Chapter Three
Rule #2: Always leave him wanting more of you. Limit how often you see him.
Spend as much time together as possible.
Even though I was standing in my kitchen, I wasn’t being allowed to do much. That’s because after fucking me senseless and then showering with me, Jackson insisted on cooking breakfast for us, saying, “You’ll get plenty of opportunities to cater to my every whim, woman, but for now you’ll sit and eat my omelet. Best thing you’ve ever tasted. For breakfast, that is.”
He was right. It was absolutely the most scrumptious one I’ve ever had. Especially when he came over and nibbled the small drizzle of cheese off my chin.
He also insisted on cleaning up as I continued to sit there, absorbing his presence in my space. Wearing only his jeans, Jackson was barefoot and bare-chested in my kitchen, cooking for me.
Gorgeous.
While he was preparing our food, he told me how he used to watch his mom, grandmother, sister and cousins at the stove when he was a kid, the only boy raised in a family of women. His father had taken off when he was still a toddler, but he mentioned it in passing, not seeming to be haunted by it. And as much as the women of his family doted on him, they still insisted he learn to cook and clean, and do his own laundry.
“They didn’t take shit from any man and weren’t going to start with me.” He chuckled while shaking his head.
I smiled and said nothing.
He noticed. Even though he really didn’t know me, he noticed my quiet.
Jackson leaned his weight on one of his hands on the counter, sipping his coffee and watching me for a minute. “What’s up, babe?”
I let out a sigh and drew my knees up to my chest while sitting on the bar chair by the kitchen island. “I don’t know…you’re not what I expected.”
He looked bemused by my comment. “And what were you expecting?”
My gaze drifted off and then returned to him. “Well, I’ve never had a one-night stand before, but I thought it would be, well, more like wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.”
The mood in the room shifted lightning fast, and his stare seared through me. He put down his coffee mug, leaned on the counter with both palms flat on the surface. He gazed at me intently and said in a voice just above a whisper, “Is that what this is, Lauren? Is that what you were looking for last night?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I wasn’t looking for anything, really. Like I said before, you’re unexpected.”
He straightened his torso, came around and caged me between him and the kitchen island. Both arms pressed closely against mine as he gripped the ledge behind me. He got within a couple of inches of my face, looking at me as if I were still a puzzle he needed to piece together.
“What do you do for work, Lauren?”
That was not the question I thought he was going to ask me just then.
“What does my job have to do with—”
He interrupted. “Just answer me, babe.”
I paused, feeling off balance and perplexed, but I decided to go with it anyway.
“I’m a mural artist for an interior design firm.”
He nodded. “Long hours? Travel?”
“Um, yeah, sometimes. Why?”
“Got family in the area? Friends?”
I blinked, a couple of times. “No family in town. They’re all back in Asheville, but yes, I have friends.”
“Kids?”
“Jackson, why the twenty quest—”
“Answer me, Lauren.”
“No, Jackson. No kids, not even a dog, cat or fish. I’m not home a lot.”
He nodded in response, still looking earnest. “I own the bar with a couple of partners. I also flip houses and have a bunch of rental properties I manage as well. I have a group of guys that I hang and ride with, and a shitload of family in Maryland.”
I scooted back on the stool a bit, although with his iron grip I didn’t have a lot of room for the maneuver. “Are you part of an MC?” I perused the tattoos on his ripped chest.
“Uh, no. Got nothing against ’em. Hell, my bar thrives because I’m biker friendly. But I’m not a joiner and I’ve got more family than I know what to do with,” he replied while suppressing a laugh. “Gotta ask, babe…what do you know about MCs anyway?”
“Except for what I’ve read in romance novels? Nothing. But I can tell you that the whole hot biker guy in a kick-ass motorcycle club is a very hot subgenre.”
He threw back his head and laughed, filling the air with his delicious sound. Jesus, everything about him was pure male. I felt dizzy just from the sight and scent of him and I was still sitting down.
“Well, my friends get rowdy, but probably nothing compared to your books.” He gave me a squeeze. “My point is, you’ve got a life. I’ve got a life. I’ve done one-night stands and I’ve been settled, and while it’s too soon to know what this is, I like what I see so far, so you need to understand now that this is not a one-night stand.”
I opened up my mouth to answer him, but he shook his head and kept going.
“You need to know that when I’m into someone, I want their time. A lot of it. I’m intense and don’t do shit halfway. If you’re one of those women who’s more into the drama of being dicked around than being in something real, then I’m not your man. Doesn’t mean I can’t be an asshole, cuz I can. But I won’t bullshit you, and I expect for you not to bullshit me. Got it?”
My brain was definitely spinning at this point, so much so that I gripped the seat of my chair and closed my eyes for a second to center myself. When I opened them again, Jackson hadn’t moved, hadn’t even twitched. He just continued to give me his heated focus, and I knew this was not the time to retreat into myself, something I was fully aware I tended to do when confronted. Yet, I have to admit, I found everything about Jackson Sullivan to be breathtaking: his dark looks, his scent, his voice, his laugh. The way he fucked, the manner in which he held himself, and yes, his in-my-face honesty.
I licked my lips and he hungrily watched me do it. My eyes and smile got lazy, and I felt a warm sensation bloom between my legs just from looking at him.
“Oh yeah. I got it, Jackson.”
“Fuck yeah you do, Lauren,” he growled and then slammed his mouth onto mine in less of a kiss than a claim. My heart leaped into my throat, and I gasped while returning all his fervor with my tongue and lips and breath. I dug my fingernails into his sides and pulled him closer to me, causing him to growl even louder into my throat.
Suddenly, he broke the spell and the kiss. “Fuck, we’ll never get going if we keep this up.”
My eyes widened. “Get going? Wha— Where are we going?”
He practically yanked me off the stool and pulled me back to my bedroom.
“Where do you keep an overnight bag?” he asked while letting go of my hand and heading into my walk-in closet. I just stood there, feeling like I was in the midst of whiplash.
“Why do I need a bag? Jackson, stop for a sec!”
He peeked his head out of the closet. “Babe, what?”
I placed my hands on my hips, feeling both exhilarated and exasperated at the same time. “What are you talking about? You’re going a million miles an hour in that head of yours and I’m not yet certified in mind reading!” Then I got pissed off. “And why are you assuming I can stop everything and go with you, especially after you said you understood I have a life?”
He crossed his arms and leaned his broad, beautiful shoulder against the doorjamb. His left eyebrow was raised and his head tilted slightly to the side. Jackson looked like the cat ready to play with the mouse before swallowing it whole. Totally hot and annoying at the same time.
“It’s New Year’s Day, Lauren. Think it’s safe to assume you’re not working today. We’ve also got the weekend starting tomorrow, so we’re going away f
or a few days.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against my dresser across the room. While there was no fooling myself that I loved an alpha man, I was also no pushover. I felt like whatever was happening now would set the tone for whatever this was going to be. Okay, so he didn’t want a one-night stand. Good to know. But going away together? That was, like, a relationship.
I also have to admit that I had my mother’s rules in my head and didn’t want to appear as if I had nothing to do but wait for a man to offer a plan. But then I remembered that Jackson was supposed to be my last bad-boy fling. He’d stated point-blank he wasn’t into bullshit games, and I was still trying to process what I wanted out of this. I’d gotten so caught up in Jackson’s declarations earlier—along with that sexy mouth of his—that I hadn’t considered what I wanted to happen here.
Should I ask him to leave, keeping this a true one-nighter? Or should I see where this would lead, only to discover a few weeks or months from now that he was probably all wrong for me?
Drinking in the sight of him and recalling everything he said, I knew I didn’t want him walking out that door. I also knew, deep down, I hated the idea of playing games and having to follow Mama’s rules to find my man for life, if there even was such a thing for me.
I let out a deeply held sigh. “No, I don’t have work today, and it’s also true that I don’t have plans because I thought I was going away with Keith.”
The corner of his mouth curved up into a lopsided smile. “So then quit the drama and let’s take advantage of your time off.”
I expelled my breath in a huff this time. “It’s just that I don’t want you assuming I’ve got nothing happening. Just ask me, okay?”
He walked over to me and rubbed the palms of his hands up and down my arms, soothing me. “That’s not what has you all worked up. What is it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know me well enough to make those kinds of assumptions.”
He regarded me for a minute, but I could tell by his expression he wasn’t going to be deterred. “Maybe. But I can take one look at you and see a whirlwind going on. So what else is it?”
I opened my eyes and absorbed all that was Jackson. “No bullshit, right?”
His lips twitched slightly. “Yeah, baby. No bullshit.”
“I don’t want whatever this is between us to end today, but I don’t think we’re looking for the same things beyond that. And I’ve made a resolution to myself—a New Year’s resolution I intend to keep—that I’m going to get serious about my future, and hanging with a sexy-as-hell biker guy doesn’t exactly line up with that plan.”
He offered me a warm smile, one that singed a brushfire straight through me. My instincts were telling me he wasn’t just sex and leather. Maybe I owed him more than a stereotyped assumption?
“So I’m gathering from what you just said that, in your head, sexy is the same as unstable?”
“In my experience? Yes.”
His eyes twinkled with a glint that made me feel both warm as in comforted and hot as in turned on at the same time. How the hell did he do that?
“So, am I safe in assuming you want the stable nine-to-five guy who wears a tie, so you can have your two kids, surrounded by a white picket fence?”
I examined his face but saw there was no judgment in his expression or reproach in his tone. He was just asking, and the minute I started picturing what he described, I saw my sisters and their husbands in their suburban homes with my adorable nieces and nephews.
I also felt a wave of panic tighten my throat, not about the house or the kids, but the idea of choosing the wrong guy, someone who didn’t really get me. I was terrified I’d end up with someone similar to my family, who, in spite of loving me to distraction, was always trying to place me into a box of their own making and understanding. A box where my career as an artist would be relegated to a footnote in my story.
“Jesus, I don’t know.” I was looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve spent my adult life bouncing around, and I’m trying to settle and build something long-term, and I love my work and my house and my life. I’d love to find someone to be part of that in a real way. But when you ask me about guys in ties and white picket fences, I don’t know how my life as an artist could fit into that, and I start to feel like I’m drowning.” I stopped when I realized I was ranting like a crazy woman.
“Breathe, baby,” he said to me in a low, soothing voice while stroking my hair.
I chuckled to myself and met his eyes. “I sound like a hot mess, don’t I?”
“Not at all.” He offered me another warm smile that melted away my jitters and angst. “You let it all hang out, and that’s goddamn refreshing.” Then he cradled my face in both his hands and gave me a deep, wet kiss that shot a rocket of desire between my legs. He pressed me against the dresser while his hands stroked down my back, pushing me deeper into his embrace. Just as I was thinking that talking was done and fucking me was getting started, he broke the kiss but kept me tight in his grasp. “Lots of different ways to build a life with someone, Lauren. As long as what it is works for those two people, it doesn’t have to be what everyone else expects.”
I started to respond, but again, he shook his head to let me know he wasn’t done.
“If we don’t cut this off now, I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking you again. So pack a bag, because after I get Charlie set up, I want to take you to one of my favorite places.” He broke away from me and went back to my closet, which was followed by him throwing my overnight bag onto the bed. “Get moving, Lauren. Want you under me again before dark.”
That last comment made my whole body shiver. But then I played back what he said and stilled. Was Charlie his kid? Did he have kids? Fuck, was he married?
“Are you married, Jackson?”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “No, I’m not married. Why the fuck would you think that?”
I ignored his tone. “Kids?”
“Nope. None that I know of.” He smirked.
Smartass.
I shook my head, feeling annoyed over his amusement. “That’s cute, Jackson. Got a criminal record?”
He burst out a laugh. “Nothing worth bragging about.”
My face fell.
“I’m shitting you, Lauren. No, I’m not married, I’m not fucking anyone else, and I don’t have a record. And I pay my taxes, even though it pisses me off, and there are no dead bodies in my basement.”
“I’m glad this is funny to you,” I drawled. “But I can’t go away with someone I don’t know.”
He gave a deep chuckle, probably over my inability to keep up with whatever plan he had in mind. “Considering I’ve had the pleasure of fucking both your mouth and that sweet, tight pussy of yours, think you can get past us ‘just meeting’ last night,” he said while putting on his shirt and boots.
“Ever been married?” I asked.
His smile dropped and he furrowed his brow. “You ever been married?”
“No, no I haven’t, Jackson.”
“Should I judge you for that fact, like you’re trying to judge me?”
The air got stuck in my throat, and I felt sweaty all of a sudden. “I’m not judging you. I just don’t know you at all, and I’m not sure I’m prepared to go away with a man I just met, even with the, um…access you’ve had.”
He put on his jacket and adjusted the collar, glaring at me the whole time. “Lots of ways to learn about someone, babe. Asking me the kind of shit you can find on Google doesn’t mean much when it comes to knowing me, just like I can’t assume anything about you based on that license of yours I caught a glimpse of last night.”
The hard lines on his face softened and he walked over to me again and pulled me into his solid frame, locking his arms. “But I sure as fuck like what I know so far.” He paused. “Want to know what I know?”
I
swallowed and blinked, staring into his darkening blue eyes.
“I know you’re the kind of woman who should never play poker because every thought that plows through that head of yours winds up on your face. I know that you’re probably the most naturally sexy woman I’ve ever known and one of the few who’d put that low on her list of what matters to her. You tend to stare off into space every other minute, but anyone who thinks you’re spacey is a fucking moron because it’s obvious you’re juggling a million different possibilities at any given moment. I know you’re pure beauty and class, and yet you don’t bat a fuckin’ eye about coming into some dive bar by yourself, if that’s where you want to be. I know your pussy is the sweetest taste I’ve had on my tongue in a very long time. The fact that you don’t even sound human when you come makes me hard every time I think about it, and the fact that you can let go like that with me this soon makes me even more curious about you. And babe? I got all that in just a few hours.
“I know going away together is real soon, but I don’t usually have this kind of lull in my schedule like I do now. So fuck it, let’s just get dressed, get packed and go. Worst thing that happens is we realize this isn’t what we expected and we cut our losses. But I’m thinking that’s not gonna be a problem. So stop analyzing and let me enjoy you, okay?”
That alone was enough to shut me up because, seriously, how could any woman breathing the same air as Jackson Sullivan argue with that logic?
We stopped by Jackson’s house before heading for our getaway. I didn’t believe I had a preconceived notion active in my consciousness, but when we pulled up to his house in the next town over, I found myself surprised by it. I was also stunned that someone as magnetic and alluring as Jackson had been living less than ten minutes away from me and I was just now meeting him.
It was this modern structure set back on a hill, made of glass and concrete, looking like something out of an architecture magazine. I guess I thought it’d be more, I don’t know, like a biker-man-cave. It wasn’t very large, but I could tell it was designed to fully maximize space and light and the surrounding environment of old oak and dogwood trees.
Rule Breaker Page 4
