“Same with me. I’d prefer not to go through the motions of the ball, but my family’s counting on me, and our customers are looking forward to it.” She tipped the pot to pour the steaming chocolate into two mugs. “But I wish I hadn’t agreed to that fairy-tale theme—”
Her words cut off on a gasp. She jerked backward and the pot clunked to the floor, spattering the remainder of the chocolate.
Jackson sprang from his chair and crossed the kitchen in two strides. He caught her arm to steady her. “Charlotte?”
She pulled free from his grip to shove her fingertips into her mouth.
It was easy to put the clues together. “You burned yourself.”
Her shoulders shook as she nodded. “Mmph!”
“Let me take a look,” he said, grasping her wrist.
She popped her fingers from her mouth. “It’s nothing. Really.”
He led her closer to the light over the stove so that he could study her hand. The skin at the tips of her first and second fingers was slightly reddened, but that was all. It didn’t look serious enough to blister. “We’ll run some cold water over the burn,” he said, guiding her to the sink. “That should help.”
She straightened her fingers to hold the tips under the stream of cold water. Although she didn’t appear to be in pain, the trembling in her shoulders spread to her hand.
Concerned, Jackson shut off the water and looked at her face.
Her lips were clamped tightly together, yet the corners of her mouth were twitching uncontrollably. Her eyes were brimming, not with tears but with amusement. The moment she met his gaze, the laughter burst free.
The sound filled the kitchen as easily as sunlight, washing over his bare skin, warming his blood faster than any whiskey could have.
God, how long had it been since he’d heard her laugh like that? It wasn’t elegant or ladylike and wouldn’t belong in her grandmother’s parlor. No, it wasn’t a laugh to go with good manners and tea. It was full-out and honest, a sound that came from her heart. He used to love it.
He still did.
“This,” she said, waving her wet fingers, “this is what I get for even mentioning magic.”
“What?”
“Something seems to go wrong whenever I do.” She looked at the pot. “This is also why I don’t cook.”
He grinned. “Your intentions were good.”
“But not my aim,” she said, her voice breaking as she started into another laugh. She shook her head, pressing her hand over her mouth.
Jackson tugged her hand free. “Don’t stop,” he said. “That laugh is the best thing I’ve heard in years. We both need this.”
“Laugh therapy?”
“Why not?”
“We must be cracking up from stress,” she mumbled. “Spilling chocolate isn’t that funny and I still have to clean the mess.”
“I’ll help you.”
“But it’s all over the cupboards and the floor.”
“Uh-huh. You always were very thorough when you took on a task.”
She gasped for breath and shoved her hair from her forehead. Her laughter subsided to giggles. “That’s me, all right. The Marchand overachiever. I take every disaster seriously.”
He chuckled. “You’ve got some on yourself, too.”
She glanced down at her robe. A cluster of dark droplets spattered the silk over her right breast. “Great. I’ll have to—”
“Allow me.” Jackson licked the pad of his thumb and pressed it over one of the spots.
“Jackson!”
He could hear the caution in her voice, but it didn’t quite drown out the remnants of her laughter. He could feel it quivering through her breast.
The moment could go either way, he thought. It wasn’t too late to drop his hand, step back and shrug this off. No big deal, just one of those things. Keep the mood playful and casual, get a mop, clean the kitchen and get the hell away from her.
But the heat of her skin was making his pulse thud. And less than an inch from the edge of his thumbnail he could see the outline of her nipple. It was swelling as he watched, puckering the pale green silk in a way that no red-blooded man could ignore.
“Jackson?”
He lifted his thumb and spread his fingers, holding his palm a whisper above her breast, not touching anymore yet near enough for him to feel her warmth. “Yes?”
The word hung on the air. It was less a reply than it was a question.
Charlotte met his gaze squarely, her eyes sparkling with the same honesty that had powered her laughter. The aroma of the spilled chocolate drifted around them. The stove element ticked as it cooled. Other than that, the moment stretched out in silence.
Somehow Jackson managed to hold himself motionless in spite of the demands that were surging through his body. He used every shred of self-control he possessed to leave the choice of what happened next up to her.
They both knew she could have easily stepped back.
Instead she leaned forward and pressed herself into his hand.
Charlotte moaned in delight as Jackson closed his fingers around her breast, drowning out the voice of reason that was jabbering in her head. She wasn’t going to listen. This felt too good. Even better than the laughter.
Warmth radiated from Jackson’s palm. The thin robe and the nightgown she wore beneath it presented little barrier to his touch. He explored her slowly, squeezing gently with his fingers, rubbing lightly with the heel of his hand, letting the silk slide over her in a caress of its own. And just as she began to sway, light-headed from the pleasure, he anchored his free arm behind her waist and rolled the tip of his thumb over her nipple.
She shuddered and clutched his shoulders, arching her back in a silent request for more.
He smiled, bringing the hint of a boyish dimple to one cheek and deepening the sexy grooves beside his mouth. He moved his hand to her other breast, treating it to the same thoroughness.
There was familiarity in his touch, yet it was flavored with discovery. It was as if they were doing this for the first time all over again.
Charlotte was surprised that she felt no shyness—it had been a very long time since any man had touched her this way—yet this was Jackson, the person who had once known her better than anyone in the world. It felt more than good, it felt right.
Her lips curved with anticipation as she slid her hands down his arms. She lingered over the lean ridges of his biceps, reveling in the fine tremor that followed her touch. She’d been wanting to touch him since she’d walked into the room and seen him standing beside the window. Hadn’t he realized how appealing he looked with his hair in a tangle and his feet bare and those jeans riding low on his hips? His chest was magnificent, broad and taut and perfectly tapered. She splayed her fingers in the center, enjoying the crisp hair that sprang back against her hands.
Not for one second did she confuse him with a boy—she was exceedingly grateful that he was all grown up. Smiling, she followed the dark line that led to his navel. It was only then that she realized he hadn’t fastened the stud on the waistband of his jeans.
She focused on the open stud and then the naked skin and hint of black hair that showed behind it. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Her gaze dropped lower. Heat rushed to her cheeks, her belly and her thighs.
He cupped the back of her neck. “Charlotte?”
She looked up. Tension hardened his jaw. At the base of his throat she could see his pulse racing.
It was another moment when things could go either way. It still wasn’t too late. Going further wasn’t smart. It was crazy. Pointless.
But as she already knew, there had never been anything logical about their relationship, had there? Moistening her lips, she hooked her fingers in his waistband.
His breathing changed, growing ragged. Frank arousal shone in his eyes as he gave her a smile that sent a thrill clear down to her toes. Holding her gaze, he eased her back over his arm. Then he lowered his head and licked the drops of chocolate from
her robe.
If it had started as a game, it wasn’t one now. She could feel his tongue through the silk. The moistened fabric clung to her skin as he moved his mouth over her, increasing the friction, heightening the sensation in a way that was more erotic than if she’d been naked. He took his time, working his way to her throat and the special spot beneath the corner of her jaw where his kiss used to make her shudder.
It still did. Within minutes she was shaking with need. She dug her nails into his back, her breath coming in sharp bursts. “Jackson…” She tunneled her fingers into his hair and lifted his head. “Jackson, please.”
He straightened up, pulled her with him and answered her plea with a kiss. It was unlike any they’d shared before. There was nothing tentative or gentle about it. Hard and hot, he stroked his tongue against hers and clamped his hand on her buttocks. Fitting her to his body, he slipped his leg between her thighs, triggering a response that took the strength from her knees. Before she could fall, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor and backed her across the room.
Her shoulders hit the wall beside the doorway, driving her body into his with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Trembling, she reached down to grab her robe and her nightgown and yanked the fabric up to her waist. A zipper rasped. Denim slid against her most sensitive skin. Jackson shifted to brace his legs apart and held her against the wall with the weight of his body. Straining, breathless, she tilted her hips to meet him.
This was like nothing they’d shared before either. It was wild and raw, sex at its most basic. Instinct took over as she matched his rhythm stroke for stroke, savoring his thrusts and reveling in his strength. Passion built past the point of reason….
Charlotte never realized when she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the magic.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE AWOKE TO THE smell of coffee. Charlotte opened one eye groggily and squinted at the steaming mug that sat on the trunk beside her bed. Her eyelids felt stiff. So did every joint in her body. She couldn’t remember fixing coffee already. She must have fallen back to sleep again. Maybe it was time to cut back on the caffeine. Or at least get a new mattress.
“Good morning, Charlie.”
Her eyes flew open. “Jackson?”
The mattress dipped, rolling her onto her back. Jackson knelt beside her hip and smiled. “How are you feeling?”
She was never at her best when she first woke up, but the fuzziness of her brain now wasn’t due to the time of day, it was because of Jackson. The sight of a man like that in her bedroom would muddle any woman’s mind.
His hair was wet, combed back from his forehead and firmly in place for a change. The skin on his jaw had the unique gleam that followed a fresh shave. He’d put on his pants, but his shirt was still unbuttoned, the sides hanging loose against his chest. The scent of soap and warm early-morning male drifted through her senses. It was far more stimulating than coffee.
She groaned and put her forearm over her eyes. She needed time to think.
Bedsprings creaked and the blanket pulled tight across her chest as he stretched out on the covers beside her. “I’m not going to apologize.”
“Jackson—”
“Not about what we did, anyway. I feel too good this morning to pretend that I’m sorry. But as far as the way we did it…” He paused. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
The stiffness in her body wasn’t her only discomfort. She was tender in the most personal places.
Yet overall she had nothing to complain about physically. In fact, she couldn’t remember waking up with such a total feeling of well-being. The sex had been wonderful. Actually it had been better than she’d believed was possible. For her, anyway. She lifted her arm from her eyes and turned her head to look at Jackson.
It had been twelve years since she’d lived with a man. Much longer than that since she’d slept with one. By the end of her marriage, she and Adrian had shared little more than a few stilted conversations over breakfast and their daily ride to work.
Yet even in the early days with Adrian she hadn’t enjoyed sex. She’d been convinced the fault had been hers, an assumption he’d been quick to reinforce. That was one of the main reasons she’d grown to believe she wasn’t suited to marriage.
Yet the satisfaction she’d experienced last night with Jackson had been bone-deep and indisputable. “I’m fine,” she said.
“I might have been overenthusiastic.”
Oh, yes, he’d been enthusiastic—she could feel the twinge of bruises from hitting the wall to prove it. The kitchen wall. It was a good thing he’d carried her to the bed afterward, since he’d melted her knees. Her cheeks heated, but she refused to be embarrassed. She’d been a willing participant in that wild ride. “We both were, Jackson.”
He folded his arm under his cheek and picked up a lock of her hair from the pillow. “Don’t regret what we did, Charlotte,” he murmured.
“It was dumb.”
“Why?”
“Do I really need to spell it out? I thought we agreed we were just friends. That’s all we can be. We have different goals and different lives. Nothing has changed.”
He wound her hair around his finger. “It doesn’t have to.”
“But—”
“Hear me out. I’ve been thinking about this. We know who we are and we know our priorities. Sleeping together doesn’t change any of that, does it?”
“Of course not.”
“Be honest, Charlotte.” He stroked her cheek with the ends of her hair. “You wanted to have sex with me, didn’t you?”
She moved her head to brush a kiss across his fingers. “Yes, Jackson, but—”
“And you feel better this morning than if we hadn’t had sex, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” he said, pressing his index finger to her lips. “This isn’t complicated. With the pressure we’ve both been under, we needed a release like this.”
Maybe it was because her brain still wasn’t functioning at full gear, but she couldn’t think of a way to dispute that. “You’re making it sound as if it wasn’t dumb.”
“I’m just trying to be logical.”
“It’s hard to be logical when we’re having this conversation in bed.”
“I can’t think of a better place to have it.” He moved his finger from her lips to her neck, then traced his way along her jaw to the base of her ear. “We’re two consenting adults with some exceptional physical chemistry. Why shouldn’t we relax and enjoy what we’ve got?”
Once again she couldn’t think of a reason to protest. Being responsible and sensible had never left her feeling this good.
So why shouldn’t they enjoy themselves? He was right. Maybe she had been making this too complicated. She and Jackson were adults, not idealistic kids with false expectations. That’s what had led to the pain in the past. It was different now. They knew what they both wanted and they were being realistic. What harm would there be….
Oh, she couldn’t think when he touched her like that. She trailed her hand along his arm. “As long as we’re clear that what happened was just sex.”
He pressed closer and slid his leg over hers. “Well, it wasn’t just sex.”
“No?”
“It was curl-your-toes-and-singe-your-eyebrows sex.”
She laughed. “We’re certainly better at it than we used to be.”
He dropped his forehead against her shoulder. “In my defense, I was just a horny teenager. I didn’t know what I was doing back then.”
She laid her cheek against his damp hair, engulfed by a wave of memories. She and Jackson had lost their virginity together. In spite of all the hand-holding and necking they had done when they’d dated, she’d been a good girl, so she’d made him wait until after they had graduated high school before she’d agreed to go “all the way.”
It hadn’t been the romantic rapture she’d expected. They’d been too young and naive to know what they were doing
. Their first encounter had been on a stack of blankets in the back of his father’s delivery van. It had been furtive, painful and a crashing disappointment. The subsequent attempts had embarrassed him and frustrated her. But before they’d found the opportunity to practice, he’d gone off to college. Still trying to cling to her fantasy of romance, she had decided to save any further intimacy for their wedding night.
Of course, as it had turned out, she hadn’t ended up marrying Jackson. But her response to physical intimacy had never gotten much better. It was only natural that she would assume the problem lay with her.
She stroked his back, spreading her fingers as she followed the ridges of his shoulder blades. “Neither of us knew what we were doing back then, Jackson.”
“But we do now.”
Was that what made the difference? Were they simply more skilled? More likely it was because of all the stress they’d been under recently, just as he’d said.
They had both really, really needed this.
Something that felt suspiciously like a giggle rose in her throat. “I suppose.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “You suppose? Want to see the scratches you gave me?”
Smiling, she reached up to push back the hair that had fallen over his forehead—once it dried, there would be no keeping it in place. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
He touched his fingertips to the corner of her mouth. “No, that smile speaks for itself.”
“Uh-huh.” She licked the side of his finger. “And what does it say?”
“Hang on, I’d better get a second opinion.” He grasped the edge of the sheet and eased it downward, then whistled softly at what he’d revealed. “Why, Miss Charlotte, I do believe you’re shouting.”
She stretched her arms over her head, luxuriating in his regard. She still hadn’t touched her coffee, yet her body was awakening at a record pace.
He stroked his knuckle along the underside of her breast. “You’ve grown, you know.”
“Have I?”
“Oh, yeah. Ripened. Filled out. You’re a beautiful woman, Charlie.”
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