True For You (Boys of the South)
Page 7
“Mr. Richards?”
“You’re so pretty, Jackson,” I giggle, finding this entire conversation absurd. “Lyle Richards, Mr. and Mrs. Richards’ baby, is the one I miss.”
“Oh.” I feel him run his hand through my hair and I smile, snuggling into his arm. “Are you still upset with me?” he asks.
“I’m resigned with you, or is it to you?” I don’t want to think. I want to enjoy the last days of warmth, peace, a full belly, and the safety of this house, before I have to leave. “Either way, I’m not thinking about us anymore.”
The mattress dips, and I crack open one eye to find Jackson sitting on the bed, studying me. “Why were you in foster care?”
“Because a truck driver hit our car when we were travelling to the beach. I was the only survivor.”
Jackson curses under his breath. “How old were you?”
“Seven.”
“How many different places have you lived?”
“Ten.”
“Are you serious?”
I exhale. “Too old, too young, too Mexican—my mother was Columbian by the way and my daddy white— too quiet… too whatever. When DSS found out the Richards weren’t actually homeschooling me, they sent me to another house, and then another, until I was fourteen and the Coreys decided they wanted me. ”
“Do you still talk to them?”
The Coreys are the only people on the planet I’ve ever wished harm on. They’d taken me in at fourteen and proceeded to make the next two years of my life a living hell.
“What do you want, Jackson?” I’m done talking about a past he has no business knowing.
He runs a hand through his hair. “To apologize.”
My heart races, though it should be forbidden to ever do so in his presence. “Again?” I sit up, facing him. “How many times do you expect me to forgive you?”
“As many times as your willing to forgive, and just as many times I won’t forget what I did.”
“But you keep repeating the same mistakes,” I point out, struggling to stay calm. My plan to be the one who saves him, and me in return, is becoming more and more difficult to follow. I hadn’t expected his rejections to hurt so much.
“Put your glasses back on and look at me, sweetheart. I want you to see how serious I am,” he says, holding out my glasses. “Give me the chance to make it up to you.”
I put them on, doing exactly as he asks. He does look serious, but I wonder what has happened to make him change his mind.
Then I remember—his inheritance. He needs me to get his money.
Chapter Ten
Bliss
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m tired of being hurt by you, over and over. I’m tired of being rejected, until it’s convenient or someone owes a debt… or wants their inheritance.”
“I don’t give a damn about the money.”
“Then why did you—oh God, you lied to me.”
He nods, sheepish. “Yeah.”
“Why? It makes no sense. You said it yourself. We’re not in love. We’re not—”
“But we are desperate for each other. Call me a liar about anything but that.”
“Liar.” I glare at him. “You were more than happy for me to stop touching you.”
He scrubs his hand over his face. “Give a guy a little slack, baby doll. You wounded my ego with the assumption of divorce.”
I gape at him in amazement. “I wounded your ego? There are not enough pins in this world to deflate that thing.”
“You’d be surprised just how easy it is, coming from the right person,” he says wryly.
My mind whirls. He wants me. He doesn’t want me. He needs me for money. He doesn’t need me for money. Are all celebrities like him—forever changing their minds to suit their moods?
“What do you need me for? And don’t give me some bullcrap answer about pissing off your dad. I’m sure you could find a million ways to piss him off that don’t involve getting married to someone.”
A grin kicks up the corners of his mouth. “Because June Bliss Davenport, aka Mrs. June Bliss Morgan, you’re my new muse.”
*** *** ***
Jackson
“I’m your what?” Bliss asks, her nose wrinkling.
“My new muse. The reason I spent the last five hours singing old songs and composing new ones,” I say, laying it all out there for her and waiting for some kind of reaction. This sounded much better in my head. Out loud I sound maniacal, like I should be rubbing my hands together—evilly.
But the only kind of reaction I get from her is a blank stare.
I try again. “You know, muse—inspiration for my music. You and I are going to be Country Music’s next big act.”
Her face goes from blank to pale. “But I can’t sing, play an instrument, or even dance.”
“You can learn. I’ll teach you everything,” I insist. “It’s easy to read sheet music.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No.”
“But you have to. You’re my June.”
“I’m Bliss.” Crossing her arms over her chest, her look turns mutinous. “I’m not this June, or Violet, or Callie, or any other girl who’s been your muse in the past. They had a talent for it. I have nothing.”
“Nothing my ass.” Thinking she needs to take a look at what I’ve written, I grab the notepad I’d scribbled the songs on. “Read this. See what you inspire.”
She eyes the notepad like I’m trying to get her to touch a snake. With a sigh, she finally takes it.
“Go on. Read it to me.”
“Out loud?”
“Yeah, if you read it, then I’ll be able to hear what I missed and fix it.”
“I’m not sure—“
I grin. “But I am.”
She takes a deep breath, her brow scrunching. “Wha-ish-inguh. Wishing.” She glances up at me, and then back at the notepad. “Huh-ahpping, um, hopping for a guh-l-emp-s-e, um, glimpse?”
A strange feeling washes over me as she continues to read, some words spoken quickly, but the majority sounded out like she’s never read in English before. I know my writing is pretty bad, the normal cursive and print mingling together to form chicken scratch, but how she’s reading… it reminds me of my housekeeper’s five-year-old son.
I take the notepad from her. Bliss meets my gaze, her cheeks pink. “What did you think?” I ask, not wanting to embarrass her further.
“I think you need to find a new muse, because this one can barely read,” she says flatly, her chin tipping up, like she’s daring me to say something incredibly insulting to her. Or she’s protecting herself.
Most likely it’s both, because I have been cruel to her in the not-so-distant past.
I close my eyes, and then open them. I’m such an incredibly selfish asshole, confined to thinking of only my jealousy or my needs. My desire to never be second again. “You didn’t want a college education, did you?”
She gives me a sad smile, and it kicks me right in the gut. “I wanted to learn how to read and do more than addition and subtraction. I hoped in a year or two to get my high school diploma. Cameron said that the program offered a real one, not just a GED.”
“When’s the last time you were in school, Bliss?” I dread her answer.
“I was sixteen. After my school records caught up with me, they stuck me in a remedial class,” she said. “The teachers were nice, but I kinda fell through the cracks. I was too quiet, and they were too busy taking care of behavior problems, so I got left alone a lot.”
I knew people like Bliss existed in this world, had done charities to help the poor and the disadvantaged, but until now, I’d never met someone who’d lived like her. At least Donna and her family had each other, and death benefits to see them through.
“What happened after that?”
“I ran away from the Coreys.”
I swallow. Do I want to know why? Do I want the responsibility of tracking down every asshole who ever hurt her and making their life miserable?
“Where did you go?”
She shrugs. “Away.”
“Bliss.”
“Cole Morgan’s momma let me stay with them for a while, until my last foster parents’ dealer came around looking for me. Then she said I had to leave, because it wasn’t safe for any of us.” She laughs, but it’s without humor. “Drug dealers hate it when their clients don’t pay up, or when their payment doesn’t stay put like a good girl.”
Stay put like a good girl? The sensation of bugs crawling over me light up my nerve endings. “Is he still looking for you?”
“He’s in jail and so are my former foster parents. Their kids are in foster care now,” she says. “I feel bad for their kids but anything’s better than living in that trailer with parents like those.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say right now. Sorry doesn’t cut it, and besides, it would sound trite. Meaningless. So I put us on even ground instead.
“After I turned fourteen, Everett made me his new sparring partner in our gym. Only he didn’t use gloves or head gear.”
Her eyes grow big. “What did your momma do?”
What hadn’t she done? “Once, when I was three, she burned me with a curling iron for playing in her makeup.”
Chapter Eleven
Jackson
Bliss falls into her usual silence, staring at me for the longest time, until I start to get twitchy. I rub the back of my neck, wishing like hell I’d kept my mouth shut and not over-shared.
“We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?” she finally says. “I couldn’t find a family, and your real momma sold you to a family that abused you.”
“How do you know—?”
She drops her gaze, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. “I heard your dad talking on the phone, before I went in for my interview.”
Now that’s not something I want to hear. Yeah, Bliss isn’t blond enough or skinny enough for Everett’s taste, but I used to think Bliss wasn’t my type either. Or at least, that’s what I would tell myself, before I acknowledged the truth. I wanted Bliss then, and I want her now.
It almost makes me physically ill to think that my dad and Bliss could have—“Did he touch you or make you do things to—?”
Her head pops up. “No. The secretary gave him my resume, and he barely looked at it. I was hired on the spot while he talked on the phone.”
“And that’s it?”
Her gaze skitters away, and my heart twists. “Yes.”
“Bliss, if he did something to you… you don’t have to worry about what I’ll think. He has this way about him that makes people want to please him.” I laugh bitterly. “Actually, he’s a fucking bully, and if he looked at you sideways, then I want to know it, so I can beat the shit out of him.”
“I swear on my parents’ graves. Your dad did not touch me, at all. He barely looked at me.”
Pent-up air whooshes from my lungs. Yeah, I was looking for an excuse to pound Everett, but I’m so damn relieved I want to hug Bliss and never let go.
She leans forward, touching my face and getting my attention. “I think we’ve had enough sharing for tonight.” She smiles gently. “It’s three in the morning, and I’m tired.”
I make a move to leave, but her hand grabs my arm. I turn to look at her. Letting go, she scoots over and pats the space beside her. “There’s room for two.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea?”
“I think sleep is an excellent idea.” She tilts her head to the side. “All I want to do is hold you tonight. Can you let me?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
“Sometimes the girl gets to be the hero and save the day.”
I grunt, climbing in beside her as she pulls me to her. I rest my face on her t-shirt-covered chest as she strokes my hair. Her soft breath hits the top of my cheeks and nose. The sound of her heartbeat makes my eyes feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds each.
“Go to sleep, Jackson.” Then she murmurs something in Spanish. The only word I can pick out is angels. “I’ll keep away the nightmares.”
My eyes pop open one last time. “I don’t have nightmares.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Damn straight.”
She makes a small noise, and then begins to hum, way off-key but comforting. Just as I begin to drift away, she stops and says, “Nightmares are nothing compared to the hell we’ve lived through.”
*** *** ***
Bliss
The rain has turned to a soft shower, perfect for sleeping in, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually tested the theory myself, mostly because I’ve never had the chance.
Even when I’d fall asleep in some place safe, I wouldn’t let myself completely give in to exhaustion. There was always the chance that I’d be asked to leave, or the occasionally perv trying to cop a feel.
Jackson stretches beside me, his lean body taking up most of the bed. He rolls on his side, a heavy thigh falling over mine. His arm snakes around my front. The warmth of his body relaxes me once more, and just as my eyes flutter close, I feel his hand on my breast.
My eyes pop open. I watch as that same hand begins to massage my breast, making my nipple tighten. His low voice rumbles in my ear, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
Then his lips are on my neck, and I instinctively press back, my butt coming in contact with his cock. He groans against my skin, his other hand skimming over my thigh. When two of his fingers slip inside my panties, I stiffen, but he resumes his torture of my breast, and I melt against him.
His fingers sift through my curls, and then part me. I moan.
“Wet… damn, you’re soaking wet,” he says at the same time he slips a finger inside of me. My inner muscles clamp down on him, and he tightens his arm around me. “God, I want to be inside you, but I won’t do it. I’ll wait until—”
“When?”
Instead of answering, he slides in another finger, his thumb working at my clit. I can’t speak. He’s doing all the talking—telling me in explicit terms what he wants to do with me and how often.
“You’ll come for me this time, beautiful girl. No one’s here but us.” He bites down on my earlobe and I whimper. “That’s it. So damn beautiful.”
In my next heartbeat, I’m on my back, my shirt is up around my neck, and his mouth is on my nipple, sucking. “Oh God.” My hips jerk, desire and heat twining together, until my entire body is bound by him.
He curls his fingers inside of me, finding a spot that makes me moan so loud that I blush. His hips move against me, his fingers seeking, and his tongue swirling around my nipple.
I grip one of his wide shoulders, and then let my hand travel lower, to the bulge outlined by his boxer briefs, gently grabbing him. “Harder,” he growls. “I’m not soft and delicate like you.”
I grab him, like he wants, and he shoves his fingers deeper inside of me. My back arches, my stomach tightens, until finally, I break free.
“That’s it… give me more,” he says against my skin, before letting his mouth travel lower. I barely have time to register what he’s doing before he licks me, replacing his thumb with his talented tongue.
My head falls back against the pillow. Sparks dance behind my eyelids. The stubble on his face scrapes my inner thigh… and my body rises and falls once more.
“I can’t take it,” I gasp, trying to push his head away, but I’m too weak from the orgasms.
“But you taste so good.” He pulls out his fingers and licks them, like they’re covered in frosting, and he has to get every bit of it off.
“What about you?” I ask. “If you show me what to do, I’ll—”
He rises above me, shucking off boxers and stretching out beside me, before joining our hands together. “Up and down, and over the head,” he instructs.
“Like this?” I push his hand away and
follow the pattern he’d set.
“Hell, yes.”
In no time at all, he’s the one groaning and shaking. It’s his head falling on the pillow, his body bowing, and when I kiss his lips, he goes over the edge.
***
I’m lying in bed with Jackson, drowsy and satisfied.
We haven’t gone any further than what we did earlier. In fact, he hasn’t touched me like that again, but I’m so content right now that I feel like a lazy, fat cat sunning itself. Only Jackson’s the sun warming me and instead of the ground, I’m in a bed softer than marshmallows.
“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, and I look up at him. He places my glasses on my nose and carefully pushes them into place. “Better?”
“This close, I can see everything without them.” I take off the glasses and hand them to him. He sets them to the side and then cocks his head.
“Can you?”
Nodding, I lay my head on his chest again, tracing the outline of one of his tattoos—a skull—that rests on his lower abdomen.
“Tell me more about your really,” I lower my voice, “deep thoughts.”
He digs his fingers into my side and I snort with laughter, wriggling away from him. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.” He pulls me back, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting until we’re eye to eye. “Earlier… we were a bit reckless.”
“You want more than a bit reckless?” I ask, my voice all breathless.
“More than you know, but—”
“Then we’ll be married, and the only way to undo it is a divorce.”
He gives me this look, and I’m half afraid he’ll get up and leave, but it had to be said. I have to know. Pushing me away while simultaneously asking me to stay makes my heart hurt and my head spin.