Jackson released one hand from where it rested on her hip, brushing his fingers across Carly’s face in a tender sweep.
“Are you okay?” A streak of worry ribboned through the look of passion on his face, catching in her chest, and holding on with tight fingers.
“I am very okay,” she whispered, bracing her hands on either side of Jackson’s body and rocking against him in a slow thrust. His hands found her hips again, and he steadied her balance while arching into her. The friction and intensity of how he felt inside her brought out everything from a shiver to a moan, and Carly reached them all with delicious variation. Jackson guided her hips in perfect rhythm, and the pressure building at the spot where they were joined took hold of her body in an unrelenting wave. Every one of her muscles squeezed tight to hold onto the sensation of pure pleasure coursing through her, and Jackson thrust even deeper in reply.
“Carly.” He grated out her name on a rough breath, locking his hands around her backside in a desperate grip, leaving no space between the hard angle of his hips and the lush curve of her own. Quickening the pace, he thrust against her in a movement so unforgiving and sinfully hot that Carly thought she’d die from the ecstasy of it. Jackson’s fingers tightened further, guiding her over his length and back again, until he arched into her in a tight shudder, holding her fast and calling her name.
Time hung in the air, suspended in the shadows of her room, and Carly folded herself over Jackson’s chest, utterly boneless. Her limbs were heavy with the feeling of being totally sated, but as the haze wore off, the wheels of her mind began to perk to life.
What was she supposed to do now? Lying here with Jackson was nice—he felt strong beneath her, and the warmth of his skin coupled with the slowing rhythm of his breath was even better than nice. Still, should she say something? Thanking him for the two unbelievable orgasms he’d just given her seemed strange, even though she was grateful as hell. So what was the etiquette for this kind of thing?
Thankfully, Jackson took charge by shifting her to his side and nestling her in close. His stomach let out an enthusiastic grumble, and Carly drew back in surprise.
“Are you hungry?” She propped herself up on an elbow, furrowing her brow at him in the dark.
He hesitated. “Who, me? Not at all.” In a bid to prove him wrong, another growl echoed from Jackson’s midsection, and he covered it with a hand as if to shut it up.
“Seriously? You’re a horrible liar.” Unable to help it, she started to laugh. “If you’re hungry, you should eat.”
He stilled, eyes flicking over hers. “Well, yeah, but I thought . . . I mean, I’m supposed to . . . well, I can hold you for a while first. If you want.”
Carly pressed a smile between her lips. She might not have much in the way of social graces, but feeding somebody . . . now that was something she knew how to do.
“Tell you what. Why don’t we warm up some of those leftovers, and then we can watch TV on the couch. You can eat and hold me at the same time. What do you say?”
A mischievous smile worked its way over Jackson’s lips, and he shook his head before sitting up to give her a quick, tender kiss.
“You had me at leftovers.”
Jackson leaned into the metal belly of a 1968 Pontiac GTO, both palms splayed on the driver’s side quarter panel, and gave Shane a quizzical what’s-next glance. All things being equal, he could do a hell of a lot worse than helping Shane finish a tune up on a Friday evening.
Although considering how he’d started his week, the ending seemed rather anticlimactic. Literally.
“Hey, can you hand me that wrench so I can pull these spark plugs?” Shane jutted his chin at the toolbox on the floor between them. “And by the way, when were you going to tell me you slept with my girlfriend’s boss?”
Jackson sputtered, midreach. “Well, I uh . . . what makes you think I slept with Carly?”
Shane shook his head, moving a couple steps closer to retrieve the wrench himself, delivering a wry smile on his way. “The shit-eating grin you’ve been wearing since you had dinner with her is kind of a dead giveaway. Plus, Bellamy said Carly’s been in a great mood all week. It’s not much of a logic leap from there.”
At the mention of his perma-grin, Jackson tried to smooth his expression, but it was a total no-go. He’d been smiling like a fool all week, and with good reason, too. As it turned out, warmed up leftovers were sexier than he’d bargained for, inciting a return trip to Carly’s bedroom for round two before he’d finally kissed her good-bye just after one in the morning. It had been well worth the lack of sleep, even when he’d been tasked with the mind-numbing job of putting up drywall for nine hours straight the next day.
Jackson gave in and let his smile eke out. “Okay, fair enough. You win. Just don’t tell Bellamy.” The last thing he wanted was to make things awkward for Carly at work. Plus, he and Carly were barely seeing each other. No reason for the whole world to make a big deal out of it.
“Please. Bellamy’s no dummy. She said with how Carly’s been acting, she either got laid or won the lottery. Since Carly hasn’t quit her job, we’re banking on the sex.”
Despite his surprise at Shane’s straight-to-the-point response, Jackson had to chuckle. “Hey, for the record, I’d bet my next paycheck that even if Carly did win the lottery, she’d keep her job.” He spun the wing nut that held the GTO’s air filter in place to loosen it.
“Valid point. Good mood or not, I bet she still runs that kitchen like it’s a military base at DEFCON One.”
Jackson nodded in agreement—after all, Carly herself had said she couldn’t afford to be laid-back, no matter what the circumstances. He had no reason to think she’d change her colors in the name of excellent sex.
And damn. It really had been excellent.
“So I take it you’re going out with her again?” Shane’s question yanked Jackson back down to planet Earth, and he blinked at the grimy air filter in his hands, shaking his head a few times before tossing it in the trash bin.
“Dude. I know it was impulsive to sleep with her, but give me a little credit, here. I’m not a one night stand kind of guy.”
“So did the two of you make plans, Don Juan?” Shane flipped back, not breaking stride with the spark plug in his hand.
Jackson paused to mutter a choice suggestion about where exactly Shane could shove his Don Juan, but then his grin got the best of him again. “I’m taking her fishing on Monday.”
Shane arched a dark brow. “You’re serious.”
“As a tax audit.” Jackson sauntered to the workbench for a new air filter.
“And here I thought you liked her,” Shane said. Jackson stiffened ever so slightly, knuckles tightening around the cardboard box in his hands.
“We’re not getting married or anything, if that’s what you mean.” Suddenly, it took effort to keep the laid-back edge in his voice, but he shrugged once, covering up the streak of unease.
“Most girls would rather be skinned alive than go the worms and rod route, that’s all.” Shane’s voice was easygoing enough for both of them, and Jackson relaxed. It was just a trip to Big Gap Lake for the day. He went all the time.
“Yeah, Carly’s definitely not most girls.” Jackson laughed. “She’s the one who actually suggested it.”
Shane’s jaw dropped. “Get out of here.”
“I shit you not,” Jackson promised, holding up one hand in solemn oath. “We were talking about things to do in Pine Mountain, and she asked me about the lake.”
Specifically, Carly had asked him if there was anything edible swimming in the lake, to which he’d answered “define edible.” Sure, there were some decent dinner options lurking in the water, but they were a lot harder to catch than most of the other critters that would snap at any bait on a line. Those were the ones you had to worry about.
“Why on God’s green earth would she want you to take her fishing? It doesn’t seem like something a lifelong New Yorker would want to do.”
He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “She wants to go on a research mission.”
“Sexy.” Shane grinned, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, fuck you.” Jackson’s laugh hammered home the complete lack of heat in his words. Truth was, as soon as the request to go fishing had crossed Carly’s lips, despite the reason behind it, he’d found the whole thing very sexy. “She wants to check out the opportunities to use local ingredients at the restaurant. You know, make the food experience more personal by adding regional flair.”
“Putting regional flair on a twelve-ounce pike is like putting lipstick on a pig, Jax. Some of the fish in that lake are pretty scary. You’ve said so yourself.” Shane dropped his wrench into the toolbox with a clang and hooked a thumb through his belt loop.
“That’s why I’m taking her, dumbass. She wants to see if there’s anything worth looking for, but she’s never been fishing so she doesn’t know where to start. We’re just going to give it a try and see if we can come up with some bass or maybe a catfish.”
All in all, Jackson really couldn’t have asked for a better deal. Pretty girl, relaxing pastime. What more could a guy want?
“Sounds like it’s right up your alley.” His eyes darted over Jackson with an odd expression that was gone before he could reply. “Thanks for the help. Buy you a beer for your effort? Bellamy’s on dinner service until eleven.”
Jackson nodded, his thoughts drifting to Carly at the mention of the restaurant.
Feed her.
His head jerked up with a start, and the words that had been absent all week rattled around in his mind like they’d never left.
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson maneuvered his truck over the winding driveway leading to Carly’s bungalow at about the same time the sun crested over the horizon through the trees. Few things in life were as pretty as a mountain sunrise, and he eased the truck to a stop and got out, taking a long second to enjoy the view from the top of her driveway.
“Hey.” Carly’s voice, sleep-laden and sexier for it, took him completely by surprise, and he jerked toward the spot where she stood on the porch.
“Are you ever going to let me ring the bell?” Jackson asked, cursing himself for spouting out the first thing that popped into his head. Damn, she looked cute in her broken-in jeans and red hoodie, with all of those dark, beautiful waves of hair piled up on her head in a knot. She made her way down the walk, a steaming travel mug in each hand and a small picnic basket in the crook of one elbow.
“You’re welcome to ring the bell as much as you like, but if you wake Sloane up, it’s your funeral.” Carly handed him one of the mugs and buried a yawn in her fleece-covered shoulder before returning her arm to her side. “Girlfriend is a little uptight about her beauty sleep.”
“Thanks.” Jackson toasted her with his cup. “And some of us get up this early all the time, you know.” He walked Carly around to the passenger side of the truck to open her door.
“I can’t help it if you’re clinically insane,” she said, stifling another yawn and climbing in. “Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”
Jackson laughed, walking around to climb behind the wheel before answering. “Going to work makes me clinically insane?” He rolled the windows down by habit, and the ensuing breeze toyed with the loose tendrils around Carly’s face as he pulled out of her driveway and started down Rural Route 4.
“Your charm is no good with me before ten AM.” She lifted a brow, probably in an effort to look menacing, but she was too damn pretty to pull it off. “You’re avoiding the question.”
He sent an intentionally lazy smile in her direction. “Did you just call me charming?”
Carly’s jaw tightened over a frown, which struck Jackson as more adorable than anything else. Holy shit, was she tough. She opened her mouth, presumably to retract her statement about his charm, and he cut her off with a grin.
“Okay, okay. Technically, I didn’t take a day off. My boss, Luke, had some stuff he was going to take care of on Saturday, but I did it instead. He’s covering for me today to make up for it.”
Her narrow gaze softened. “You really didn’t have to do that just to take me fishing.”
“Are you kidding? Luke was so grateful to sleep in on a Saturday, I think he considered giving me tomorrow off, too. And if you want to have a shot at catching anything worth eating, then yeah. I really did have to do it. Morning’s the best time to catch fish around here. Too late in the day and the tourists get loud.”
Carly laughed, a magical sound that popped him right in the gut. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware fish had ears.”
“Not all animals need ears to hear. When there are a lot of people on the lake, water skiing and tubing and whatnot, most fish don’t tend to stick around. The disturbances in the water along with the higher temperatures later in the day send them packing.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. Bold, rich flavor filled his senses, and he drew back, impressed. “Wow, this is insanely good.”
Carly laced her fingers around her own travel mug, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Thanks. It’s a special blend from Jamaica. A little tough to get, and kinda pricey, but if you’re going to get up this early, you might as well have something that’ll kick-start the hell out of your day.”
“What’d you do to make it taste so good?” Jackson took another draw, inhaling as he went. The second sip didn’t disappoint, either, all deep and earthy, and he savored the smooth aftertaste on his tongue.
“It’s fresh-ground, but other than running it through a French press and adding a little sugar and milk to offset the strength, I didn’t have to do much.” Carly closed her eyes and inhaled, the curve of her breasts rising up to meet the open V of her hoodie, and every one of Jackson’s nerve endings sizzled to life.
She exhaled, slow and sweet. “It also doesn’t hurt that we’re drinking it on a gorgeous morning with fresh air pouring in through the windows, you know?” A long strand snapped free from the knot on her head, bringing the smell of wildflowers with it.
Forget the coffee. The scent of Carly’s hair, the way she made something as benign as a fleece hoodie look so utterly sexy, the jolt of heat that coursed through him like raw electricity . . . now that was worth waking up for.
“Right.” Jackson laughed as he made the turn toward the docks. “I forgot. Everything’s an experience.”
Carly smiled over the rim of her coffee mug, and her fresh-scrubbed face and big brown eyes ganged up on his libido in a move that he’d swear was unfair, except he liked it too much to complain.
“Life’s an experience. You might as well eat good food on the way.”
Carly eyed the small, pristine boat moored to the dock with sinking uncertainty, her knuckles going white around the wicker handles of her picnic basket. This was not the kind of experience she’d had in mind.
“You didn’t mention we’d be going on a boat,” Carly said, her vocal cords threatening to betray her casual façade. She shifted her weight against the silvery, weather-worn boards, watching Jackson step aboard the boat in a seamless transition from dock to deck.
“It’s pretty much impossible to catch anything you’d eat in water this shallow, so I asked my brother-in-law if we could borrow his boat for the day. Why, is that a problem?” Jackson paused, his blond brow furrowed in concern.
Carly eyed the lazily bobbing boat in a standoff, grateful for the cover of her sunglasses on the off chance it could sense her fear.
“Nope,” she lied. How the hell was she supposed to know you couldn’t fish off the perfectly good pier jutting out from the end of the dock, and that Jackson’s brother-in-law had a boat just right for the job? Her desire to use local resources felt far less emphatic than it had when she’d started tossing the idea around in her head a few weeks ago.
“You want a hand?” Jackson put the fishing poles and supplies they’d picked up from the bait shop down on the deck by his feet, turning to give her a crooked smile
on his way back to standing.
“Sure,” Carly replied, feeling anything but. “So, um, what kind of boat is this, exactly?” Her inner voice willed him to answer with something along the lines of the kind that’s physically impossible to sink.
“It’s a nineteen-foot Bayliner with a 150-horsepower motor.” He reached out, presumably to help Carly on board, but she rooted her feet to the dock and passed over the picnic basket in an effort to stall. It figured her one fear in life would rear its ugly head. How had she not seen this coming? Nineteen feet was downright miniscule for a boat. The Staten Island Ferry could probably eat ten of these little things for breakfast. And she wasn’t even crazy about the ferry.
Jackson cleared his throat in a gentle rumble, and Carly was startled to realize he’d stepped back off the boat to stand next to her on the dock. “You’ve never been on a boat before, have you?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, a trickle of sweat beading between her shoulder blades even though it wasn’t all that hot out.
“For your information, I have,” Carly corrected, her chin lifted high. “Just . . . not one this small.”
“Ah. I take it you’re not a fan.” Jackson’s trademark smirk was conspicuously absent, and she exhaled in a slow leak.
“I don’t like being right on the water, that’s all.”
But rather than tease her or give her a hard time, he just gestured to the boards beneath their feet. “So you’re okay on the dock.”
“Well, the dock is anchored to the ground. Plus, the water’s not so deep here.” Carly pointed to the shoreline, where a tall swath of reeds poked up from the bottom. “I just . . . I feel more comfortable knowing where the bottom is.”
Stupid, irrational fear! Why couldn’t she be afraid of thunderstorms like Sloane? At least that made sense—natural disasters were way scarier than plain old watercraft, for God’s sake.
Gimme Some Sugar Page 18
