by Aimee Carson
Lifting her lids, she met his gaze. “You think she placed us there that day on purpose.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Nikki overheard my phone call with Sara earlier in the week.”
“Sara?” she said, remembering the gorgeous woman in the gorgeous suit. “You mean the lady you’re supposed to somehow have half of a perfect child with?”
His eyes crinkled in humor. “That’s the one. She agreed to meet with me at the courthouse Friday to give me some information in reference to a case I’m working on,” he said, and then his brow bunched in aggravation. “And when my sister spied us coming down the steps, she turned on the music, effectively starting the event.”
Jax pondered this for a moment and then tipped her head curiously. “Why would she go to such lengths to ensure you were there to see our flash mob?”
The tension around his eyes was impossible to miss. “To rub her participation in my face,” he said. “To get back at me.”
“And what did you do to warrant the payback?”
At her direct insult, he went completely still, and Jax wished she could take her words back. Not that she didn’t mean them. However, insulting her current employer probably wasn’t the best way to proceed. But living with her foot in her smart-ass mouth had almost become a way of life.
The lines of humor around his eyes returned. “Why are you so sure I deserve a payback?”
Since her mouth would only get her into more trouble, she elected to answer with a meaningful lift of her brow, hoping he’d recall every autocratic tone he’d used with her along the way.
In response, an amused scoff escaped those sensual lips, and he set his paintbrush in the pan, turning to face her. “I warned Nikki taking a spin on her friend’s homemade zip line was dangerous,” he said. He looked across the water, squinting into the sunshine. But he clearly wasn’t focused on the view, his voice reflective. “So she’s annoyed my prediction proved accurate. She’s angry that she ruined her summer plans. Worse, her only choice was to either move in with my mother at her expensive retirement village with all her cronies, or—”
Jax bit back a smile at the suggestion, and Blake went on. “Exactly,” he said drily, apparently agreeing with her unspoken comment as he continued. “Or move in here under the, and I quote, ‘tyrannical eye of my big brother.’”
“I guess that’s what siblings are for.”
“To drive each other crazy?” he said with a skeptical look.
She struggled to keep a straight face. “Yeah. And not that you’d be surprised,” she went on, “but when you’re not around, Nikki calls you her big brother and her capitalized Big Brother, in the Orwellian sense.”
The eyebrow bisected by the tiny scar shot higher in amusement.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “Nikki says you’re the guy every law-enforcement officer wants trying their cases. She thinks you’re a brilliant lawyer.”
The praise seemed to surprise him, and he leaned back against the unpainted part of the rail, crossing his arms. The full-on sight of his beautiful biceps and the shirt stretched across the lightly muscled chest almost sent her into the deep end of the bay. Every atom in her body adjusted to peer in his direction.
Jax cleared her throat. “And given my predicament, her belief in your brilliance is reassuring.”
The brain she needed. The brawn was a distraction, begging to be explored.
“I spoke with Sara again this morning,” he said, interrupting her mutinous thoughts. “She offered to help with your case. As a former public defender, and a brilliant one at that, she’s well qualified to offer advice.”
Jax bit back a frown. She was incredibly grateful he was going out of his way to do a good job, but a very tiny part of her was disturbed he was consulting with his perfect other half. But despite the fact that Blake was conferring with the beautiful lawyer, or maybe even because of it, he still deserved Jax’s gratitude.
Which was why she’d risked coming to talk to the deliciously disruptive, infinitely touchable man.
“In that case—” taking extra-special care not to touch him, she held out her hand for the paintbrush with an appreciative smile “—in thanks for all of your hard work, I’ll finish this section while you take a moment to relax.”
Wariness flickered through his eyes. As if trying to decide if he wanted her continued company or not, Blake gave a cautious glance down at her waiting hand, which was then followed by a small frown of discovery on his face. His eyes zeroed in on her arm, and her stomach dropped. When he lightly grasped her hand—sending a jolt through her body—and pulled her arm closer to better visualize the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, her stomach rolled...
Oh, hell. Keeping her hands to herself was the least of her worries now.
“I never noticed the scars under your tattoo,” he said in a low voice.
The sensation of his hand on her skin combined with the scrutiny of her battle wounds made speaking impossible. Heart pumping hard, she willed herself to remain calm, making sure her voice was light. Or as light as she could manage, anyway. Because one scar could easily be an accident.
Two parallel ones were definitely suspicious.
She fought for a breezy tone, falling just short of the mark. “I didn’t try to kill myself, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m well aware people cut themselves for other reasons,” he said.
And the unspoken knowledge in his gaze, the understanding in his expression, set her pulse pounding harder. There was no denying the look on his face. He knew the wounds had been self-inflicted.
He knew she’d once been a cutter.
Her chest seemed to shrink to half its size, trapping the breath in her lungs. It was one thing to come to thank the man for his help. Baring her history to those probing, all-seeing eyes was another. But now that the tumultuous mindset of her adolescent years had been exposed, she refused to offer up excuses or cower meekly in the corner, pretending he’d misunderstood. She curled her fingers against her palm.
Because, damn it, she’d battled those demons—had waged a war against the crippling insecurities of her youth—and won.
“It was a long time ago, when I was just a teen,” she said simply, hoping he wouldn’t interrogate her further. After the Jack fiasco, she wasn’t ready for that kind of reveal again. “The parallel marks reminded me of part of a musical staff. So a couple of years ago, I had the extra lines tattooed on and added musical notes.”
The lengthy pause was filled with warm sunshine, a salty breeze and the sound of lapping waves and ruffling sails. Jax couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, dying to hear how he would respond to her admission about the origin of her scars.
Until Blake finally said, “Musical notes to which song?”
Stunned, she leaned back and cocked her hip, staring up at him. Of all the questions she’d expected, that one had never crossed her mind. Two years ago Jack’s disappointing reactions to the marks on her body had inspired the tattoo and choice of song. Since then, no one had ever asked her about her choice. Leave it to the astutely observant Blake to suss out that they weren’t just random notes she’d chosen on a whim.
Curious how he’d react to the news, and hugely relieved by the change in topic, she said, “They’re the first phrase to Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin.’”
A small grunt escaped his lips, a combination of shocked surprise...and amusement.
“You don’t approve of my choice?” She fought a smile, struggling to maintain the deadpan face as she went on. “Or maybe you think the song doesn’t suit me?”
“I have nothing against Madonna, per se,” he said.
He cast an eye over her short shorts and the tank top displaying the local rap artist Bulldog. Blake’s assessing look was electrifying, prickling the hair at h
er neck. Her shirt emphasized her breasts in a way that could hardly be described as modest.
Blake hesitated, as if considering the rest of his answer, and then dropped his gaze back to the arm still cradled in his hand. He lightly touched the line of one scar, and a searing bolt of nerves nearly crippled her body. The simple caress was sensual. Seductive.
Hot.
And as scary as hell as he traced the marks that had come to symbolize the fight to achieve peace with her past. Her warrior wounds were a visible reminder of the inner conflict she’d battled. Profoundly disturbed, she resisted the urge to splay her hand on his hard chest and stroke lower....
Blake ran his finger up one line of puckered skin and back down the other, leaving her body aching with need, her breath frozen in her throat as he finally went on. “But you hardly impress me as the virginal type,” he said.
Imagine if he were privy to the unholy thoughts racing through her mind now?
The secret urges ramped her heart rate higher. “So tell me, Suit,” she said as lightly as she could. “What exactly is a virgin supposed to act like? An innocent, frightened and confused by the feelings a man stirs when he’s near?” She almost rolled her eyes at the ridiculously old-fashioned notion before lifting her brow higher, ignoring her thrumming body. “Or should I be outraged that you have the audacity to touch my chaste skin?” she asked with a wry tone.
She might be a virgin, but she refused to let the technicality define her. She wasn’t afraid or confused. And she certainly wasn’t outraged.
She was aroused.
As if he didn’t quite believe her claim, a slow smile of entertainment lifted his lips. “Let’s put it this way,” he said as his thumb continued to stroke her skin. “The first time we met, you performed a provocative dance to a hip-hop song on the courthouse lawn. The second time we met, you were behind bars.” He pursed his lips, his eyes growing dark. “So it’s safe to say you haven’t exactly been giving off many virginal vibes.”
She held his heated gaze, refusing to acknowledge the heady feel of his thumb against her wrist, the wild longing to return the caress. But the slight part of her mouth as she fought for air must have given her away.
Because his words came out rough. “And you’re definitely not giving off virginal vibes now.”
His gaze briefly moved down to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, and then back to her face, gray eyes radiating an intensity that had had her on edge from the moment they’d met. She could read everything. The hesitation. The hint of wariness. But, most important, the frank desire. And then his gaze settled on her lips, weakening her resolve not to touch him.
The heat from the hand that cupped her arm spread to every corner of her body, concentrating in her most sensitized parts. Leaving her feeling soft. Compliant. And damp.
Melting her resolve to thank him and bolt, before she did something stupid.
“I can see you’re thinking about kissing me—” Jax said, the words breaking at a slight catch in her voice. “But I know you well enough by now to realize you won’t go through with it.”
“What makes you think I won’t?” he said.
“Because you’re far too disciplined to let your lust run away with your emotions.”
Although the heat in his eyes seared her to the soul, he said, “Agreed.”
The flash of disappointment slashed deep. “Too bad.”
And while his agreement wasn’t a surprise, that didn’t make the words any easier to hear. She had wants. Needs. Like the overwhelming desire to drive a man to distraction, despite the marks on her body, the visual reminders of her past. The hope that someone, someday, would lose his head over Jacqueline Lee, scars and all. Instituting a temporary embargo on men hadn’t been easy, even after Jack’s defection. But she’d never met anyone quite like Blake.
And if making love to him out, then she at least deserved a kiss.
Finally abandoning the vow to keep her hands to herself—a hopeless goal, in retrospect—she reached up with her free arm and clutched his shirt, knuckles pressed against his hard chest. Blake allowed her to pull him closer. Which was a good thing, because with their height difference, without that little bit of cooperation she’d never reach his mouth.
And if one kiss was all she was gonna get, then she intended to make damn sure it was a good one....
* * *
The attraction that had slammed into him the day they’d met, the fierce need that repeatedly brought him to his figurative knees, returned with a vigor that stunned Blake with its intensity. The moment Jax’s hand had landed on his chest, time had contracted, becoming more vivid and defined, his world reduced to the sensory input of the beautiful woman. He was mesmerized by her wild tawny hair and the seductive hazel eyes. Captivated by the insistent hand against his chest and the soft skin of her arm beneath his fingers.
Troubled by the raised scars beneath his thumb.
Heart thumping, he absently traced the well-healed marks, fighting his overworked libido as his mind furiously grappled with the physical proof that, at one time, Jax hadn’t been the strong, to-hell-with-the-world woman that stood before him now. In light of her history, he wasn’t surprised her adolescent years had been fraught with the occasional destructive behavior. But it was a true testament to her amazing resilience that the self-harming had been limited to the two scars—the rest of her arms and legs were silky smooth and scar-free. No wonder she cultivated a carpe diem attitude and longed to feel like a virgin again, untouched. Innocent. And free from the weight of her past. He’d never met such a complicated woman.
And those complexities made her all that more attractive.
Heat coursed through his body as her gaze radiated a come-hither look mixed with an emotional honesty that had enchanted him from the moment they’d met. Knowing his arguments were growing weaker by the minute, he mentally listed them anyway. She wasn’t his type. She didn’t fit with his life, because, between the Menendez case and his sister, life was too full already. And Jax was pure trouble, the hellion on heels a walking, talking disaster on the move. Which didn’t mean he couldn’t sleep with her, but it absolutely meant that he shouldn’t.
But, try as he might, Blake couldn’t pull his gaze from the delicate part of her lips or stop his thumb from tracing her scars. But he’d be damned before he’d let his fascination with the woman seduce him, or let his lust dictate whom he slept with—
Jax rose up on her toes and placed her mouth on his lips.
Paralyzed, Blake fought the need to crush her supple body against his, concentrating on the taste of caramel. The smell of citrus from her hair. The soft skin now gripped firmly in his hand, covering the tattoo that was wholly inappropriate.
Because there was nothing virginal about the way Jax was kissing him. It was the kiss of a woman who knew what she was doing. And knew what she wanted, as well.
His heart pounded harder as she moved her mouth with a purpose, parting her lips just enough to tease him with the promise of more heat. The teasing hint of her tongue. Kisses that were warm and moist and soft and steeped in the unique flavor of Jax. His body craved more, and he slanted his head a bit, allowing her slightly better access.
Jax melted against him, full breasts plastered against his chest as her tongue took a bolder taste of his, demanding he reciprocate.
Pulse throbbing, he grew hard, making restraint difficult to maintain as he indulged in a mind-boggling erotic fantasy. Blake’s brain swirled with images of him walking her backward into the cabin of his boat, stripping her out of her clothes, pinning her tattoo-adorned arm over her head and burying himself between those toned, tanned legs. Consuming her in every way imaginable.
She wouldn’t say no, but would embrace the act of making love just like she embraced everything else about life. Wholeheartedly. Without reservation. And with a passion that wou
ld be impossible to forget.
Her lips moved against his in an act that grew more insistent, more impossible to resist as time wore on, calling to him. Weakening his good sense. Until he knew if he didn’t put an end to the kiss, he would make love to her. Right here.
And right now...
FIVE
With a silent curse and a loud protest from his raging libido, Blake gripped Jax’s shoulders and gently but firmly set her back.
Whoops and cheers and a shout of “Go, Ms. Lee” came from the distance, and Blake glanced up to see the two guitar students watching them from the pool deck, clearly delighted by the scene.
Chest still heaving, Jax stared up at him, gaze hot, and said, “Did I scare you, Suit?”
Her sassy words shoved him closer to the edge.
“No,” he said, his voice disconcertingly gruff.
If he were smart, he’d be afraid. But fear wasn’t the reason for the adrenaline careening through his veins. No, the current wild surge of blood was in response to a need that threatened to be his undoing. And despite the desire that still raged, his brow crinkled in resigned amusement.
“But I hope that demonstration wasn’t another one of those life lessons for your students,” he said, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
Lips pressed in a determined line, fighting both a smile and the urge to take her feisty, luscious mouth again, Blake turned back to the rail and picked up his brush.
* * *
She’d kissed him.
A week later and her mind still churned from the interlude, so Jax leaned back against the chaise longue and tried to relax. The turquoise waters of the pool stretched out at her feet, the waterfall gurgling nearby. And beyond the deck on the far side, the surface of the bay sparkled in the sun. Nikki was sitting at a patio table reading while her mother fixed sandwiches for lunch and prepared a homemade apple pie—a new recipe Abigail Bennington wanted to try after her week away at a cooking institute. The smell was unusual. Nikki had warned Jax to insist on a small slice, and Abigail had feigned outrage at the indirect insult. Jax found the two women endearing.
