America's Sweetheart

by Jessica Lemmon

  “But?” His hand leaves my waist to tuck a knuckle under my chin.

  “But that doesn’t mean the kiss was an act. I was lost, Jax.” He stops swaying to our silent dance tune. “You were the one who left our picnic. You were the one who turned me down when I asked you out later.”

  “You were lost,” he repeats flatly. “Not acting?”

  “No! Jax.” I let out an exasperated laugh, not the least bit amused. “I thought you were the one who didn’t feel anything. I thought we ended that day and then you went out with Kim again”—I practically hiss after I say her name—“or someone.”

  “What?” He laughs, the sound amused and exasperated. “You think I left the park, dropped you off, and then went on a date?”

  “Not that night, but I didn’t hear from you for days.”

  “So obviously I was fucking someone else.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “You thought it.” Hands on my upper arms, he moves me off his feet so I’m on the floor once again. “Which is insane, Mini, do you know why?”

  “No, I don’t know why.” I put my hands on him to shove him away but his palms hold tight to my arms. “Why don’t you enlighten me and tell me why?”

  “Because,” he growls, walking me back a few steps until my butt bumps the wall. “The only woman I want to fuck is you. Repeatedly. So bad I can’t remember why it’s a bad idea anymore.”

  He’s poised over me like a predator but I am far from prey. I’m a willing equal. I can’t deny that this deep, dark want is exactly what’s been burning between us since the moment I saw him standing in this house.

  Clutching his neck, my palms brushing his soft facial hair, I tug him until his lips cover mine. He anchors himself to the wall, one hand flat, arm up, and fits every delicious inch of his incredible body against mine. Our tongues tangle and lash, kisses going from hard and fast to soft, slow, intentional. He cups my jaw, bent over me as I lift his shirt and tuck my hand into the waistband of his jeans. Low, lower, until I graze the tip of his cock nudging relentlessly against the seam of his briefs like it’s trying to escape.

  “Mini.” His gruff voice makes my name sound more like a demand. He lifts me off the floor and I hook my legs around his waist, nose to nose with him before I kiss him again. Wildly.

  And damn, is he delicious.

  I tip my head back and his mouth hits my throat. He licks the pulse point as my heart kicks into a hectic pattern. He tracks his mouth down to my collarbone, yanks aside the low neck of my T-shirt. When his lips close in a wet kiss over the top of my breast at the edge of my bra, I buck my hips, wanting—no, needing—more.

  He cups my ass and moves us toward the bed and that’s when we’re interrupted by a softly muttered swearword.

  Jax’s back is to the doorway, but he freezes in place, my butt cradled in his palms, his eyes hazy and lust drenched. I peek around his head. Tommy stands in the hallway, his hand lifted in apology.

  “Sorry. God. So sorry.” He backs toward the stairs and is out of sight a second later.

  “That was Tommy,” I whisper to Jax.

  “Yeah. Remind me to murder him.” He blinks hard, like he’s trying to float down from where we were, which takes some doing for both of us. “Later. First let’s shut that door.”

  I laugh—a real one. One that hurts my belly. And when Jax grins, it’s so sincere and achingly familiar I can’t help it when the truth exits my lips.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  His smile fades.

  “Rain check?” I ask. “I can’t handle many more starts and stops like this.” I press my hand to my throat where my pulse is flipping out.

  “Same. I could use a shower anyway. A cold one at the moment.”

  “You smell okay.” I play with the longer hair on top of his head.

  “Not going for okay.” He lowers me to my feet and my sensitized center rubs the thick ridge of his fly on the way down.

  “Jax.” It’s a whimper of protest.

  “I can do better than okay.” He palms my cheek and I lean into it. “Tonight. I’ll finish up here, go home, change, come back.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He leans down and puts a brief kiss on my mouth, but his tongue sneaks out for a taste and has me leaning in for more. “Tonight.”

  I nod, pleased when he adjusts himself rather obviously in the doorway. I like having that hold on him. It’s only fair; that’s the hold he has on me. He turns and winks and then yells for Tommy as he jogs down the stairs.

  I collapse on the mattress, waiting for my heart to steady as I glance across the room at the photo of Jackson and me from what, a dozen years ago?

  Then I think of that night we had sex in the limo, how inexperienced we were, but oh-so-exuberant and willing to try anything and everything simply because it was fun.

  A shiver shakes my shoulders as I consider that Jackson has probably become even better at sex. When he kisses me, he’s about a hundred times more potent than he used to be. I’m more than willing to be the girl beneath him learning the new tricks he’s perfected over the years.

  Tonight. The word holds more promise, more anticipation, more excitement than any in my recent history. And you’re talking to the girl who was on Xavier McCormack’s arm with Millie Duncan’s stolen Oscar tucked beneath his tuxedo jacket, so that’s saying something.

  Chapter 16

  Jax and Tommy wrapped things up around six. Jax looked dog-tired when he was packing up his truck to go home, but when I walked to the driveway to ask if he was sure about tonight, he pointed at me before I could open my mouth.

  “Eight o’clock,” he said.

  I nodded my agreement and went inside, watching out the window as he drove down the street.

  Now, like a panicky hostess, I jerk open the fridge in search of snacks. Thankfully my last delivered grocery order was packed with hummus, salsa, cheese dip, chips, and vegetables presliced for dipping. I spend time arranging dips in bowls and cubing cheese and plating before covering the dishes and bowls with plastic wrap and storing them in the fridge.

  I change from the shorts and T-shirt into a summery short-sleeved dress. Then I decide that dress is too dowdy and change from that into another dress—this one strapless and with pockets. It’s perfect. Sexy but casual, and neutral black with a pretty lace detail on the hemline. I ditch the bra and change from my panties into a black lace thong. Black strappy high heels complete the look. I pat myself on the back for shaving everything this morning, and then arrange my hair in a clip before pulling it down and fluffing it over my shoulders.

  “You’re fine,” I remind my reflection, then grab the mascara from the vanity drawer and touch up my top lashes. “He liked you earlier without any of this.”

  Back to the closet, I hesitate. The shoes are over-the-top sexy, and I’m not sure that’s the kind of note I want to strike. Before I can swap them for sandals I hear a knock at the door.

  Eight o’clock already?

  I take the stairs carefully, given my too-sexy shoes, and arrive at the door with butterflies the size of the Mothman in my stomach.

  Jax looks good in jeans and sneakers, his T-shirt a shade of blue that makes his eye color electric. His keys are in his hand, his hair is damp, beard neatly trimmed.

  I step back and invite him in. He steps past me, the scent of citrus mixed with leather tickling my nose.

  “You smell much better than okay,” I tease as I shut the door.

  His grin is infectious as he tucks his key chain into his front pocket. Now I’m starting to get nervous. Earlier, we weren’t prepared. We do much better making out when the moment overtakes us.

  “Do you…I have food.” Great. Now I’m nervous and it’s showing.

  I’m no longer a virgin. I was once. And the guy standing in front of me, looking at me like I’m a
delectable dessert, is the one I gifted my V-card to. Maybe that’s why I’m nervous.

  “And I have drinks. If you want. Beer?” He takes my hand while I babble. “Wine? I could use some wine.”

  “Let’s have some wine.” His grin is still there and I wonder if he’s placating me and couldn’t care less if he has a drop of alcohol. In the kitchen, he leads me to the barstool. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I sit and smooth my hands over my skirt as he opens the fridge. “I was worried I overshot it. By the time I tried on the black dress, the heels matched and…” I trail off when I notice he has both doors of the fridge open and is peering at the spread of cheese and vegetable platters within.

  Over his shoulder, he asks, “Are we expecting more people?”

  “I didn’t want you to go hungry.”

  “I’m not going hungry tonight.” His smile is sideways as he retrieves an open bottle of white wine from the door.

  He points at a cabinet.

  “One over.”

  He pulls out a wineglass—just one—and splashes a few inches into it. Then he returns to the fridge, nestles the wine bottle in the door and pulls out a can of beer for himself. No glass for him, he cracks it open and takes a long slug. I watch his throat move, my eyes feasting on the thick column of his neck and then down to his chest. By the time my gaze hits his belt buckle, I take a guzzle of my own drink.

  Jax sits on the barstool next to mine and his hands stroke my bare knee before tugging the lace hem of my skirt lower and balling his hand into a fist.

  “That is a dress,” he comments, his voice husky.

  “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t trying.”

  “I don’t need trying, sweetheart. I need willing.”

  I pat his leg but he catches my hand before I can pull away. I like this. Holding his hand. Drinking our drinks. The buildup is unnecessary. The conclusion inevitable. Yet here we sit.

  “I worried you’d be too tired after working all day to come back tonight.”

  “Not a chance.” His expression isn’t the least bit playful.

  “I went outside and peeked at the deck after you left. Looks good.”

  “Yeah, amazing we were able to get anything done, considering Tommy split his time between working and giving me holy hell for kissing you.”

  “Kissing? Tame description for what he walked in on if you ask me.”

  “Two seconds later he would’ve gotten an eyeful of my bare ass.”

  I chuckle, lifting my glass and sipping the wine. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the easy way Jackson has about him, but my nervousness has halved.

  He gives my fingers a tug and encourages me to stand. “Show me the rest of this dress.”

  Holding our hands over my head, he twirls me and I put enough effort into it that the skirt lifts on the breeze my spin creates.

  “Gorgeous,” he mutters when I come to a stop. His shoes are hooked to the rung of the stool, so I step between his thighs and stand really, really close.

  “You haven’t kissed me yet,” I remind him.

  “That’s because when I start I don’t plan on stopping for a very, very long time.” He pushes the hair off my shoulder and a shudder tracks my spine.

  “I’m okay with that.” Now I’m breathless and a barely-there lean away from touching my lips to his.

  His breath dusts my mouth as he whispers, “Finish your wine.”

  Then he draws away and grins, knowing he’s driving both of us crazy in the best possible way.

  I hop onto the barstool again and lift my glass. “Hard to get is not a good look on you.”

  “I’m not playing hard to get. I’m a sure thing.”

  My heart mule-kicks at that statement. He used to be. At one point in my young life, I was one hundred percent positive that we would be together forever. I couldn’t imagine ever kissing another guy. Then I kissed the first guy after Jax and I split and it was as disappointing as I expected. So were the ones that followed. Xavier’s good at it, but then, it’s his job. I’ve also noticed that when Xavier kisses me, he’s angling his face as if there’s a camera focused on him.

  “What’s the frown about, Mini?” Jax touches the dent between my eyebrows. The one I have my makeup girl fill in with putty for close-ups.

  “Nothing. Just…thinking about…nothing.”

  He tips his beer can to his mouth and then licks his lips. I quiver. Hopefully not visibly. I feel it everywhere…and I do mean everywhere. Especially the parts of me that have been particularly neglected as of late.

  “We used to make out a lot in there.” He points with his chin at the living room behind me. I swivel on my seat even though there’s no need to look. The darkened room with the TV and L-shaped wraparound couch was where, when we were teens, we used to stay up really late while (not) watching a movie and kissing until we were both sweaty and panting.

  “Different couch,” I comment.

  “Same girl.” He stands. “No one here to catch us tonight.”

  “Wasn’t the fear of being caught half the fun?” I grab my wineglass and follow him to the room. We sit, the only light spilling into the dim room from the kitchen. The shadows are comforting.

  “We always had fun.” He sets his beer can and my glass on a side table. We sit next to each other at the far side of the couch, our voices low and heartbeats loud.

  “Until we didn’t have fun.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “Right now is about living in the moment—a great moment.”

  “I haven’t had a lot of great moments lately.”

  “I know.” He touches me, just a soft brush of his fingertips to my face. “But you’re about to have a few really great ones with me.”

  There’s plenty of time for reality later, if we go there at all. I move closer to his mouth to find out if he’s ready to get the ball rolling on the whole kissing-without-stopping promise he made in the kitchen.

  He is.

  Our lips fuse, soft nips as we explore each other’s mouth. I suck in air through my nose, wiggling closer. He cups the back of my head and anchors me to him. When he widens his mouth and angles it just so, I respond, letting him delve deeper. I feel the kiss in my entire body, sparks shooting off like mini rockets in every erogenous zone.

  His thumb grazes my cheek as he rests his forehead on mine. “I remember what it felt like to touch you back then—I couldn’t get enough.” He slides that hand down my shoulder and traces the neckline of my dress—just over my breasts—with the tip of his index finger. “I wanted it all, and I kept begging for you to give me the green light.”

  My breath leaves my mouth in a stuttering sigh.

  His fingers rake into my hair to move it aside and he lays his lips on my throat, kissing lightly before murmuring into my ear. “How’m I doing?”

  “Don’t stop.” I feel his grin against my skin—my overheated skin.

  He places another kiss to my throat while fisting my hair and dragging me closer. He doesn’t have to try hard. I cup the back of his head while he explores me, and when that’s not close enough I climb onto my knees and throw a leg over his lap. He tips his head back and accepts my kiss, holding me as I devour him. We can’t get close enough. Not while wearing clothes.

  I remember back when we were younger. Back when feverish make-out sessions like this one stopped short of what we both wanted. I was the shier one, slowing us down before we took it too far.

  That night of my parents’ party, they were too busy entertaining their friends to check on us, and thank God for that. Jackson and I fumbled through undressing each other and making love on my bed. He asked over and over if I was okay. If I was sure. And when we took each other’s virginity in that dark room, he promised to love me forever, and I promised it right back. It was beautiful, if not clumsy, and when
he held me after, I decided I’d never let him go.

  We let each other go.

  It’s a somber thought to have. Disconnecting my brain is as simple as delighting in a physical sensation, so I swivel my hips against his and poof!, thoughts from yesteryear vanish.

  Jax, unaware of my brief visit down memory lane, lets out a grunt followed by a low groan of need. I follow suit when he slips two fingers into the front of my dress and brushes a nipple.

  No straps to fuss with, he tugs my dress down, freeing my breasts. He holds them like precious gems, examining them in the meager light.

  “Beautiful.” He thumbs the bud and watches as it hardens under his touch. I grind against his hard-on, desperate for friction to relieve the pounding beat between my legs.

  He leans forward, nuzzling the peak of each breast with his beard before suckling one nipple deep into his mouth, his hand on my back to flatten me against him.

  A high-pitched mewl of desire, desperate and needy, leaves my lips. He knows where to touch me to set me off. He’s had a lot of practice. If there was one area where he achieved a four-point-zero GPA in college it was on the subject of Allison Murphy.

  I might come like this before I successfully remove a single article of his clothing. I try to make that sound bad in my head but fail.

  He slides his mouth to the other breast, slow and sure in his approach as his other hand wraps around my ass and drives me down on him hard. He lets my nipple go with a pop and when he tips his eyes to mine, they’re heavy lidded and dark.

  I climb from his lap and fumble for his belt. He helps, and I awkwardly move aside to give him room to strip off his jeans, socks, and shoes. He grabs the side of his shirt and strips it off from left to right. All my life I’ve never seen a guy take his shirt off like that. It’s so uniquely Jackson Burke that my throat clogs. It harkens back to when we belonged to each other and the world was small. Before he owned a business. Before I became famous. Before we threw what we had to the dogs.

  He reaches for my dress and I stand. I let him shove it down my body and off my hips. He takes my hand while I step from the pool of fabric. When I bend for my shoes, he reprimands me gruffly.