by Lori Foster
“No choice. I didn’t exactly fight fair. I figured if they died, who gave a shit? In less than… I dunno, a minute maybe, two of them were out and the third was disabled. So I dove in after the girl.”
Awe, respect, affection and…gratitude all swamped Alani, making her voice rough. “In a storm, off a bridge?”
“Yeah, hell of a thing, huh? They had tied her hands, so the odds of her surviving were zilch if I didn’t get to her, and quick. Luckily, she was kicking like crazy, just managing to keep her head above water, and I could hear her splashing. I got her, and she fought me like a wildcat.” He smiled, gave a short, soft laugh. “I got more bruises from her than I did from the bozos on the bridge.”
Horrified, Alani covered her mouth. “She must have been so panicked.”
“You know, she was, but not like you’d expect. She wasn’t hysterical, wasn’t crying. Even with her hands tied at her wrists, she fought. After I dragged her up to the shore, I had a bitch of a time pinning her legs so I could explain that I wanted to help. And even then, she didn’t quite believe me. I got out my knife, cut her hands free and then jumped back from her so she wouldn’t feel cornered. We sort of stared at each other for the longest time.”
“How badly was she hurt?”
“Banged up.” He opened his mouth to say more, then shook his head hard and pressed his finger deeper into her. “Dare and Trace were on the scene. It was this big cluster-fuck, with me not knowing who to trust, and her scared stiff, and them both calm and, I don’t know, just to the point, maybe. They took over, said they’d get rid of the men and the car.”
If Alani were a different person, if she hadn’t experienced her own trauma, she might not have understood. “So you had killed them?”
“I never asked. They were part of a ring that dabbled in human trafficking. They sold girls, sometimes exchanged them for drugs or weapons, and if anyone dared try to escape…”
“She’d get dumped over a bridge.”
“After being…abused.” He seemed to have trouble getting the words out. “If they weren’t dead when I finished with them, Dare or Trace would have taken care of that.”
“Good.”
He looked at her. “When the guys showed up, she sided with me. I guess she already knew I’d pulled her from the river, but she didn’t know what they would do.”
“She sensed that you’d protect her, with your life if necessary.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah, I would have, but I doubt either of us was thinking anything that dramatic. I figured I could take them both if I had to, and she’d have a chance to get away. Turned out I didn’t need to fight them and probably wouldn’t have fared as well as I thought I would anyway.”
“You don’t meet many men like them. Like you.”
“True enough.” He pressed his finger deeper again and smiled at her soft sound of growing excitement. “Later, when Trace told me he wanted me to work with them, he said that my way with women was as valuable as my other skills.”
“Yes.” Her eyes sank shut; her willpower waned.
Jackson turned his hand, worked his finger in as deep as he could. “I don’t think Trace meant you when he said it.”
Alani knew he was being evasive about the details of how he got started working with Trace, leaving out as much as he told, but with the way he touched her, she let him slide.
Her back arched a little. “Probably not.”
“And now,” he whispered, “I’m done talking about the past, because I want to concentrate on the here and now. On you. On this.”
Moaning, Alani closed her eyes and gave in. Not that Jackson afforded her much choice in the matter. His mouth covered hers, and their conversation officially ended.
TALKING ABOUT THE PAST stirred feelings that, when mixed with the need bombarding Jackson now, conspired to do him in. He hated rehashing his family history; it left him almost as angry as thinking about that awful night when he’d seen a young lady thrown into a cold, churning river, her hands tied, her face and body bruised…
As the perfect foil to his dark mood, Alani’s fingers sank into his hair. She curved her slim thigh up and over his wrist, trapping his hand there.
She kissed him deep as her inner muscles clamped around his finger.
So wet. So hot. Her mouth, her sex.
He couldn’t get enough air, and he couldn’t get enough of her. But he wanted to go slow, to make it last.
To torment her in the most heated, sexual ways possible.
In the shower, he’d gotten off, knowing he had to blunt everything he felt when touching her, looking at her. Tasting her.
“I need more,” he whispered, taking his hand from her, putting his finger in his mouth to suck away her excitement.
She moaned in response, the sound achingly real and honest.
Moving up and over her, Jackson straddled her thighs and looked at her body, so delicate and so damned sexy. He cupped both breasts. “You’re about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, circling her darkly flushed, stiffened nipples before leaning down to draw one into his mouth.
She arched again, her head back, her hands kneading his thighs.
He kissed his way to her other breast, caught that nipple with his teeth, tugged, licked. Sucked hard.
“Jackson,” she whispered.
He loved hearing her say his name. He loved hearing her moan, too. He continued drawing on her for a long time, switching from one nipple to the other, occasionally just petting her, barely touching, then taking her into his mouth again.
She rocked her hips up against him, seeking a different touch now.
“Easy.” Sitting up, Jackson ran his thumbs over her wet nipples while watching her expressions. She twisted, turning her face to the side, but he didn’t mind. She wouldn’t be able to hide from him for long.
He took his time, pulling gently, rolling, playing with her until she trembled all over, and still it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t know if he’d ever get enough. Not of her. Of this. Of feeling the way she made him feel, things he’d never imagined before.
He moved off her, put his hands on her soft, pale thighs and opened her legs.
She bit into her bottom lip, waiting, taut with anticipation. Already he could see the moisture, smell her heated scent.
Before he finished, she’d be as addicted as he felt.
“Let me look at you, Alani.” He eased her leg up, bending her knee, and sat between her sprawled thighs. His heartbeat hammered in his chest. His voice dropped to a gravelly timbre. “Damn, so pretty.”
“I’m not used to this, Jackson.”
“I know.” With one fingertip, he traced her swollen lips, pink and shiny, further spreading her wetness but avoiding her distended clitoris.
She gave a humming groan and shifted.
On a growl, watching intently, he sank two fingers into her. The fit was snug enough to rob him of composure.
God, she squeezed his fingers, so how would she feel on his cock? How would she feel with him filling her up?
He pressed in, pulled back while turning his hand, and slowly slid back in again. Deeper this time, thrusting into her, pulling almost all the way out, in again.
Over and over.
Alani squirmed against him, her thighs tensing, her little clit there, needing his touch. He could put her over the edge and he knew it.
But not yet.
Breathing harder, determined to prove something to her, to himself, he continued to build the sensations. Her modesty shot, her legs opened wider, her hips lifting up to him, her every breath a ragged moan.
With his other hand, he cupped each of her breasts in turn. “I like that you’re small. It makes it easy for me to reach all of you at once.”
She made some incoherent reply that sounded like a plea.
“You want to come, Alani?”
“Yes.”
“From my hand?” He pressed deeper again. “Or my mouth?”
He
r eyes squeezed tight and reserve held her back for a long moment before she gasped out, “Your mouth.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.” He pushed back in the bed, resting on his stomach between her pale slender thighs. Intoxicated, he inhaled her scent, so hard he hurt. “Put your legs over my shoulders.”
Awkwardly, hampered by arousal, she did as told. Mmmm, nice. He liked having her warm thighs against his jaw. He cupped her hips and snuggled her a little closer. He blew softly on her, making her shudder.
With his fingertips he parted her, then leaned in to trace with his tongue.
“Jackson…”
Licking deep, he stabbed into her with his tongue until her hands knotted in his hair, and she tried to direct him.
Smiling against her, he flicked her most sensitive flesh with the very tip of his tongue—and she damn near came.
Groaning, her hips lifting off the bed, she dragged him close again. “Oh, please…Jackson, no more.”
“You wanted to experiment.” Even as he said it, he knew he was done. He couldn’t play it out any longer. If he even tried, he’d embarrass himself. Jerking off in the shower hadn’t even come close to relieving his need.
“No,” she cried. “I want you. That’s all.” And again she said, “Please.”
“Shh.” He pressed his face against her, licking, seeking her clitoris, and finally drawing her in.
Her ragged moan was loud and unrestrained, further exciting him. She bucked up against him, her rhythm frantic. It wasn’t easy, but Jackson got two fingers in her again—and she cried out, harsh, deep, her whole body bowed taut as her orgasm crashed through her.
He loved it. He loved… Huh-uh. Nooo. He wasn’t going there. No way. Not right now.
As soon as the wild quivering left her, he jolted up to the bedside table to grab a rubber. Neither of them said anything. Alani didn’t look capable. She laid there, her legs sprawled, her breasts heaving, eyes closed and lips parted. Tears dampened her temples, ripping at his heart. Her breathing remained uneven, strained.
He settled between her legs, kissed her swollen lips. “Baby, look at me.”
It took her three breaths to get her eyes open.
Jackson held her face, their heartbeats aligned—and he thrust into her.
Her head went back.
His head dropped forward.
She groaned anew.
He locked his teeth.
“Damn, you’re tight.” He rocked into her, each stroke easing more than the one before it. “Ah, God, so fucking tight.”
Her arms went around his neck, her fingers into his hair.
“Wrap those pretty legs around me. Hold me.”
She stared up at him, her eyes dazed with an expression of awe. Slowly, she hooked first one leg around his waist, then the other—and he sank deeper.
“I’m not going to last,” he admitted through his teeth, and he knew it had as much to do with how she looked at him as anything else.
Alani swallowed. She pulled him down for a kiss and whispered, “Then harder, please.”
He shattered. He reared up on stiffened arms and hammered into her as the pressure built unbearably.
The second he felt her squeezing him and heard her vibrating cry of release, he let himself go.
It was perfect.
It was mind-blowing.
Because it was Alani.
He didn’t know if he ever wanted to let her go. He liked her company. He loved having sex with her. She set him off in ways he hadn’t known were possible.
Was that enough?
It hit Jackson that he didn’t have to decide anything right now. He’d have a while to figure out what he wanted for the long haul, and if Alani fit into that plan, he’d find a way to keep her in his life.
For right now, he only needed to keep her in his bed. And given the way she clutched him so tightly, that wouldn’t be too difficult at all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE SHOULD HAVE been sleeping. He should have been dead to the world. Instead, Jackson lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other keeping Alani curled close to his side. He stared at the shifting moon shadows on the ceiling, his body drained of tension but his thoughts clamoring.
Alani had one thigh over his lap, one lax hand resting over his abdomen, her nose pressed to his ribs. He could feel her deep, even breaths, smell the sultry scent of her skin and hair.
They’d destroyed the bed.
She’d destroyed his peace of mind.
If Marc Tobin was the one who’d drugged him, Trace would have him, and soon. The threat would be gone. Alani wouldn’t need him for protection—and then what?
He had time, but how much? Days? Weeks?
How long would be enough?
Without thinking about it he tightened his hold on Alani. She stirred, so he kissed the top of her head and soothed her until she settled again.
The steadily shifting hands on the bedside clock taunted him as they registered a little after two in the morning. He needed to get some sleep, but his mind wouldn’t rest. Annoyed at himself, Jackson closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
He was about to give up on that pointless undertaking when suddenly the house went still. Where before he could hear the thrum of the air conditioner and kitchen appliances, now an obsidian blackness closed in, and he heard nothing.
The complete, utter lack of sound was more deafening than a gunshot. Automatically Jackson listened, knowing something was wrong. He heard nothing beyond the silence.
Sliding his arm out from under Alani, he said in a breath of sound, “Babe, wake up.”
“Mmm?” She cuddled closer. “What—”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her mouth. “Someone is here. Probably still outside, because I’d have heard him come in. I have to go check it out.” And maybe kill someone.
She had the sense, the wherewithal, to speak in near silence. “Wait.” She grabbed him while levering up in the bed, struggling to orient herself. “The electricity is out?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s just—”
“It’s not.” The threat was real; he sensed the intrusion. Prying her hands loose, he said, “Stay put,” and with every fiber of his being, he believed she would do as she was told.
She said nothing else, and he appreciated that. Grabbing up his gun and his knife, Jackson left the room without making a sound.
In the hallway he stopped to listen again. Letting his senses take over, he absorbed every shadow, the creak of the house and the breeze outside. He peeked into the other rooms, but his gut told him they were empty and secure, so he went down the hall to the living area. On the way, he glanced everywhere, through each window, each nook and cranny, into the kitchen—he stepped back again for a second, more cautious, looked into that room.
Through the kitchen window he saw a shadow that didn’t belong. How he knew it didn’t belong was one of the mysteries of instincts. He always trusted his instincts.
His chest swelled. His muscles relaxed.
In seconds, at his stealthiest best, he removed the barriers to the sliding doors, slipped out of the house and across the back porch. Jackson had the sense to stick to the shadows, but thanks to the bright moon, he saw the intruder moving up close to the house, near Alani’s bedroom window.
Though it had to be in the mid-eighties still, the guy wore a knit mask and dark clothes.
Jackson, on the other hand, was buck-ass naked.
He grinned.
On the prowl, more than ready to engage physically, he slunk closer. As he passed the meter box, he saw that it was disconnected—thus the lack of electricity. Some of Alani’s landscaping had been trampled so that the bastard could cut the seal and remove the retention ring to pull out the electric meter.
Not real smooth. Holding back, he studied the form again—and recognized Tobin by the way he moved, his body type.
Son of a bitch. Ballsy move, asshole.
Jackson fli
pped the knife around in his hand so that he held it hilt first—perfect for gutting someone. He could handle Tobin with one hand tied behind his back—or, as the case may be, while naked as a baby.
No reason to blast a gun and alert the neighborhood.
He moved so close to Tobin that he could touch him—and the obtuse moron didn’t even know it.
When Tobin went on tiptoe to look in Alani’s bedroom window, Jackson tapped him on the shoulder.
Tobin screamed. Loudly.
Sleeping birds took flight in screeching excitement, adding to the impact of the moment.
When Tobin continued to scream, Jackson silenced him in the most expedient way by thumping his face into the bricks. Tobin slumped, but Jackson kept him upright with an arm locked ruthlessly tight around his neck and his chest shoved into the shorter man’s shoulders. The knife pressed tight beneath his chin.
“Disturb her further,” Jackson snarled, “and I’ll kill you right now.” Far as Jackson was concerned, Alani had been through enough. She didn’t need Tobin harassing her now, too.
“Jackson?” Tobin slumped further in what seemed to be relief. “Get off of me!”
“Shut the hell up.” Using his gun hand, Jackson jerked off the ski mask, then smashed Tobin’s bare face into the bricks again. He leaned into him more, making it hard for Tobin to breathe. “What the fuck are you up to?”
“Nothing!”
For the love of… “Bullshit.” As incentive to talk, Jackson thumped his face into the bricks again. “Let’s hear it.”
Tobin’s struggles caused a thin slice to the skin of his throat.
“Keep jerking around,” Jackson said. “You’ll cut your own damn throat and save me the trouble.”
Realizing he couldn’t get away, Tobin froze again. “I was just…”
“Just what?” Without pockets, Jackson had no place to put the gun. He tucked it under his arm and patted down Tobin, checking for weapons.
Oddly enough, unless stupidity could be a weapon, he didn’t have any. Not even a pocketknife.
Jackson spun him around and, with a hand on Tobin’s shoulder, slammed him up against the wall again. He held the knife to his ribs. “Talk.”
After darting wildly around the yard, Tobin’s gaze zeroed in on Jackson—and widened. “Good God. You’re naked!”
