Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts)

by Tiffany Snow

  “Are you sure?” he murmured against my lips. My eyes flew open.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Just wanted to verify.”

  “‘Jackson, ya big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever,’” I quoted. To my delight, he replied.

  “‘Show me the way home, honey.’”

  I grinned, pulling my knees up and spreading my thighs a bit wider to accommodate him. He sat back on his heels and took Mr. Happy in hand, guiding him into me.

  This was it, I couldn’t help thinking. And I was suddenly really glad I’d waited for Mr. Right and not just Mr. Knows-What-He’s-Doing. I think I’d gotten both.

  The feeling of him slowly filling me was indescribable, but I’ll try anyway.

  Intimate. Erotic. Vulnerable. Pleasurable. The heat of him inside me, the way he looked in my eyes as we became one, the pause he made before pushing in all the way and the twinge inside that faded almost instantly. I’d never felt more feminine in the best possible way than when he was deeply seated inside me and we both let out sighs of pure pleasure.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was slightly breathless.

  “Okay is grossly inadequate to describe this,” I replied. This time my smile wasn’t one of humor, but that of a woman whose man looked utterly enraptured. “Don’t you think?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

  “Thinking isn’t on the agenda at the moment,” he replied. He pulled out a bit, then entered me again, making my eyes slide shut.

  I agreed, but couldn’t vocalize it, because then he was moving with more purpose and my hips mirrored his. My legs circled his hips, lifting to meet his thrusts.

  His hand cupped underneath my knee, lifting it higher, and I was glad I was flexible enough to accommodate this position because it felt really, really good.

  “Kiss me,” he breathed against my lips, a rhetorical request since his tongue slipped inside my mouth to dance with mine.

  Kissing was so much better when it was during sex, I decided. It gave everything a whole new—and welcome—intimacy.

  I had no idea how long to expect things to last—the romance novels always glossed over the specifics—but it wasn’t quick and it wasn’t so long that I’d get a cramp in my side. It was . . . perfect. When I wanted him to move faster and harder, I told him, and he did, and it was incredible. Judging by the sounds he was making, he liked it that way, too.

  I could feel myself hovering on the edge of an orgasm and when it rolled over me, it was the best I’d ever had. Turned out masturbating was to actual sex what watching Star Wars on a fourteen-inch screen was to watching it in 3-D on an IMAX.

  It was kind of nice that I finished before him because not only could I concentrate on his body and his face, but his cock against my overly sensitive flesh made a friction that kept the aftershocks going. Oh wow . . .

  Jackson’s body spasmed into mine, groans falling from his lips. I held him closer, arms and legs twined around him. His face was buried in my neck when he stilled, then he was kissing me again.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, pressing his lips to my cheek, my nose, my forehead. “And beautiful.”

  “Well, don’t move more than two feet away or I won’t be able to see you,” I said.

  Jackson laughed, rolling over onto his back and pulling me with him until I lay on top of him. My feet only reached his midcalf as I rested my head against his shoulder.

  “Was it worth the wait?” he asked softly. His fingers combed through my hair, arranging it gently down my back.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.” I looked up at him, resting my chin on my folded arm. “I’m glad I waited. You were worth it.”

  The next moment, I was reconsidering my candor as something changed slightly in his eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said lightly, and gave me a smile.

  I wondered what this meant for us. If it was a one-time thing, or if this meant we were In A Relationship. But all those romance novels had one thing in common: never ask first, especially after the first time you have sex with someone. It was nice, though, that I could now relate to the burning questions those heroines always had.

  His eyes were kind, if a bit more shuttered than they’d been “during,” and it was a nice moment just looking into them. Turning my head, I rested my cheek against his chest. His breathing was even and I fell asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

  17

  I woke slowly, my body aching in strange places, and it took me a moment to remember where I was and what I’d done. Had it really happened? Or had I dreamed it? A glance to my right confirmed it. Jackson was lying on his back, asleep, his chest bare above the sheet which was drawn up to his waist. At some point, I must’ve rolled off him.

  Without waking him, I slid out of bed. I was too keyed up to sleep more, even though the sky was just now lightening with dawn. We’d had sex. I was no longer a virgin. Plus, I was starving.

  Retrieving my clothes from the floor of the bathroom, I pulled them on before tiptoeing downstairs.

  It was a gorgeous home, one of those log cabin places meant to look rustic but in reality a luxury residence that was a far cry from the pioneer days. Something smelled good and I followed it to the kitchen. Black granite countertops and high-end appliances outfitted the place. I was drawn to a note by the oven.

  Thursday is breakfast-for-dinner night.

  I smiled, opening the oven to see that Lance had left a quiche Lorraine for us to eat. I hadn’t ever asked how Jackson had known about my schedule, but at the moment it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside that he did. Technically it was closer to breakfast than dinner time, but I wasn’t complaining. Jackson and I had been too . . . busy last night to bother checking the oven.

  “That looks good.”

  My scream at the voice behind me was immediately muffled by a hand over my mouth. I was hauled backward against a man’s chest and the voice spoke in my ear.

  “Don’t scream, China. It’ll just piss me off. And I’m already pissed off, having to hunt you down out here in the middle of the fucking woods.”

  Clark.

  Little by little, he lifted his hand from my mouth. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. I was acutely aware that his arm was locked around my waist and that my back was pressed tightly against his chest.

  “Looking for you, obviously,” he retorted, his sarcasm thick.

  “Let me go.” I squirmed and he released me. Whirling to face him, I hurriedly backed up, putting some space between us. “What do you want?”

  He looked me up and down, then raised one dark eyebrow. “Looks like your virgin status is a thing of the past. Am I right?”

  My face had to turn six shades of red, judging by the heat in my cheeks. “That’s none of your business.” I decided not to say anything about how it could’ve been his business, but he’d rejected me. In hindsight, a good thing.

  Clark’s lips twisted, but he let it go. “I’m guessing Jackson has fully recovered?”

  “He’s doing all right, yeah.”

  He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. I wondered if he was armed, then thought that was probably a given.

  “His company is safe from being sued and the FBI has dropped their investigation. On top of that, he got the girl. I’m guessing he’s sleeping well tonight.”

  I felt vastly underdressed and without my usual armor, whereas Clark was wearing dark jeans, boots, a dark gray T-shirt and a black leather jacket. Somehow I thought this was more his usual attire than what he adopted for his HR persona. And it didn’t help that his gaze kept sweeping down to my bare legs and feet.

  “What do you want, Clark? A thank-you?”

  He gave a careless shrug and crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t hold my breath.”

  “You told me you didn’t do rescue missions,” I said. “So who fired the shot that killed Lana?”

  Cla
rk shrugged. “She was a real bitch. And you’re welcome.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jackson’s voice came from behind Clark. I hadn’t seen or heard him come in the room.

  Clark didn’t do anything for a moment, then his expression smoothed. “Looks like your boyfriend is coming to the rescue,” he said to me in a low, conspiratorial tone. “How’s it going, Jackson?” He turned slowly.

  Jackson stood a few feet away, gun in hand. “Why are you here? How did you find us?”

  “We have some unfinished business,” Clark said. He opened a cabinet and took down some plates, seeming completely unconcerned that a gun was pointed at him. “Finding you was easy. You really think putting this place in Lance’s name would fool anyone?” He snorted, opening the fridge and taking out a beer. “Some genius you are.”

  Popping the top, he took a long swallow of the beer, then glanced at us as if he’d forgotten we were there. “My apologies,” he said. “Did you want one, too?” He motioned to the fridge.

  My mouth was agape in shock and Jackson just looked pissed.

  “No? Suit yourself. Food smells good though. Let’s eat while we chat. I’m starving.”

  He took the quiche out of the oven and set it on the counter. My stomach gave a noisy growl as the aroma filled the kitchen. Looking over at Jackson, I shrugged and started going through drawers until I found the utensils.

  I took the loaded plate Clark handed me and walked past Jackson into the front room. A fire burned in the huge, brick fireplace and there was an overstuffed, oversized chair right next to it that was calling my name.

  Curling up in the chair, I set my plate on my lap and dug in. The boys could figure out their business or fight or whatever. I just wanted to eat.

  A few moments later, Clark came in, sitting in an armchair across from me. Then Jackson, who took the sofa. He carried a plate and set the handgun right next to him within easy reach.

  “The lovebirds aren’t sitting together?” Clark asked. He leaned toward Jackson. “Maybe you weren’t as good as you think you were.”

  Jackson ignored him. “China says you’re CIA.”

  Clark took another bite. “Not quite true, but close enough.” He glanced at me. “You wrote the algorithm. You still have that software. I want to know who you’re selling it to.”

  “Who says I’m selling it to anyone?”

  Clark rolled his eyes. “You’re a businessman, you make money—it’s what you do. I could make a phone call right now and have the FBI on your doorstep, arresting you.”

  “You won’t leave here alive if you try,” Jackson threatened.

  “Relax, lover boy,” Clark said. “I said I could, not that I would. I’d rather know what you’re going to do with it.” Using his fork, he pointed at Jackson. “You’re hiding something. You going to fess up? Or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Will you two knock it off?” I interrupted. “You sound like teenagers. And not very smart ones at that.” I looked to Clark. “He’s not going to do anything with it.”

  “Bullshit,” Clark said.

  I looked at Jackson. “Tell him.”

  There was a long pause before Jackson answered.

  “It’s not up to me,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  His gaze swung to meet mine. “I told you who wanted that software done. Just because Lana tried to steal it doesn’t mean it’s over. They’re still going to want it.”

  “Who is they?” Clark asked, his voice sharp.

  “Why should I tell you?” Jackson shot back. “You can’t be trusted.”

  “I also just saved both your lives.”

  “The software is what’s going to keep us alive. I’m not giving up the only protection we have.”

  “You don’t think someone’s going to kill you for it?”

  “It’s my bargaining chip.”

  They were at an impasse, staring daggers at each other. I didn’t know which side to take, so I kept quiet. I could understand Jackson wanting to keep secret the fact that the president’s own people had ordered the software. But Clark had put himself on the line to save us, so he couldn’t be just a mercenary.

  The silence was interrupted by the buzzing of Jackson’s cell phone in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then answered it.

  “Jackson Cooper.” He listened for a long moment, then glanced at me. “Yes, I know.” More silence. “Okay. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He ended the call.

  “That was my lawyer,” he said. “Now that I’m out of the hospital, the board is demanding a meeting to discuss what happened, and reporters are wanting a statement. I need to go do damage control.”

  Dismayed, I said, “But I thought I was in the clear. That Cysnet was in the clear.”

  “You are, but they’re still nervous about Cysnet’s name being attached to what was initially reported as corporate espionage. The stock has taken a dive over the past few days.”

  Crap. I chewed my lip, setting aside my plate since I wasn’t hungry anymore. Not with this now happening. “Jackson, I’m sorry—”

  “None of that,” he interrupted, getting to his feet. “You can stay here until I get back, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of smoothing things over.”

  “I can’t just stay here,” I said. “I don’t have my things.” I did so hate to be without my stuff. It made me vaguely uncomfortable. “And there’s Mia. She’s been by herself now for nearly two days, which means I’m a terrible aunt and guardian . . .”

  “Your car is back at my house and trust me, you don’t want to be there right now. Reporters are crawling all over the place.”

  Oh God. The thought of being on TV, peppered with questions by reporters who had no idea of the difference between software and hardware made my head start to pound. I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands.

  “So I’m just supposed to hide here indefinitely?” I asked.

  “I’ll take her home,” Clark said.

  I glanced at him in surprise. Since when did he want to be all helpful? Last I checked, we’d ceased being useful to him.

  Jackson looked suspicious. “Why would you do that?”

  Clark shrugged. “I’ve got time to play taxi.”

  Jackson looked about as skeptical as I felt, but what choice did I have? “It’s fine,” I said to Jackson, getting up and walking over to him. I tipped my head back to meet his eyes, his hands settling on my hips. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do, okay?”

  “You’re sure?”

  Not a bit. “Absolutely.” I smiled my awful, fake smile, then remembered how bad I was at that. I still didn’t trust Clark, but I’d put Jackson through enough danger and trouble already. He didn’t have to escort me home when his business was on the line.

  Jackson’s grimace said I wasn’t fooling him, but I gave him a little push. “Go on. Go. I’ll be fine.”

  “Call me when you get home,” he said. Before I could reply, he kissed me. His hands slid to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair and sending a shiver through me. This was a different kiss than before. A sated, possessive, deep kiss.

  When he pulled back, I was a little breathless and I knew my eyes were too wide and bright, but I couldn’t help it. It was all so new and so . . . wonderful. I couldn’t even stop the stupid grin on my face. I may as well have had a neon sign over my head: Just Had Awesome Sex with Her Dreamy Boyfriend.

  “You two need a few minutes? Shouldn’t take more than seven, right? Nine, tops.”

  Clark’s sarcastic drawl was ice water over my head. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  Jackson ignored him, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to change. Call me later.” I nodded, watching him as he headed upstairs to the bedroom.

  I may have stomped over to Clark. “I liked you a hell of a lot better when you were in H
R,” I hissed.

  A lifted eyebrow. “Boring?”

  “Nice.”

  “Nice is boring.”

  Whatever. “Let’s go.”

  I was temporarily flummoxed when I opened the door. It was pouring down rain and we were in the woods, which meant there was a sea of water and mud between the door and the driveway. The path was paved, but muddy water cascaded over it.

  “Will you melt?” Clark asked, his voice at my ear.

  I shot him a look of irritation. “I’m not wearing my rain boots. Just my tennis shoes.” Rain boots were definitely necessary. Wet feet were very uncomfortable, unsanitary, and led to colds, possibly even pneumonia. If I stepped out that door, I could wind up in a hospital.

  “It’s just water.”

  “It’s muddy water.” And cold. And wet. And did I mention dirty?

  “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Before I could retort, he scooped me up in his arms. I squealed, then clung to him as he stepped out into the rain.

  I was drenched before he’d gone five feet and I kept my head down, my face in his leather jacket, until he opened the car door and stuffed me inside. He hustled around to the driver’s side as I was getting my breath back. I began shivering almost immediately.

  “Are your feet dry?” he asked.

  “Mostly,” I stammered through chattering teeth.

  He glanced at me, then shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it in my lap. “Here. Put that on.”

  “I d-don’t need your j-jacket,” I protested.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “I don’t—” I began, but he cut me off with a sharp glance.

  “That T-shirt is see-through now.”

  I glanced down. Shit. He was right. Of all the days to wear white. My seafoam lace bra was clearly visible through the sodden fabric. I hurriedly shifted his jacket. Luckily, he was a lot bigger than I was so it covered me entirely.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Don’t be sorry. I appreciated the view.” His smirk was unrepentant.

  He started the car, giving me a welcome distraction from the embarrassment that comment brought about. “This is more what I pictured you driving than the Honda,” I said. It was a Porsche Cayman. Two hundred seventy-five horsepower, one hundred sixty-five miles per hour top speed. First a Mercedes, now a Porsche. I couldn’t fault his taste, but exactly how many cars did he own? “Is this the Black Edition?”