everything, right to the heart of him. Frustration. Rage. Need. And, dammit, I can’t just stand there and wait for him to make his choice.
I lunge.
The kiss is wild and hard. A sensual battle that I am determined to win. Teasing him with my tongue. Tormenting him with my teeth. At first his lips are hard, resistant. But then everything shifts and he’s claiming, demanding. And the knowledge of this small victory spreads through me, lighting my body with a wild desire that I am determined to see satisfied.
I slide my hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer because I want the kiss deeper. Harder. I want him wild. I want to break him. To push him past this thing that has been keeping us apart. This cold barrier that I couldn’t get through.
But I’m getting through now, and that knowledge is the most potent of aphrodisiacs.
He pulls away, and I almost scream in protest. But then I see his face. The heat and power and ferocious need. There’s danger, too, and I welcome it.
“Jackson,” I whisper. And this time, that is all it takes.
He thrusts me back roughly, slamming me against the corrugated metal. “Is this what you want?” he growls. “You want to be fucked? Used? Because you’re here and I need it?” Page 14
The words are harsh, designed to make me back away. But I hear what he is really saying—Because I need you. And dear god, I need him, too.
I look him hard in the eyes. “Yes,” I say. “Oh, please, yes. ”
I watch, relieved and aroused, as a rising heat melts the coldness in his eyes. I’m wet with desire, every bit of skin on my body a direct link to my cunt. Not only because I will always respond to Jackson’s touch, but because it excites me to know that he needs me like this. That he is claiming me. Using me to make himself whole.
He crushes his mouth over mine, hard and wild, his tongue demanding, taking, fucking, before he pulls back, his teeth tugging at my lower lip.
I hear his breath, wild and fast like my own. And when he yanks up my T-shirt then flips open the front clasp of my bra, I gasp, both in surprise and delight, but also from the way my body clenches, wanting more. Wanting Jackson.
The air is cool, and my nipples tighten even more. He brushes a fingertip over one, the touch so light it is almost negligible.
But oh, dear god, what it does to me. It is as if he’s touched me with an electric wire, and the sensation shoots all the way to my core. I explode—the orgasm ripping through me, wild and incredible and completely unexpected.
I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes, but when I open them, I see Jackson watching my face, his expression hungry. Yes, I think. More.
Those are the only two words in my head. The only thoughts I can form, and even when he tells me to turn around, my mind doesn’t process it until he physically moves me.
“Bend over,” he says as his fingers make easy work of the button on my jeans. “Hands on the wall. ” He’s right behind me, and I can feel his cock straining against the denim of his jeans and pressing against my ass.
He slides my zipper down, and then uses both hands to tug my jeans down. For a brief moment, the sensual fog that has surrounded me lifts and I realize where we are. But the truth is, I don’t care. We’re mostly blocked by our two cars and this section of the property is unused, this hangar devoted to storage.
Most of all, he needs this. I need this. And I’m not going to risk stopping—risk sending him off to some damned boxing ring or who knows where else when I’m so close to having him back.
My jeans and panties are pushed down to just above my knees. I’m bent forward, my shirt shoved up and my bra open so that my breasts are exposed. I’m wet—so damn wet—and when he slides his hand between my legs and over my clit, I shiver with need.
I hear him take down his zipper, then feel the head of his cock stroke the curve of my ass. I whimper and try to spread my legs wider, but I’m bound by my jeans. I feel wild. Shameless. And if he wasn’t running this show I would happily strip naked and fuck him on the asphalt.
“You need this as much as I do,” he whispers. It’s not a question, nor is it a statement. It’s an expression of wonder. Of connection.
“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god yes. ”
“You slapped me. ” Now there’s a commanding edge to his voice, and I shiver in anticipation, my body clenching simply from the heat and power in his voice.
I may have started this, but I cannot deny that I want Jackson to finish it. I want to lose myself in his demands. To go soft and wet with the pleasure of submitting. And more than that, I know that if we
are going to get past this, he has to grab control.
And oh, thank god, he is.
“Naughty girl,” he says playfully, and then lightly smacks my ass. “Very naughty,” and this time he spanks me harder again and again and again.
I gasp, both from the sting and from the sweet pleasure of it, and then I moan in wanton need when he uses his palm to soothe my heated rear before slipping his hand between my legs again and thrusting his fingers roughly inside me.
My muscles tighten around him, wanting more—and thankfully, so does Jackson. He’s right there, the tip of his cock pushing against my core. His hands are on my hips and he holds me steady as he thrusts inside. Gently at first, and then harder, until he’s pounding into me, wild and powerful.
I bite my lower lip to keep from crying out, but that goes all to hell when he bends over me further, one hand crushing hard against my breast as another teases my clit. I keep my arms stiff, my hands flat against the side of the building so that there is little give as he thrusts into me, over and over, harder and faster. Using me even as he pleasures me.
I am lost in the sensation of being touched and filled by him. Of being needed by him. My fears have been tossed away, destroyed by the brutal power of this claiming. He needs me. And oh, how I need him.
I can feel his body tightening, readying for an explosion. His fingers close painfully over my breast, and I moan with pleasure as hot threads of sensation shoot from my breast to my cunt. I’m needy and hot and ready. And when he demands that I come with him, I submit even in that, my body breaking apart under this wonderful, sensual destruction. Page 15
I do not remember taking my hands off the wall. I don’t remember sliding to the ground. I know only that I am curled up against him, my jeans pulled up but not fastened. My body glowing. My skin wonderfully sensitive.
“Thank god for you. ” His voice is low, rough. “Thank god you’re a better fighter than I am. ”
I can’t help my smile. But when I speak, I’m completely serious. “I won’t ever stop fighting for you. You need to get that through your thick skull. ”
“I think you’ve managed to drill it in. ”
This time, my smile turns into a laugh. “I think you did that,” I say, making him laugh, too.
His arms tighten around me, and I know we should get up. We’re sitting on the hard concrete with the scent of gasoline and oil lingering in the air and the roar of planes in the distance. But I don’t want to move and neither does he. Not yet. And so we simply stay still, lost in each other’s arms.
I’ve closed my eyes and am drifting when his voice pulls me back. “I went there,” he says, and I stiffen in his arms. “I was in his house the night that he was killed. ” The words are flat and firm. As if Jackson is simply taking care of business, announcing this bit of news like someone else might state the weather.
I open my eyes and swallow, not sure what I should say. Not sure that I want to hear more.
“I already told Charles. There will be evidence,” he says. “A fingerprint. A security camera. Who knows? But they’ll find it. ” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “And whatever the police know, you will know first. ”
“All right. ” There is no point in arguing. Of that, I’m certain. I shift on the ground, needing to sit up so that I can see him. “Why did you go?”
“Why do you think? To threaten him. To tell him to give me the photos or pay the consequences. ”
“You’ll tell the police that?”
His smile is so tender it melts my heart. “No. If I tell them anything at all, I’ll tell them it was about the movie. But the pictures—what he was threatening to do to you—that much stays hidden. I promise. ”
He is already hugging me close, but I hug myself now, too, needing the comfort to support me for what I’m about to say. Then I draw a breath for courage. “Are you going to take the Fifth? Because if you don’t, you have to tell them everything, Jackson. Hold something back, and if it comes out it’ll bite you in the ass. ”
“Sweetheart, they’re going to swallow me whole, and we both know it. ”
“No. ” I grab hold of his arm and cling to him. “You’re going to be cleared. ”
He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a derisive snort. “We can try to believe that, baby. But we both know it’s not true. ”
“It has to be. ” I say the words defiantly. And before I can stop myself, I hear myself asking the one question that I know I shouldn’t. “Did you kill him?”
“What does it matter?” he asks. “The system is capricious. You know it as well as I do. ”
A faint dread washes over me, not because I’m afraid that Jackson killed him, but because he is right. If he did kill Reed, the system will make him pay, even for the death of a monster. And if he didn’t kill Reed, it won’t matter. He will be an innocent man falsely convicted, punished for the potency of his hate rather than the reality of his actions.
“Would it change anything?” he asks me. “If I killed him, would it change anything between us?”
“No. ” I say the word fiercely, because he needs to know how much I mean it. That there is even some small part of me that hopes—maybe even believes—that it is true. And, yes, that is humbled and excited by the knowledge that Jackson would kill to protect me.
He closes his eyes—just for a moment—but I see some of the tension escape him. When he looks at me again, I see a vulnerability that he rarely shows.
“I’m scared. ” His voice is low, and even this close, I have to strain to hear him. “And that’s not an emotion I’m comfortable with. But lately I’m becoming more and more familiar with it. I’m afraid of losing you. Ronnie. My freedom. ”
I can hear the pain and the confusion in his voice, and I understand it. His daughter is in limbo as much as Jackson’s freedom is. And for a man who needs to hold tight to control, limbo is a horrible place to be.
“I can survive anything. I’m certain of that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared of where this is going. And I don’t like you having to see me carry all this shit. ” Page 16
“You can’t push me away because of this investigation. Not unless you want me to slap you again. ”
I’m rewarded with a wry smile. “I get that,” he says. “But I’m not just talking about the murder. It’s Ronnie, too. I don’t like you seeing me flounder. ”
“Flounder?” I think about how good he is with her—so naturally comfortable in a way I can’t even fathom—and am genuinely baffled.
“What the hell do I know about being a father? God knows mine was no role model. ”
“You’re amazing with her,” I say, and though I’m being a hundred percent honest, I do understand what he means. Children have never been on my radar for exactly that reason—my parents screwed me up so much that I’m not sure I have a decent parenting bone in me.
“She’s the one who’s amazing,” he says. “But that’s not even what I mean. It’s like every decision is a test, and the wrong answer could mess up her life. Do I step in as her dad? Do I continue as an uncle? Do I leave her with Betty? There’s an infinite number of choices at every juncture and then a whole new set of choices after that. And there’s no way of knowing if I’m following the right path. ”
“You think the fact that you’re struggling means you’ll be a bad father? It’s just the opposite, Jackson. Don’t you see? It matters so much to you—hell, it’s consuming you—and every step you’re taking is with her best interest in mind. That’s the definition of a good father, Jackson. You and I know that better than anyone. ” I offer him a small smile and a gentle kiss on his cheek. “It’s pretty sexy, actually. ”
He doesn’t laugh, but the tension in his face relaxes a bit.
“You’re doing the right thing for Ronnie,” I insist. “The best thing. You’re focusing on Ronnie because you want her life to be better. Because you love her. Leaving her with Bett
y isn’t a mistake. It’s a choice, and it’s the right one. ”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t made other mistakes. And I’m afraid that I’m going to have to pay for them sooner rather than later. I’m afraid Ronnie’s going to pay, too. And Syl,” he says, sliding his fingers through my hair to cup the back of my head as he looks deep into my eyes, “I’m afraid that you’re going to pay as well. I’m afraid you already are. ”
“No. ” I say the word fiercely, as if I can erase the shadows from his eyes simply by the force of my will. “Don’t go there, Jackson. Don’t you dare slide off into melancholy with me. Ronnie is better off having you in her life, and I am, too. I love you, and there is no price I wouldn’t pay to be with you. ”
He looks at me then, as if he is absorbing my words. As if he’s weighing the truth of them. He looks at me for so long, in fact, that I’m almost compelled to speak, but then he does that first.
“Being with you in Santa Fe . . . ” He trails off.
“What?”
I see something like pain flicker across his face. “I know I was an ass. It was because of Ronnie. Well, because of all of it. But I think it was mostly her. ”
“Oh. ” An icy chill snakes up my back, and I tense, certain I know where this is going. I’m not her mom. I haven’t the faintest idea how to be a mom. And right now Jackson needs to focus on two things: getting cleared and being a father. Which means he needs to not focus on me.
“It’s just that I caught myself thinking that it would be good—a comfort, I mean—if I knew that Ronnie would be safe on the outside with you if the worst happened. ”
I frown, no longer sure where he’s heading. “And that turned you into an ass?”
The corner of his mouth actually curves up. “Have you not been paying attention? You found out about five minutes ago that I have a child. A child you’ve spent barely any time with. And yet in my mind I already had you filling the gap in her life when I end up behind bars. Auntie Syl, right there. Helping to take care of her. Protecting her. I mean, hell, sweetheart, I practically had you in the role of Mommy. ”
My chest tightens, emotion flooding me. He wasn’t pulling away from me because he didn’t want me. Just the opposite.
“It’s selfish of me, and unrealistic, and—”
I can’t help myself. I burst into tears.
“Oh, Christ, Syl. Oh, shit. ” Jackson wanted to kick himself. What the hell had he been thinking?
That was easy. He was thinking that he wanted her. Forever. For always. He wanted her. And he had to go and run off at the mouth without thinking about what she wanted. Page 17
“I’m sorry,” he rushed to say. “I shouldn’t have told you. Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s why she’s with Betty now, because of course I don’t really expect you to—”
