by Sey, Susan
“Do what?” she asked lightly. “Marry the man I love? The man who loves me? Who enjoys keeping me happy and can afford to do it with style?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s really taking one for the team, Addy.”
“It is if you don’t really love him.”
“Well I do, so stop worrying.” She slipped her hand from Addy’s and rose.
“I can’t help it.” Addy stood, too, and wrapped her arms around Georgie’s rail-thin torso in a fierce hug. “You’re the little sister I never had.”
Georgie patted her hair with fond exasperation. “You’re, like, two years younger than I am, Addison.”
“I know but you were Diego’s little sister. It translated. I can’t undo it now.”
“Oh, fine.”
Addy drew back but kept Georgie’s elbows in her hands. Kept her close. “I know things are weird right now but you Davises are the family I never had. I’m always going to take care of you.”
Georgie leaned forward and put a smacking kiss right in the middle of Addy’s forehead. “Honey. You can’t even take care of your hair.”
Addy touched her head and winced. “Oh. Yeah. That’s been a problem today.”
Georgie laughed. “Try every day.”
“I’m serious about this marriage thing, Georgie.”
“I am, too. Which is why I’m going to call Peter right now.” She smiled again, the sleek smile of a woman confident of her man. “He’s left me about twelve messages. Heard about the fire, probably. He’s sweet to worry, isn’t he?” She drifted toward the door, then paused with one hand on the jamb to eye Addy’s suitcase. “Where are you going to stay tonight?”
Addy’s lungs went dry and dusty. For the first time in four years, she didn’t know where she was sleeping. She didn’t know where home was. She forced her lips into a breezy curve. “I’ll figure something out.”
Georgie only laughed. “I doubt you’ll need to.”
Ten minutes later, Addy was in her little Honda following Jax’s tail lights down the bluffs. The mini-pumper had a backdraft like a planet had gravitational pull. She barely had to steer, let alone touch the gas. And if there were other parallels there — like the way Jax had taken uncontested custody of both Addy and her suitcase — she wasn’t going to think about it too much right now. She was too desperately relieved not to be spending the night in a hotel.
Because Addy hated hotels. Hated every impersonal, generic bit of them, from the bland art to the weird smell to the polyester comforters that were an insult to their very name. Those comforters weren’t even remotely comforting, and Addy ought to know. When her mom had launched her own consulting agency, none of the assignments that first year had been long enough to justify even a rental house. In Addy’s memory, third grade was still nothing but a queasy blur of new schools, hostile strangers and stiff hotel blankets.
So when Jax had taken the suitcase out of her hands and informed her that his guest room was hers until further notice, she hadn’t argued. First, she was too pathetically grateful. But second, she’d been too darn shocked. He’d spent four long years politely but firmly rejecting her efforts to be his family, but all of a sudden he was hers? Had he just been waiting for her to need him? She’d have to ask him sometime. She would, too. Just as soon as she regained the powers of speech she’d lost when Jax had turned to his mother and delivered this parting shot: “When you’re ready to apologize, give us a call.”
Bianca had pointed her nose to the ceiling and sailed grandly up the stairs. Georgie had rolled her eyes and seen them to the door where she’d given Jax a quick hug and sent Addy a knowing smirk over his shoulder.
The bluffs eventually gave way to coastal flats and Addy followed the mini-pumper through the sparse few blocks of town. Jax turned right on Second, angling away from the lake toward the fire station. A couple of blocks later, he pulled the mini-pumper into the station garage. Addy pulled into his driveway across the street.
A blast of icy wind shoved the clouds aside, revealing a brilliantly full moon just as Addy’s feet hit the pavement. In spite of the cold, she paused, shivering, to study Jax’s house in the moonlight. It was a neat white two-story, the yard tiny but well kept. Of course it was. Because this was Jax, and yards didn’t go untended in his universe any more than banished sisters-in-law went unclaimed. She’d bet her laptop that the cute blue screen door on that jewel-box of a sun porch didn’t squeak either.
She retrieved her suitcase from the trunk and headed for the front steps. Jax hadn’t crossed the street yet but she doubted the house was locked. Nobody locked up in Devil’s Kettle. Nobody but Addy, and it was just one more thing that marked her as an outsider.
She let herself into Jax’s porch through the screen door (which didn’t squeak) and headed for the main door. She tried the knob and frowned. Locked? Then the screen door opened behind her and suddenly the porch was full of Jax. Smoke and soap, safety and warmth. She stood there, blinking at him stupidly. He held up his keys and nudged her away from the knob.
“You locked your door,” she said.
“Of course I did.” He threw her a quizzical glance over his shoulder while he dealt with the locks. “Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
The door swung open. He picked up her suitcase, took her elbow and drew her inside. He hit the light switch and she found herself surrounded by old, lovingly polished wood and leaded glass side lights. A thick, beautifully carved newel post anchored the staircase. The foyer was small by Hill Top House standards — well, by modern standards, probably — but it didn’t feel small to Addy. It felt...snug. The kind of snug that made her want to sit down right there on the stairs and soak up all the cozy.
“But what?” he asked, and deposited her suitcase on the landing.
“But I’m not from here.” She studied him carefully. “You are.”
“Which is exactly why I lock up. An unlocked door is an invitation around here, especially to the family. I didn’t lock up, Matty would adopt my fridge as his own and I’d have a Georgie-shaped divot in my couch.” He paused to frown. “If I even kept a couch long enough for her to make a divot, which is unlikely given how often Mom would buy me new ones. And I actually like my couch. So, yeah, I lock up.” He took her arm again, drew her through an arched entry way into the living room. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
Chapter 17
HE FLIPPED THE wall switch in the living room and banished the moonlight. It was too romantic and Jax was aware that now wasn’t exactly the time to press his suit. Not when Addy was still blinking those big Bambi eyes like a bomb had gone off in her face. Which it sort of had, actually. A bomb they both loved. A bomb he called Mom.
The anger in his gut grumbled ominously but he ignored it. Not as easily as usual, but he ignored it. If self-control was an art, Jax had mastered it years ago. He’d never been an honor-roll student but he was bright enough when it mattered. And since his mom mattered and always would, he’d figured her out. Bianca had a hair-trigger temper, but if you kept your cool, she blew out as fast as she blew up. But if you blew up when she did, holy hell, there went the neighborhood. The situation blazed inevitably out of control and shit burned down that should’ve been sacred. So the key to familial harmony — the key to familial survival — was to keep your damn temper. Even when the adults were losing theirs.
So he had. He did. No matter what crazy-ass stunt Bianca pulled, he never shouted. He never engaged. He never fought fire with fire. He put fires out, for God’s sake. It was his job. But then his mother had kicked Addy out of the house — out of her home — knowing full well what home meant to her. Bianca had been absolutely aware that it was the cruelest, most lethal blow she could deliver. And she’d enjoyed delivering it. Jax had seen that in her face. She’d enjoyed watching Addy’s hollow shock melt into staggering pain. Such was the power of that temper of hers. She wasn’t a cruel woman, not generally, but her better angels were no match for her rage. She knew this
about herself as well as Jax did.
What she’d never understood, however, was that the wounds she inflicted while lost to fury didn’t disappear along with the fury. They stayed. They scarred. She knew exactly how deeply she’d wounded Addy tonight, and in the moment, she’d been glad. Tomorrow morning, she’d regret those words with everything in her. But she’d expect Addy to forgive her.
Addy probably would, too.
The rage in his gut grumbled again, and he breathed until it subsided. He focused instead on the sight of Addy, here in his house. He’d imagined her here so many times. The fact of her here now, even under these circumstances, was grounding. Gratifying. He sank down on the arm of his big leather couch, tossed a boot onto the banged up steamer trunk that served as his coffee table and leaned back against the windowsill to watch her. She circled the room slowly, stopping at the far end to inspect the built-in bookshelves that hugged the doorway to the kitchen. She bent to read a few of the titles, her manners so ingrained that — even reeling with pain — she could exhibit polite curiosity about his collection of worn paperbacks and grease-spotted repair manuals.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“Of your house?”
“Yeah.”
Her gaze drifted around the room, touched on the couch, the man-sized TV on the wall opposite, the trunk under his boots. “I like it.”
“Yeah? Why?”
She ran her finger down a row of second-hand thrillers, stopped at the framed photo serving as a bookend. It was of him and Diego goofing around at Granny Nan’s old place — a twelve-year-old Diego pretending to get dramatically sucked into the Kettle while a thirteen-year-old Jax fought heroically to pull him back out. Georgie had taken it during her maybe I’m a photographer phase, playing with perspective to make it look like they’d been right on top of the Kettle while they’d actually been half a football field away. Addy smiled, a wispy ghost of her usual high-wattage charmer. “It’s very you.”
“Ah.” He suppressed a wince. What had he expected? “Thanks.”
She finally turned her back on the bookshelves and pointed at the steamer trunk. “Did you haul that out of a fire?”
“Yeah. House fire. Two Harbors.” He glanced at the singe marks and missing corners he hadn’t noticed in years. He leaned forward for a good sniff. “It doesn’t still smell like smoke, does it?”
She smiled again, managed it a little better this time. “No. I like it. In fact—” She wandered over, sank onto the other arm of the couch to give the trunk a better study. “I like it a lot. It looks like one of those old guys you find in dark little bars. That kind that’ll tell you stories all night if you keep the beer coming.”
“Exactly.” He nodded with satisfaction and his self-consciousness evaporated. He loved that damn trunk. Loved the way fire had nibbled at the thing, put miles and mystery on it. His own roots were deep and certain but he liked that little piece of the exotic in his living room. And Addy got that. Which meant that she got him, too. At least on some level.
And that was encouraging enough for one night.
“Kitchen’s through there,” he said and nodded toward the door snuggled inside his wall of bookshelves. “You can see it in the morning.” He rose to his feet. “Come on. It’s bedtime.”
“Oh.” She blinked and looked down. “Ah, Jax—”
“Easy, Addison. You get your own bed.”
“For goodness’ sake.” She flushed and smoothed down a particularly boingy curl. “I didn’t mean—”
“—that I’m the kind of guy who’d rescue you from a shitty situation then expect sex as repayment?” He gave that a beat of damning silence. “Of course you didn’t.” He circled the trunk and slid a hand into the crook of her elbow. That mint-and-sunshine smell of hers drifted to his nose, along with the crisp scent of cold lake air. He wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her. Keep her until she wasn’t afraid any more. Until nothing hurt, and never would again. He settled for pulling her to her feet and stepping carefully back, hands up and open. “I’m a grown man, Addy. A kiss is nothing but a kiss. I know it doesn’t give me license to take whatever else I might or might not want. Plus you’ve had one hell of a night. I’m not going to jump you.”
“Pete’s sake.” She closed her eyes and let out a breath so long and weary that Jax had to wonder exactly how long she’d been holding it. “I didn’t think you were going to jump me.”
“Well, of course I’m not.” He nudged her toward the foyer. “Not right now, anyway.”
There was a startled little hitch in her step. “Not right—” She shot him a wary glance. “What about later?”
“Well, gosh, Addy, I just don’t know.” They hit the landing and he scooped up her bag. “I mean, I like you and all but when it comes to jumping folks, I expect a good, lively tussle.”
“Lively.” She eyed him skeptically.
“Yep.” He started up the stairs, smiled when he heard her follow. “Energetic.” He hit the top of the stairs and pushed open the door on the left. “Creative, even.”
“Creative?”
He hit the switch and golden light spilled from the bedside lamp. It rolled softly across the hand-stitched, locally made quilt he’d bought at the Gilded Fish a few years back in a fit of home town pride. He’d eventually thrown it on his guest bed because his goose-down duvet was a good sight warmer than even his love for Devil’s Kettle.
“Oh, yeah.” He set her suitcase inside the door and straightened to pat her shoulder sympathetically. “Frankly, I don’t think you’ve got it in you at the moment.”
“Hmm.” But he liked the way she eyed him, half wary, half amused.
“Not for what I have in mind.”
“You have something—” She stopped, startled. He didn’t know if he liked that, or if it pissed him off. Because a woman like Addy should be used to being wanted. She should understand what those dimples of hers did to a man, should be able to deploy them like the weapons-grade asset they were. She should not be shocked into sentence fragments by a little flirty innuendo.
“In mind? Oh, yeah.” She had no idea what he had in mind. Neither did he. Not exactly. He’d definitely be giving it some thought, though. “Just not for tonight.”
“I see,” she said faintly.
“Good.” He leaned against the doorjamb, hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall. I’m right across, in case you need anything.” He gave her a purposefully wicked smile. “Anything at all.”
She blinked, startled again, then suddenly, she laughed. Just gave an exasperated crack of laughter that showed him those dimples he couldn’t resist. It struck him like lightning, the urge to touch her. To inhale the heat and sweetness of her. Need flashed up inside him — fast, startling, and impossible to resist.
So he didn’t.
He cupped a hand around her nape and lifted her into his mouth. Just pulled her right in without so much as a do-you-mind. Shock ripped through the want — kissing Addy was still a vicious jolt to his system. It threaded brightly through the dark need, rippled over every inch of his skin while the scent of her wrapped around him. Clean, sunny woman with a little mint and smoke thrown in for good measure.
Smoke. The carriage house fire still clung to her hair and a wisp of remembered terror floated through his gut. It tangled with the heat curling there, and pushed it higher. Because she could’ve died tonight. He could’ve lost her. It was a gift, then — this moment, this kiss, this permission. He wouldn’t waste a second of it.
Her mouth was open and startled under his and he took deliberate advantage, stroking his tongue lightly over the plump inner curve of her bottom lip. God, he liked that little bit of her. So secret and warm and delicious. She gave a funny sigh, and holy hell, did her knees just give out a little? It was a subtle thing — her skull sinking just a little deeper into the cradle of his palm, her spine melting just a smidge inside the circle of his arm. But he stopped wondering bec
ause suddenly he realized that her lips had softened under his, they clung and answered and asked. Addy had joined the game.
A fierce satisfaction rose up inside him, crashed into the raging want and sent it roaring into the sky like a house fire. He clamped down on it with every ounce of his considerable self-control. He slid a slow palm up the lovely long line of her back, threaded his fingers into the riot of her curls and gave himself three more heartbeats to sink into the wonder of her kiss. Into the wonder of her kissing him. Three more seconds to live inside that happy little miracle.
Then he pulled back. Everything in him howled in protest but he set her away from him. Were his hands shaking? He didn’t know. He kept them clamped around her upper arms, just in case they were. Or in case he lost his mind and put them somewhere more interesting. She blinked up at him, her eyes huge and green and gratifyingly vague.
He said, “Goodnight.”
“What?”
“Goodnight, Addison.” He managed to let her go and even put a few feet between their bodies. Every inch hurt him, but it was the right move. She was in no shape to deal with whatever the hell had just caught fire between them. He didn’t know if he was. Jesus.
Her pretty mouth dropped open. “Goodnight?”
He paused in his own doorjamb to give her a respectful nod. “Sleep tight now.”
“Sleep tight?”
He clicked the door shut on her disbelief, then put his back against it and breathed. Just breathed, because his heart was trying to jackhammer its way out of his chest. Each beat sent punishing waves of lust crashing through his system, along with a trembling, almost frightening knowledge.
First kisses were fine. He liked them a lot, actually. The shock and surprise, the risk and the rush? Nothing better. But if first kisses were fireworks, second kisses were verdicts. Strip away the adrenaline and the novelty, and all you had left was chemistry. A second kiss told you if you should pursue a third. So, yeah, Jax liked a first kiss just fine, but he paid attention to the second one. It was probably why he hadn’t been able to resist kissing Addy goodnight. Their first kiss had all but leveled him. His nervous system had still been billowing smoke and yelping out alarms hours later. How much of that had been first kiss stuff, though? How much of it would carry over to the second? The third? How much had been surprise, and how much had been reliably reproducible chemistry?
