Whatever It Takes

by JM Stewart

  They enjoyed each other. Thoroughly. At the moment, he was attempting to get her to try the escargot. It was a distraction, really, because what he wanted more than breathing was to get her out of that dress. He ached to have her naked and in his arms, to fuse his body to hers for as long as she’d let him.

  Like their first date, however, Becca refused to try the snails. Instead, she continued to nurse her onion soup.

  “They taste a bit like a mushroom.” He wiggled the fork at her again.

  Becca shook her head, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she dipped her spoon in her soup again. “They’re snails, Jack. Slimy, creepy crawlers. Do you know where those used to be?”

  He grinned and waggled his brows. “Yes. Sautéing in a hot frying pan with lots of butter and garlic.”

  She smiled but visibly shuddered and shook her head again. “I can’t eat snails.”

  “Escargot. Try and . . .”

  Becca froze, then giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth, mumbling behind her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

  His comment forgotten, he barely managed to suppress a smile. He didn’t need to ask what had caught her amusement. They’d been here before. He spoke fluent French, but his thick Southern accent murdered the beauty of the language. No matter how hard he tried, his tongue refused to form the words properly. Something Becca had always found hilarious. He’d attempted to woo her once by demonstrating. French was such a romantic language. All his efforts had amounted to, however, was her, in a fit of giggles. Exactly like now.

  He pointed the fork at her, tried to be stern, but one corner of his mouth hitched, betraying him. “Do not poke fun at my accent.”

  Mischief flashed in her eyes. She waggled her brows at him. “Say something else, Tex.”

  The nickname settled warm and familiar in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t from Texas, of course. She’d given him the nickname before he’d finally told her he was from Georgia.

  He cocked a brow, tempted to tease her with something racy, but settled instead with, “Tu es la plus belle femme ici.”

  She was the most beautiful woman here. A correct statement.

  He expected her to giggle again. Instead, she froze, a spoonful of onion soup suspended in midair.

  She set the spoon back into the bowl, her eyes searching his from across the table. “I’d forgotten the good parts.”

  Obviously, she noticed the ease between them as well. For a moment, they watched each other, and the tension spiked. The heat they’d found during the limo ride swelled again, like a palpable entity. Christ Almighty, how he wanted her. He looked forward more than a little to the moment when he’d have her alone. He considered himself damn lucky to have her in his arms, to get to hold her, but he wanted to make love to her. To touch every part of her. To taste her. To wrap his body around hers and show her, convince her, how much he cherished every moment he had with her.

  Her eyes, more blue than gray tonight, echoed the fire burning in his belly, telling him she wanted him every bit as much. To see the emotion in her eyes was like coming home again and filled his chest with hope. They’d come a long way over the last few weeks.

  He set down his fork and reached for her hand. “So did I. I want us to remember. To never forget.” She set her hand in his, and he stroked his thumb across her palm. “Technically, if I follow our first date to the letter, that means we’re supposed to go dancing after this, but . . . I have some place I’d rather take you. Spend the weekend with me.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing the decision. Finally she drew a deep breath, and her thumb swept across the inside of his wrist. Desire filled her eyes, so potent he feared he’d be going up in flames right there at the table. “I don’t want to go dancing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Say it.”

  Jackson’s quiet demand flowed deep and husky over her earlobe. Becca turned her head. Seated in the back of the limo an hour later, one hand braced on the seat between them, his face sat inches from hers, his eyes dark and intense. His voice, his eyes, echoed the same emotion blazing deep inside of her since they’d left the house two hours ago. Blind, desperate need. Like he barely hung on by a thread.

  Her breathing hitched. She could only blink. Somewhere between the wine, the evening he’d created, and the potency of the man himself, she hadn’t a care in the world. The last brick in the wall she’d surrounded herself with when she left him shattered sometime during dinner. There was now only a river of need and it burned through her blood. She wanted more than she could ever remember wanting to wrap her body around his, to be as close as she could possibly get to him.

  Now, enclosed and completely alone in the back of the limo, his words unleashed the fire. She trembled in the seat beside him. His mouth hovered above hers, so close his warm breath caressed her skin. She flicked her tongue out and wet her lips, and his gaze dropped, following the movement. His eyes darkened, filling with a hunger that made her shiver in anticipation.

  His voice lowered to a husky rumble. “I need to hear you say the words, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers curled along the seat’s edge. “I need you.” She hoped, prayed, her words conveyed the emotion she needed them to. If he didn’t touch her or kiss her soon, she’d go up in a blaze and melt into the beautiful leather seats.

  He let out a quiet groan and his mouth finally claimed hers. No more soft, tender kisses tonight. His mouth moved over hers hungry and possessive. A new world had opened up between them, leaving them space to explore their new relationship, to make up for lost time. Where this would lead them, she didn’t know, and at the moment, she didn’t care.

  She whimpered and leaned into him, deepening the kiss and drinking in his heady flavor. Their tongues tangled. Someone moaned, though whether it was him or her she couldn’t be certain. In an attempt to keep herself from spinning off into the ether, she braced her hand on his thigh, hard and tense beneath her fingers.

  When she was sure they’d go up in smoke right there, he let out a low, frustrated growl and pulled his mouth from hers. His breathing harsh and ragged, chest heaving, he leaned his forehead against hers.

  “I hate this damn cast. I can’t touch you. It’s driving me mad.” He sank back against the seat and patted his thigh. “Come here. Please.”

  Caught in those eyes, she obeyed, first kneeling on the seat, then shifting to straddle his thighs. As she settled over him, his erection nestled against her throbbing core, long and thick, and a quiet moan slipped from her lips.

  Jackson’s body trembled against her. He leaned forward, reclaiming her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the moment, lost herself in the taste of the wine on his tongue, his heady breath and the erotic slide of his lips over hers. Every inch of her ached. Kissing. That’s all they were doing. Just kissing. But the moment awed her. She’d forgotten this, too, the simple pleasure of kissing him.

  His hand caressed her hip and over the curve of her backside, only to turn around and slide back upwards. Everywhere he touched, he left a trail of fire, so light goose bumps shivered across her skin. Her nipples pebbled, reaching, begging for his attention. A breath later, as if in answer, the warmth of his palm closed over one aching peak, kneading her flesh through the all-too-thin material of her dress. Being small breasted, she’d gotten away with not wearing a bra, and the heat of his palm was like heaven. She whimpered, arched into him, needing the delicious friction, as desire hot and fierce arrowed straight to her core.

  Remembering his sore ribs and arm, she pulled her mouth from his. Not wanting to hurt him, but still needing more, she pressed her cheek hard against his. It was like a dam had burst inside of her, and all the need, the desire, she’d forced herself to squelch this last year came flooding out. She was shaking. Outright shaking. She’d never needed him this much.

  “Oh, God.” Breathless, her fingers curled against his shoulder
muscles. Everything inside of her clenched, desperate to feel him inside her, filling her, completing her. “Tell me we’re almost there.”

  He groaned again, this one frustrated and tortured, and went still. Sensing the tension that rose over him, she opened her eyes and leaned back enough to meet his gaze. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, glazed over and dark with desire.

  “I’m afraid not.” Frustration laced his tone, and his fingers curled against her thigh, his short nails digging into her skin. “We’re still an hour away.”

  She swallowed a miserable groan and sank into him, pressing tighter over the ridge of his erection, desperate to ease the ache, and leaned her forehead against his. She had to be honest with him.

  “I need you, Jack. I need to feel the heat of your skin against mine. To feel you buried inside me, but what I really need . . .” She sucked in a breath and bit her lip, quivering in his lap. Her voice lowered to a hoarse whisper with the need firing through her. “. . . is to feel connected to you. All of you. To look into your eyes and know you’re there with me. I want to be as close as I can possibly get to you.”

  She’d never been so honest with him before. She needed the connection the way she needed air to breathe. An ache sat in her chest, for the time lost, a hole that demanded to be filled. She couldn’t get enough of him. She’d let down her walls tonight and all the emotions she’d denied herself bobbed to the surface.

  “I missed you, Jack.” She pressed her mouth to his, murmuring against his lips. The emotion swelled like a tide and overwhelmed her. Her voice cracked and tears rose to the surface. “Oh, God, I missed you.”

  Something shifted in his eyes. Understanding. An echo of need. He nodded and leaned forward to kiss her. This one was softer, slower, and so tender everything inside of her wept with the joy of it. His hand slipped between their bodies, his shaking fingers fumbling with his fly. She slid off his lap long enough to slip off her panties, before moving back to him. Straddling his thighs again, she helped him with his pants, then moved over him. She didn’t bother to take him slowly but sank onto him in one greedy stroke.

  In the semidarkness of the limo, his quiet groan filled her ears. A gasp left her mouth. Every part of her trembled as their bodies joined at last, no longer separate, but one. Whole. It was how she’d always felt being intimate with him. Now, being so close to him, after everything they’d been through in the last year, this particular moment was somehow . . . more. She needed this closeness more than she ever had.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her hands in his hair, luxuriating in the thick locks slipping between her fingers. In turn, his hand slid under her dress, pulling her tighter against him, the skin of his palm warm and soft.

  How making love in the back of a limousine couldn’t feel tawdry, she didn’t know. At any moment the driver could pull down the partition separating the front from the back and catch them. She didn’t care. All that mattered was they were together, a part of each other. She was whole and happy and complete. As they rode the wave, rocking and surging together, their past, present, and future all glimmered from the depths of his eyes, filling her chest to bursting.

  The moment lodged inside of her, and the realization sank over her powerfully, yet so simply. She no longer needed to hear him say those three little words she’d yearned for once. All she needed was to look at him. The emotion shined like a shimmering sun from the depths of his eyes, bright and beautiful, and it soothed her soul.

  “I love you, Becca.” The words left his mouth anyway, on a hoarse whisper, his voice thick with emotion, his breathing harsh and ragged.

  The power of them, the emotion and vulnerability in those words, hit her full force straight in the heart. She knew what those words meant to him, what it meant that he’d even said them. Tears welled and overflowed, the final push that sent her careening over the edge.

  “I love you, Jack.” Her words came out on a voice every bit as thick as his, as she flew apart in his hands. Safe in his arms, she gave herself over to the bliss, to him, and shattered, convulsing and gasping.

  His body tightened beneath her, straining with the start of his climax, and he pulled her in tighter, grinding himself against her, and another wave slammed into her. Knowing he was right there with her proved to be too much. She bit her bottom lip and clung to his heated body, quivering in his arms. His body shuddered against hers. His fingers biting into the flesh of her bottom, her name left his lips on a hoarse, needy groan.

  How long they stayed that way, still joined, her head lolling on his shoulder, his arm holding her tightly to him, she didn’t know, but eventually the fog receded and her mind cleared. She lifted her head. Neither one needed to speak. The tenderness gleaming from his eyes said more than words possibly could, but the words begged to be heard anyway. “I love you, Jack.”

  He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you, too. So damn much my chest aches.”

  She kissed him again. She longed to stay there, to luxuriate in the moment, but as it was, they weren’t completely alone. At any moment, the driver could drop the partition. So she slid off his lap. After pulling on her panties, she helped Jackson button his slacks, and reclaimed her seat beside him. Both fully dressed again, he lifted his arm, inviting her close, and she went, snuggling against his side. The sleepy lull of satiation claimed her, and she closed her eyes, immersed herself in his body against hers, the warmth and strength of his arm around her.

  Sometime later, the car finally came to a stop. The thunk of the front door snapping closed echoed through the quiet night, telling her the driver had exited the car. Becca waited for the back door to open, but the moment never came. As the realization slid over her, a fierce heat climbed into her cheeks. Clearly he’d either been instructed not to or he’d heard them making love.

  “You asleep?” Jackson rubbed her back.

  “No. Just very relaxed.” She lifted her head, peering at him.

  He flashed a tender smile and nodded in the direction of the car window. “We’re here.”

  She turned her head, following his gaze, but the vision beyond the window blurred behind the veil of tears filling her eyes. He’d brought her to the cabin. Their cabin. He’d told her once, not long after they married, that he considered the place theirs now. The house sat nestled in the darkness along Puget Sound. Tall evergreen trees lined the front and sides, encapsulating the place in shadows. Memory reminded her that outside the back door lay a mile-long private beach. They’d be alone for the entire weekend. The nearest neighbor was a good half mile away.

  She loved this place. Remote and roughened by the weather, it had a natural, quaint charm she’d fallen in love with the first time he’d brought her there. There were no phones, no televisions, only a single bedroom, a living room with a fireplace, and a kitchen barely big enough for two people.

  “Do you remember the first time I brought you here?” His voice drifted low and husky in her ear.

  She nodded, the memories flooding her mind. “You brought me here about three months after we started dating. I’m pretty sure we conceived Allie in this cabin.”

  He raked his teeth over her earlobe. “Let’s do it again.”

  She turned her head. His eyes blazed, a potent mixture of desire and tenderness, shining with love.

  “I want nothing more than to curl up in your arms and stay there.” She leaned her forehead against his. The overwhelming emotions roared beneath the surface, a chest-crushing ache, pain and relief all rolled into one. Pain for the time they’d lost, but mostly gratitude for the future spanning out in front of them. For the first time in over a year, she could see a future with him, and she wanted it, wanted to grab hold of it and never let go. “I’ve missed out on so much.”

  He pulled her close and pressed his lips softly to hers, his fingers stroking her spine. “So did I. I think that’s where we need to star
t. Build from the ground up. One day at a time.”

  She couldn’t stop the worry from making its ugly way to the surface, though, and she had to voice it. They’d spent too much time keeping things from each other, had promised each other honesty. “Will it be enough, though? We failed at this once before, Jack.”

  “I think so, if we work together.” He smiled, warm and tender, and nodded in the direction of the house. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  ***

  Becca woke the next morning to a soft fluttering between her thighs, teasing her heated flesh. Already throbbing, she rode a delicious fine line, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Pleasure, hot and intense, curled through her, and she moaned and reached down. Her hands found Jackson’s thick silky locks, and her fingers curled, anchoring her against the onslaught.

  Another flick of his tongue, and the bubble inside of her burst. A soft cry tore from her throat as the pleasure erupted through her, intense and rapturous. She arched off the bed, a bright starburst exploding behind her closed eyelids, trembling and gasping against him.

  He continued to lap at her, stroking her sensitive flesh, easing her down from the rafters, and with one last sigh, she collapsed back into the soft mattress beneath her. Buzzing on a high nothing could touch, she pried her heavy eyelids open and looked down. His head rested on her belly and he lay peering at her, a delightful self-pleased grin on his face.

  Taking him in, her breath hitched. She hadn’t seen him this relaxed or this happy in far too long. Heat filled his eyes, simmering but powerful all the same, and despite her recent climax, her body answered the call of his, pulsing and throbbing once again for his touch.