“Wait…What did you just say?” His voice is low and firm, his lips so close to where I need them.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Fuck that.” His lips tip with mischief. He’s going to torture this out of me.
“I don’t let anyone do that,” I admit.
“No one?”
“Not since you.”
A feral light flashes in his eyes. He holds me hostage with that hot gaze as he lowers his mouth to me again and revives his efforts. I want to look away, but I can’t. Hypnotized by the invisible thread that ties me to him. I have the crazed thought that maybe that thread has always been there, and we’re just now aware of it.
That thought fizzles when he slides his fingers home and gentles me to a powerful orgasm a moment later. I come, hips thrusting, mind reeling, nipples tingling.
“So, so good,” are the last words I mutter before my eyes sink shut. Weak from the release and by the realization that it’s Jackson. It’s always been Jackson.
I’m too exhausted to fight that thought so it loiters, alive and uncomfortable until I doze off with the morning sun on my face.
I wake again, my body warm though the tingles have faded. I’m under the covers and Jackson is standing at the side of my bed buttoning and zipping his jeans.
“What happened?” I croak.
He grins, wolfish and charming. Then he goes to his knees, arms folded on the edge of my mattress and says, “You came so hard you had to take a nap. How ya feelin’?”
“Incredible.” Maybe better than that. “What about you?”
“I had to finish myself off. You owe me.” He winks, teasing, and I laugh because I know he’s teasing.
“You’re too good at being irresistible.” I stretch, luxuriating in being in bed while warm and ridiculously satisfied and a little sore from the sex last night. “I think you’re lying when you say there weren’t many women.”
“I don’t want to think about anyone but you right now, Mini.” He kisses my nose. “I like that I was the last guy who went down on you.”
“You would.” I frown and he touches the dent between my eyebrows. “I wish I would’ve kept that to myself.”
“I don’t. You shouldn’t deny yourself when you need something. You deserve better.”
“I didn’t think I needed it. And then here you are. And suddenly: Need.”
“As we’ve established.” His grin endures. “You’re good for my ego.”
“You don’t need me to stroke it.”
His eyebrows shoot into the hair hanging rakishly over his forehead.
“That came out wrong,” I say, but he doesn’t let it go.
“Trust me,” he says as he stands up. “I need you to stroke it.”
He pulls my bedroom door open. “Tommy’ll be here in thirty minutes. I’ll make sure he stays downstairs. Just wanted you to know in case you decide to come find me wearing nothing at all.”
“Is that a request?” I ask as I snuggle the pillow.
He winks as he closes the door. “You bet your sweet ass it is.”
Chapter 19
I step out onto the finished deck as Jax sits on the top step. He’s sweaty and hot—and I mean that in both senses of the word.
“It looks great. And you finished early.” I lower my butt to the wooden step next to him.
“Not finished yet.”
I take a gander over the railings, gate, and stairs.
“We have to stain it and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” His eyes blink lazily as he takes me in. I love the way he looks at me. Like he’s picturing me naked. I know that’s not supposed to feel like a compliment but with Jax it does. He knows exactly how to treat me when I’m naked with him. “I need a shower.”
“I’ll scrub your back.”
He smiles at the offer, squeezes my knee, and then collapses onto his back. His T-shirt rides up over his stomach. The trail of hair that disappears into his jeans is as tempting as the first time I caught sight of it.
We were in phys ed class, and he was a gangly sixteen-year-old. My petite sixteen-year-old self couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was a warm spring day and our teacher told us that as long as we were doing some sort of physical activity, we’d get an A for the day. A group of kids dressed in black sat on the bleachers in protest, but the rest of us took our easy grade. I was walking the track around the high school football field, and Jax and the rest of the guys had set up a game of touch football. I remember the exact moment he leaped into the air to catch the ball and his T-shirt rode up to reveal his flat stomach and a belly button I couldn’t tear my eyes from. My friend Trisha, who was walking and talking next to me, poked fun at me for a week.
I smooth my hand over his stomach now, and he lifts the arm he raised to shield his eyes from the sun so he can squint at me.
“I was remembering that day on the high school football field when I first saw your abs.”
“I didn’t have abs then.”
“Didn’t matter.” I track my fingers over the defined muscles. “That was the first time I’d seen a bare male belly and felt my stomach flip upside-down.”
He knows the story, since I confessed it to him many times.
“I know what you mean.” He plucks the hem of my short summer dress and then cups one of my calves. “I’d seen a lot of short skirts before, but the day you glided past me in the hallway with a skirt that barely touched thigh, I nearly plowed into my locker face-first.”
I giggle.
“Can’t believe they let you wear them that short. I think you sent half of the guys in lower grades into early puberty.”
“I was under the radar. Literally.”
“A short joke. Good one.” He smooths his hand over my calf. I stick my finger into his belly button and he grunts, ticklish. With my wrist captured in his hand, he sits up and rests an arm on his knee, peering over at me like he has something to say, but he doesn’t say anything at all.
“What’s up? This moment feels eerily similar to the first time you were trying to gather enough courage to ask me out.”
His head drops, hiding a smile.
“What?” I chuckle softly even though I’m not in on the joke.
“I eat dinner with my family every Sunday.” He splays his palm and I weave my fingers with his, a comfortable fit. “I was going to ask you to come. If you want.”
What follows is a shrug—his way of telling me that I don’t have to say yes. I can tell it matters. This is a big deal to him. But…
“Are you sure they want me there?”
“Why wouldn’t they want you there?”
I tilt my head, silently stating the obvious.
“Because we broke up?”
“Because I broke up with you. I’m sure Julieann wanted to kill me.” Those two are as close as you’d assume twins would be. She might still want to kill me.
“She has the misguided sense that she needs to protect me because she’s older.”
“She only ever tolerated me.”
“That’s not true.” He squeezes my hand. “Well, it was sort of true. But she’s not going to be mean to you now. She knows how much I loved you.”
Hearing him admit he loved me in past tense is enough to soften the heart I’m trying to keep hardened and distant. I lean in, drawn to him by the honesty reflected on his face. I loved him, too. So much.
“Back then,” he tacks on, and clears his throat, killing the moment. “Don’t worry about it. I thought you could use a home-cooked meal.” He drops my hand.
“Are you insinuating that I don’t cook?” I latch onto the topic change.
“I’ve seen the interior of the fridge in this house. It’s packed with cheese and salad and yogurt.”
“That’s food!”
“Non
e of it’s even hot.”
I nudge him with my shoulder and then stay there, leaning into him, his sunshine-and-sweat smell tickling my nostrils. How is it that he can smell awful and wonderful at the same time? “You do need a shower.”
“I’ve been working in the sun for about twelve hours. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How about I make us a salad and cheese plate? Take a quick shower and then we’ll have a beer and then swim.” The sun will be down within the hour and my parents’ yard is private. “Suit optional,” I add.
“Are you inviting me to dinner now?”
“Yes. But mostly I’m inviting you to swim naked with me.”
We grin at each other and it’s a moment I wish didn’t have to end. But it does. He stands, pulling me up with him, and then he swats my butt when I enter the house ahead of him.
Three empty beer bottles are lined up on the edge of the pool. It’s dark save for the moon, which is a fuzzy orb behind a veil of clouds. My swimsuit top and bottom are discarded next to the bottles. Jax never bothered getting dressed after his shower, coming outside with a beach towel wrapped around his lean hips, which he shed the moment the sun went down.
We’re in the center of the pool, his feet anchored on the bottom, my legs at his waist, ankles locked behind him. He’s kissing me, tongue sliding and slipping along mine in a drugging pace that makes me forget my name—both of them.
The clouds hang heavy and low. The weather app on my phone didn’t show lightning anywhere near, but the particularly grouchy-looking cloud covering most of the block bursts. Warm, fat droplets of rain plink my cheeks and head. Jax breaks our French-kissing rhythm to smile and I return it, our lips still touching.
“Should we get out?” I ask but hold tight to his neck, not wanting to go anywhere.
“No.” He squeezes me closer, nudging my center with a very insistent hard-on. “You should let me in.”
“Water’s the worst lubrication ever.”
“Yeah, but you’re slippery and ready for me.” A fat raindrop splats his nose and he closes one eye. I swipe his eyebrow and cheeks as more drops randomly bounce off the surface of the pool. We kept the lights off, save the one in the kitchen, which is the only illumination to light our way. The yard is large and my parents’ house sits on three lots surrounded by trees at the edges, so Jax and I have plenty of privacy.
I hope.
“What are the chances one of the neighbors is snapping pictures of us in the pool and selling them to TMZ?” I sort of joke.
“Slim to none. But I’ll keep you close so you don’t flash anyone.” His arms are banded around me, my breasts flattened against his chest. “When we get out, I’ll carry you so no one sees.”
“What about you?”
“No one cares about my ass.”
“Not true.” I ruffle his wet hair. “You have a female fan club online I bet would love to see your bare ass.”
“I don’t care about them. Only you.”
That earns him a kiss. I can’t resist him when he’s sweet. We make out some more, a slower, more intentional exploration than before. Part of me warns that I’m in way too deep, but I sternly remind myself that, like this pool, there is a deeper end I could fall into. I don’t have to fall for Jax again. I can enjoy him and his hot kisses and the glide of his talented fingers as they find my channel. I’m as slippery as he guessed.
“Mini. Take me.”
“What if—”
“Just a few strokes. We can finish inside. I need to feel you. You, not a condom.” His desperate plea causes my heart to throb with longing. I want that, too.
“You trust me?” He’s asking so much more than do I trust him not to finish inside me. He’s asking if I trust him to slide in knowing that we’ve had a very big gap of time between us and during that gap we’ve both had other partners.
“I don’t ever go bareback,” he says against my lips. “Ever.”
“Me neither. Just with you.”
“Same.”
We meet each other’s eyes, blinking as the rain slows to a needling mist. In unspoken agreement, Jax lines up and pushes inside me with a subtle shift of his hips. I gasp at the introduction of his slick flesh sliding deep. He grips the back of my neck, his arm wrapped at my waist as he pulls me onto him, going deeper and deeper until he’s fully seated inside me.
Yes. This.
A breath stutters from his lips. His lashes sweep his cheeks as he closes his eyes. How could anything that feels this amazing be legal? We make do, even with the challenge of water. It’s worth it to feel him like this. To feel like the first time we attempted it without a condom—the first time we made love.
“Jax.”
His eyes open, flaying me with the amount of lust swimming in his dark pupils.
“I remember you,” is all he says. It’s all he needs to say. We continue our gentle rhythm for a few minutes until I start to feel the tingle of an orgasm. I open my mouth to cry out, remember where I am and press my lips shut. He stops abruptly when I come, throbbing deep inside me. His face is a mask of pain and I know it’s because he’s so, so ready and has to hold back.
“Fuck,” he growls.
I couldn’t agree more.
“Have to get out.” His voice is broken and hard. “Of you. Of this pool.”
I whimper but kiss him soundly. He slips out but hugs me close, his erection hard and insistent between us.
We swim to the side and climb out quickly, grabbing our towels and racing into the house. We leave a trail of water through the kitchen and hallway and jog upstairs to my room, where we finish what we started outside.
Chapter 20
On the way to Sunday dinner, Jax prepares me for what to expect at his parents’ house.
“Let me paint a picture of a typical Burke Sunday supper.” He’s in shorts and a T-shirt, sunglasses covering his eyes. The windows are down and his hair kicks in the breeze. As he talks, my gaze wanders over every sexy feature on him—and there are a lot to enjoy. Especially the muscles in his forearm standing out as he grips the steering wheel with one hand.
“Mom is frazzled, her jeans dusted with flour or sauce depending on what she’s making. Dad, reading glasses resting on the end of his nose, is typically poring over a new cookbook and complaining about how the type is too small for ‘anyone to read.’ Julieann never helps. She’s hiding out in the TV room, and since my parents don’t want me helping, either, I grab a beer and join Jules on the sofa. Unless it’s a grill night, and then I’m allowed to light the grill, affectionately referred to by Dad as ‘the dag blasted thing.’ ”
“Your dad’s the best.” He really is. I remember him fondly. “I hope he still likes me.”
“Mini.” Chin down, Jax gives me a look over his sunglasses. He trimmed his beard so it’s more like thick scruff making him more stupidly attractive, which is mind-blowing.
“You should’ve stayed in Hollywood,” I say. Casting directors would’ve eaten him up. The camera would’ve loved him.
His jaw tightens and his eyebrows slam over his nose, and I realize that he took that the wrong way.
“No! I mean to become an actor. You’re so good-looking it’s stupefying.”
He doesn’t shoot me a casual grin, only watches the road. We stop at a red light and he finally turns his head.
“I should’ve stayed. I just…couldn’t. Not at the time.”
He’s talking about moving out there with me. There were a lot of factors then, and I can’t let him take the blame for that even though I was content to pile it on him at the time.
“It wasn’t as easy as saying yes, Jax. You had your father’s business to help run. You had goals and aspirations that were here. You like Little Town,” I say of the neighborhood. “L.A. wasn’t a suitable replacement.”
“I coul
dn’t see myself staying there,” he says.
He wasn’t a California guy—isn’t, I remind myself. As an actress, I pretend for a living. It would be easy to pretend that what Jax and I have could be more. It’d be easy to pretend that everything is different now and if faced with the choice to stay in Ohio or go to California with me, he’d choose me.
Reality isn’t as easy. The reality is that my work is no more important than his. Arguably less. He improves people’s lives and homes and offices in a real and tangible way. What I do doesn’t have a clear action/reaction. I can say that I change people’s lives, but do I? More often than not I provide a temporary escape from real life. That doesn’t fix anything.
We don’t talk any more as he finishes the drive. When he turns onto Shandy Lane, sepia-toned memories crush me. I have been to this house a million times. My gut knots with worry and anticipation and a dab of excitement when he parks in the driveway.
“I’m nervous,” I admit as I unbuckle my seat belt.
“Don’t be.” He leans over and tugs me close, kissing me soundly.
“Jax.” I palm his chest. “Are you sure?”
“About you, Allie, always.” He pops the truck door open on his side and instructs me to “Come on.”
I obey, pulling on my proverbial big-girl panties and readying myself to face the pandemonium that is the Burke Sunday dinner.
The second we step onto the porch, the front door swings open. Jax is holding my hand, so I feel him jerk in surprise at the couple standing in the doorframe. It’s like his parents have morphed from the frantic/hectic Burkes he’d described to Ward and June Cleaver.
Jean is wearing a pretty, frilly, spotless apron. Joe is wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and a tie. His hair is neat and his shoes are shiny. I take in Jean’s high-heeled shoes and then snap my gaze up when she lunges toward me, arms open.
“Allison! We’re so thrilled you could make it.” She swallows me into a firm hug, and I don’t have a second to respond before Joe does the same.
“We missed you!” His hug is a little rougher but, in the way he does everything, also kind.
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