~
It was bright and early when Jackson pulled up to the high school campus. He parked along the side of the road, in front of a large field, but the school was visible at the far end.
He opened his door and got out, smiling widely when he saw the only person on the field. He was running the length with some sort of parachute attached to his back. Jackson shook his head with a laugh.
The athlete on the field ran back from the far end, parachute still attached. He spotted Jackson walking towards him and slowed down, unhooking the contraption from his back as he jogged in his direction. “You're still slow as fuck,” Jackson laughed. “Never going to beat me, no matter how much weight you add.”
The man stopped in front of Jackson and wiped his hands on his mesh shorts, a large, bright smile on his dark face. “We'll see about that. I won't embarrass you by mentioning how I already crushed your record and this season’s only started.”
“No, you wouldn't do that. Especially since we both know it's not true. You play shit teams, nothing like the competition I had in school.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Blake.” He rubbed his hand over his bald head. “But, enough of this bullshit. You ready?”
“Where the hell did you get that thing, Q?” Jackson nodded to the parachute on the field.
“Amazon. You want to try it out?” Q hooked his fingers in the harness he was wearing. He slapped Jackson’s shoulder with the back of his hand and stepped away. “Go take it for a spin.”
Jackson had forgotten how physically grueling a good football practice could be. When he’d woken up the morning after his last nightmare, he called in a favor to his old friend Q. “I need you to help get me back in the game,” he said. And of course, Q jumped all over the opportunity. Partly because he genuinely wanted to help, Jackson was sure. And partly because he wanted to give him shit.
He didn’t mind, though. Ms. Fox was right. It felt great to be doing something again.
Especially this.
“Go long,” he said to Q, who turned immediately and ran to the far end of the field. His shoulders were loosening up. He was quickly getting his old nimbleness back. He threw. It was a perfect throw. He smiled.
Q tossed the ball back to him. “Good one. Let’s go again.”
Jackson saw a flash of bright red hair out of the corner of his eyes, and he stopped and turned around.
He had to squint, but he was almost sure it was her. He dropped the ball and started to jog over to the gate.
“Hey,” yelled Q. “Where you going? We’re not done here.”
“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.
She had spotted him coming toward her and had turned to leave. “Wait,” he called out, and she stopped and turned back.
“Hi,” he grinned, when he reached her, and she returned the smile.
“I see you took my advice,” she said. “It’s nice when patients actually listen. I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile quite that widely before.”
“I admit, I do feel great. What are you doing around here?”
“I was just in the neighborhood taking a walk. How is your practice going?”
“I feel like a million bucks.”
“Guess that means you won’t be needing me anymore,” she joked.
“Nonsense,” he said playfully. “I’ll be at my appointment bright and early Thursday morning. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Did she blush?
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”
“Hey,” he started. “I’m just finishing up here. I don’t know…you want to grab a coffee or something?”
“Uh,” she stammered and her eyes went a little wide. He’d caught her off guard. He’d caught himself off guard too. He hadn’t planned to ask her that at all.
He lowered his head so that his eyes met hers, and smiled at her. “OK,” she said. “Coffee would be nice.”
“Wait right here. I’m just going to go and get my things.”
~
He really was her favorite patient.
But for none of the right reasons.
The second they met, the very air around her had changed, wrapped her into this force field of – she wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt it nonetheless.
She agreed to see him when he asked, thinking that talking to him in a professional capacity would halt whatever it was rising in her.
But it didn’t. If anything, talking to him about his most intimate thoughts and feelings only made her feel more drawn to him.
She’d kept things strictly professional, though, as she was expected to do.
Until now.
Now, they were in a coffee shop, in an unofficial capacity, sitting across from one another, the closest in proximity they’d ever been.
She was really toeing the line.
Sure, it was just coffee.
Or maybe not.
He sat down with a latte in either hand and smiled as he slid hers across the table to her. His smile didn’t lessen the power in his gaze. It made her jumpy, and her heart sped up, pushing blood to her nerves.
“I really hope you aren’t going to send me a bill for this,” he teased.
She permitted herself a small laugh. Her poker face was shattering already, much to her dismay. The last thing she wanted was to let on that he had an effect on her.
“So, what do you like to do?” he continued.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Hmm.”
“Well, it’s just that you always ask about me when we talk.”
“That’s my job.”
“But you aren’t working right now. And I never ask about you. You asked me what I like to do, and now I want to know what you like to do, Ms. Fox.”
“Abigail,” she corrected, and then felt her cheeks getting warm. She lowered her head slightly so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Call me Abigail.”
“OK, Abigail,” he said. “What do you like to do?” His dizzying smile became teasing and heart-stopping as he ran his fingers over his lips, innocently enough, like he was considering something, but his blue eyes deepened as he watched her.
“I like to paint.”
“You any good?”
“Are you any good at football?”
“Touché.”
“I don’t do it for artistic expression, per se. It calms me down, is all.”
His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know that I can picture you not calm.”
“Believe me,” she chuckled, “it happens.”
It’s happening now. You just don’t know it.
“So, do you see a therapist?”
Her eyes went wide.
“I apologize for that,” he said quickly. “I don’t mean to pry.” And then the corners of his eyes wrinkled as his smile returned. “It’s just that’s what you always see on TV, the therapist talking to their therapist.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not seeing anyone. Not right now, anyway.” She wondered if he caught her real meaning. Stop flirting, Abby. “I prefer to paint.” She took a bite of her muffin to stop herself from talking.
He kept shooting questions at her, and she kept answering them. Where did she grow up? Did she like her job? Did she prefer dogs or cats?
She was beginning to understand how he must have felt every week in her office.
“I should go,” she said after a while. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I still have a lot of case prep to do.”
He nodded and stood. They walked outside together, and he walked her down to the corner. “Well, I’m going this way,” he said.
“I’m going that way,” she replied, pointing in the opposite direction. “Thank you for the coffee. See you on Thursday?”
“I’m still a little crazy, so yeah, I’ll be there.”
She giggled. “You’re not crazy, Jackson.”
“You don’t even know the half of it.” His lips spread into a grin, his dimples showing as he stepped toward her and place
d his hand on her arms. Her insides turned to jelly as his head dipped, anticipating his lips on hers. But then he froze, close enough that his breath warmed the skin on her face. “You have to go,” he murmured like he was reminding himself, and then released her and stepped away.
~
“You seem to be in a much better place than you were when we were here last,” said Abigail. She shifted slightly in her chair. There was something different about him. Or was there something different about them? Or maybe it was just the air, or maybe her imagination, but it was harder to breathe this time around.
His body language was definitely different. He relaxed back in his chair, legs spread in a V, utterly sexy and radiating dominance, even in this causal stance. His hat was gone now, his blue eyes bright under dark brows, and they were focused on her. She kept her eyes on her yellow notepad and pretended to scribble things while he talked.
He talked about football for the entire hour, his voice taking on an excited, childlike enthusiasm. She wanted to smile, but forced herself to bite her lip every time the feeling came over her. She kept her head down, knowing that if she looked up and directly into those eyes, she was done. There was something in those eyes that excited her and made her feel…she didn’t know what, but she wanted to find out.
Already she could feel moist heat spreading between her legs, and she flushed in embarrassment.
She shifted in her chair again, uncrossing and crossing her legs.
He’s your patient, she said over and over again to herself while he talked. Thankfully, he kept going and didn’t seem to notice her distraction. She hadn’t even realized it when the session had come to an end.
“Abigail?” he said, and she looked up. Damn, he had tricked her. His smile was disarming. “Same time next week?”
“Yes, Jackson. Same time.”
“Jack…you can call me Jack.”
She nodded and then stood and went to the door. He needed to go. Now.
He walked past her, but before he left, he turned. “Can’t wait to hear about your game,” she said.
“We could talk about it over dinner. After the game.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Everything in her body screamed yes, but she managed to get the other word out. “No,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I can’t.”
Suddenly, she was very conscious of his eyes on her. There was a playful spark in his eyes that was dangerous, that could talk her into anything. She knew she should say that it was inappropriate, that she shouldn’t see him at all outside this office, but instead she said, “I made other plans for that night.” With just a look, he so easily chipped away at the part of her that tried to be smart and pull away. That part of her didn’t stand a chance. Not when her desire for him drove out all sense.
“Maybe next time.” His grin was unsettling, knowing, and he turned quietly to leave.
She almost called after him. But she went back inside, leaving him before she could let that thought, and his stare, lead her somewhere she might regret.
~
Abigail had tucked the last of the groceries into her canvas tote bag and went out onto the street. She had the day off tomorrow and planned to make herself a nice dinner and relax. She stopped on the way home for a bottle of wine.
Balancing one bag in her hand, while hefting the other over her shoulder, she turned to cross the street.
“I’ll help with that,” she heard someone say from behind her, and before she could turn to see who it was, she felt the bag being lifted from her.
“Where to?” said Jackson, flashing that smile she was becoming just a little bit obsessed with. She smiled and jerked her head in the direction of the stoplight. “My place is just around the corner.”
They fell into step beside each other and a few minutes later, arrived at her front door. “Don’t tell me it’s a fifth-floor walk-up,” said Jackson.
She laughed. “Should be a piece of cake for you. But no, I’m on the first floor.”
He walked her to the door and looked at her expectantly while she fiddled with her keys. “You hungry?” she asked. The question was out of her mouth before she could really think about the implications.
“Starving,” he replied with a broad grin.
She opened the door. “Come in. I’ll get started on dinner in a few minutes.”
He helped her put the bags down on the kitchen counter and then sat on one of the stools while she hung up her sweater, washed her hands and began to chop vegetables.
“So, you excited for the game this weekend?”
“No biggie. Just a practice game.”
“Nervous?” She attempted to read him, sensing a shift in him, a vulnerability that she wanted to grasp, but he covered it up quickly – if it was truly there to begin with.
“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “I plan. I prepare. I predict. All to the best of my ability. It'll be a busy week for me; that's why I wanted to see you.”
She nodded, dropping the diced red bell pepper into a large pot.
“There's an event on Friday and some people coming into town this week that I have to meet with.”
“People from home?” she questioned, curious about any hint of his past. Besides the mention of not talking to his mom in one of their sessions, all she knew of his life before the Navy had to do with him playing football in college.
“Yeah,” he stretched the word out with caution.
“Family?” she kept questioning, pressing her luck.
“Not really.” He shook his head, eyes trained on her.
She decided not to take it any further and change the subject.
But then he said, “My grandmother raised me. That's my only family.”
She had the strange urge to thank him for sharing, but she resisted. “Did she teach you to play football?”
He laughed, a real laugh, and it sounded like music, deep and melodic. “No, but she signed me up for every after school rec league offered, in all the sports. What about you?”
“Hm?” She was content to just listen to him. “I wasn't much for sports.”
“What about your family? Is it a big one?”
“Only my parents and my sister.”
“Older or younger sister?”
She took a breath. “Older by three years.”
“You two close?” He was studying her responses much too closely.
“Not anymore.”
When dinner was finished, they sat in the living room to eat. Abigail set out two beers. “Thank you,” said Jackson between forkfuls of rice. “This is delicious.”
They talked with ease for hours. About nothing. About everything.
“I’ve got practice in the morning,” he said finally, and she felt a tug of sadness. “I should head out.”
She got up to walk him over to the door. “I had a nice time,” she said.
He stepped closer to her. His eyes dropped to her lips, the heat in them unmistakable as he licked his own.
She took a step back and then smiled weakly as she met the door. “Give ‘em hell on Saturday.”
“I will.” He dipped toward her, his hand propped on the door behind her, lips skimming hers. “Can I stay?” He leaned into her, and the wall was at her back again, keeping her from retreating.
“What will happen?” she questioned, but she let his confidence take them over, submitting as she looked up into his gaze – a gaze full of wanting. That burning look was her undoing. A smile flickered on his lips as he dipped close, brushing them against hers with a feathery softness. It was that softness that tipped her over and her lips melded with his, keeping his slow, hypnotic pace. His light breaths against her mouth were just as delicious and heated as his lips.
Her hands shook as they moved to his stomach, gripping his shirt in her fist. It held his warmth, but the danger of not being able to pull back kept her from touching him. Control over anything was forgotten when his hands dropped from her head, and his long arms wound around her waist, pulling her
to him in a sudden sweep that effortlessly took her off her feet, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, setting everything ablaze. All concerns dissolved into ashes. He surrounded her, his entire being wrapped around her, and she never felt so desired.
Her arms slid up his solid chest, over the soft t-shirt and smooth curves of muscle till she wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself up his body further as his hands traveled over her, guiding her thighs to circle his waist. When she opened her mouth wider and slid her tongue against his, his throaty growl vibrated. His hands flexed on her, pulling her hips against his arousal. And she was gone, hurling into some oblivion at a chaotic speed. She lifted herself on him, trying to better reach his lips as her fingers twined into his hair, no fear of being dropped. He had her in a firm grasp. His kiss slowed as he spoke. “Let’s go to your room.”
SEALing The Victory Page 2
