Dark Kisses

by Kelly Myers

  “I think you have that backwards,” I say.

  But, it’s like he doesn’t hear me. “Because I don’t, you know, deserve you. You’re far too good for a sinner like me.”

  Suddenly, my eyes fill up with tears. “Jax…” I try to hold them back, but I can’t and the hot wetness tracks down my face.

  “Why’re you crying?” he asks, brushing the tears away.

  “Because I don’t want to live without you.”

  “Baby, I’m right here,” he says and tucks my hair behind an ear. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I press my lips to his then pull back and look into his beloved dark brown eyes. “You’re my Protector, my Warrior, my Angel...and, I love you.”

  I’m not sure what to expect, but several, fleeting emotions move over his handsome features. Then, he rolls me over, trapping me beneath his large body, between his muscled arms. “Say it again.”

  “I love you, Jax.”

  He gives me a huge grin then lowers his face into my hair and presses his lips against my ear. “I love you, too,” he whispers.

  My heart soars and I wrap my arms around his neck. When he pulls back and looks into my eyes, I can see the love there, reflected back to me, and I’ve never known such pure joy. “I need you,” I rasp. “Deep inside me.”

  Jax moves between my legs, spreading my thighs, and the moment he enters me, I arch my back, pushing as close as I possibly can. He pulls my hips up, sliding deeper, angling himself just right against me so the pleasure blooms with each thrust. “Oh, God, Jax,” I moan, twisting up, pushing against him.

  He grinds harder, faster and just when I think I can’t handle another stroke, my entire body explodes in a hot, pulsating shower of light. He comes a second later, filling me with liquid warmth, and then falls down beside me, pulling me with him.

  Jax’s arms hold me close and I nuzzle my face into the crook of his shoulder.

  I’m home, I think.

  36

  Jax

  For the first time since I can remember, I’m ridiculously happy. And, it all has to do with a certain dark-haired, green-eyed beauty who tells me every day how much she loves me.

  I don’t know how a screw-up like me got so goddamn lucky, but I thank the heavens every single day.

  Easton not only tells me she loves me, but she also shows me in the littlest things to the biggest things. I’m a better man because of her and grateful every day to be by her side.

  Loving Easton makes the shadows and the nightmares finally go away.

  We enjoy spending time together, learning new things about each other and supporting one another in everything. Even though she says she wants to take a break from acting for a while, I encourage her to follow her heart. “If it leads you back to acting then go. If it takes you somewhere else, then I’ll go with you there.”

  And, she wants me to be happy, too, and loves following me down to the Platinum Security office where business is booming. After my brawl at the Tarantino party with Lincoln Knight, videos surfaced all over the internet and the story erupted about him being Easton’s stalker.

  I kind of came off looking like a mysterious knight in shining armor and the attention has been a little embarrassing. But, hell, I’ll take it.

  And, apparently, if Platinum Security is good enough for Easton Ross then it’s good enough for everybody. Between Easton and Logan Sharpe, the clients and referrals have been through the roof which means me, Griff and Ryker have been crazy busy.

  I have to say, it feels good.

  But, the best part of all this has been getting to know the woman I love better. Because just when I think I have her all figured out, she hits me with a curve ball. Everyday life with Easton is interesting and keeps me on my toes. We stay at her place half the time and my place the other half. I never thought she’d be happy in my small East Hollywood apartment, but she says it’s cozy and reminds her of me. She hasn’t even made any changes, just a few additions-- like her toothbrush, a hairbrush, a tube of American Doll liquid lipstick and a bottle of Taittinger’s Blanc de Blancs is always in the fridge.

  Oh, and a bottle of Tom Ford Jasmin Rouge sits on my dresser which I like to open and sniff randomly because it smells so goddamn good.

  Easton says the other thing she likes about staying at my place is the freedom. No entourage, no chef, no personal trainer, no bullshit. “I don’t have to worry about being perfect so much anymore,” she says. “And, it’s a bit of a relief.”

  But, she is perfect to me and I don’t care if her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, she wears no makeup and has the same sweats and my t-shirt on for two days straight.

  Not having her chef Jacques around as much, Easton also realized that she enjoys cooking. This works out pretty well since my idea of cooking involves ordering a pizza. I love sitting at the counter and watching her in the cute, little apron, face smudged with flour or whatever else she’s blending up. She likes to experiment and mix things together that might scare me at first, but it usually turns out delicious. Plus, it’s always nice when she wants my opinion and slides something into my mouth to taste.

  I especially enjoy that. And, I’m happy to say that we’ve replayed the hot sex on the kitchen island a few times since Big Bear.

  There are some fun perks, though, when we stay at her house. I particularly enjoy skinny-dipping in the pool. Oh, and that rainfall shower she has…

  I feel my groin tighten when I think of all the endless hours we’ve spent beneath the waterfall, pressed against the jets, skin hot and slippery.

  One lazy afternoon she tells me she’s ready to go get a tattoo. My good girl is turning bad right before my eyes and I love it. We hop on the back on my Norton and go to the tattoo parlor where she scans the tattoo flash up on the walls and in the binders briefly.

  “I already know what I want,” she tells me.

  I lift a dark brow. “And, what’s that?”

  She reaches for my right arm and turns it where I have the cursive “M.”

  “I want one just like this,” she says. “But, a ‘J.’ For you.”

  God, I love this woman. I immediately decide to get an “E” on my opposite arm for her and tell her.

  A strange look passes over her face and I can see that she’s struggling with something. Like she wants to tell me something.

  “What is it? You rather have me get a “P” for Princess?” I tease.

  “Or, an ‘A’.”

  When she looks away, I take her chin in my hand and tilt her face up to mine. “For amazing?” I ask.

  “For Allison,” she says softly.

  Allison? Then, her words come rushing back from that long-ago night at my apartment when I said it probably wasn’t up to her high standards: “You have no idea who I am, Jax...I don’t even know who I am.”

  I wait patiently for her to continue.

  “That was the name pinned to my blanket when my mother dropped me off at the police station.” She lets out a low sigh. “I’ve never told anyone.”

  My heart swells and I pull her into my arms. We’ve developed such an incredible bond in such a short amount of time and there’s nothing we can’t tell each other.

  “You’ll always be Easton to me,” I say and kiss her temple.

  “Sometimes I feel like such a fraud.”

  I pull back and look down at her troubled face. “Why?”

  “Because so much about my past was created by a publicist. None of it’s true.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your past or what name the mom you had for five minutes gave you as a baby. That’s not who you are, not even close. You’re who you are right now, standing here in my arms, looking up at me. You’re a beautiful, strong and very sassy woman who has the capacity to love so deeply. Who has the power to bring me to my knees with one look, one touch.” I lean down and kiss her thoroughly. “You’re Easton Ross, the love of my life.”

  “God, I love you.” Sh
e stands up on her tiptoes and brushes a wave of hair off my forehead.

  “Good,” I say. “Now get your ass in that chair and get inked, baby.”

  She gives me a smile and sits down in the leather chair. When she first hears the buzz of the needle, her eyes go wide. I take her other hand in mine, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Once it goes numb, you can’t feel a thing.”

  She slaps at my arm and tenses up when the needle begins to pierce the thin skin on the side of her wrist. “I guess it’s not too bad,” she says, scrunching up her nose. Then her face twists up into a grimace. “Except for when it hits the bone.”

  “Yeah, that’s the worst part. But, hey, it’s not worse than taking a bullet.”

  “True,” she says. “And, look at all of yours.” She motions to my arm, chest, shoulder and neck with a wave of her hand and I smirk. “How long did some of those take?”

  I look over at my friend Xander who is an amazing artist and quirk a brow. “What do you think?”

  “The St. Michael one took two five hours visits,” he reminds me, concentrating on the swirl of the “J.”

  “Ten hours!” Easton exclaims. “Ten minutes is enough for me.”

  Xander and I laugh. It doesn’t take long to do the simple cursive letter and he has her wrist slathered in A&D ointment and wrapped in clear wrap in less than ten minutes.

  I’m up next and getting the “E” in the exact spot, but opposite of my sister’s “M,” feels beyond right. I feel complete now having the two most important women ever to grace my life, marked on my body for eternity.

  Easton and I switch places and I lean back into the chair. I’ve always embraced the pain that comes with each tattoo. Because, until now, they all represented something dark and painful. A horror that happened to me and that somehow, I thought I deserved each sting of the needle.

  But, this cursive “E” on the side of my left wrist represents everything that’s bright and beautiful in my world.

  It represents the love of my life. Something that I never thought I would find or even be lucky enough to receive. And, definitely, something I always believed that I didn’t deserve.

  Xander lays the outline down on my skin, then picks up the machine and a low buzzing fills the air again. Each time the needle plunges down into my pores, I revel in the feel, knowing that the end result is a closer connection to Easton.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting my initial,” she says, a smile tilting her mouth up. I nod and she gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m glad. But, you know what they say when couples get their names tattooed on each other? That it won’t last.”

  “Good thing we’re only getting the first letter,” I tease.

  Easton laughs and I watch her admire her new tattoo beneath its wrapping.

  “Already thinking of what you want next?” I ask. “Because tattoos are damn addicting.”

  “So, I hear,” she says, a twinkle in those jewel-toned eyes.

  One Saturday afternoon in September, Easton could tell something was off with me. I tried to brush off the melancholy that was pushing me down, but I was having a tough time shaking it. I told her it was Madison’s birthday. She would’ve been 33 years old.

  Instead of being sad, Easton said we should celebrate and remember her. We stop at a little flower mart and I pick out a bouquet that reminds me of Madison because they’re bright and sunny-looking. Then, we drove out to Hollywood Forever Cemetery in Easton’s Tesla Model S sedan.

  The day is sunny and bright, a perfect 80-degree SoCal day with a blazing blue sky. We spend some time wandering around the park-like grounds, through the unique monuments, statues and headstones. It’s a very scenic place with lakes, reflecting pools and even a view of the Hollywood sign.

  When we reach Madison’s grave, right beside my parents, I lower to the ground and place the bouquet of wildflowers in the marble vase attached to the grave marker. For a moment, I just sit there, Easton by my side, holding onto her hand, and remembering.

  But, this time, all of the good memories flood through me. Not her final moments.

  “Tell me something about your sister,” Easton says.

  I settle down, getting comfortable in the green grass. “She was very kind. I remember how she used to always feed the squirrels peanuts and it would drive my Dad crazy because there’d be a million shells in the grass. Then, when he’d mow the lawn, they’d get caught and make a mess. I swear, every squirrel in the neighborhood would show up when she sat out there. They’d walk right up and eat from her hand.”

  “The squirrel-whisperer,” Easton jokes.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” The memory makes me smile. “She was the middle child and stuck between me and Bastian. Poor thing. But, she always did her best to keep up with us and loved to play in the dirt. Growing up she was definitely a tomboy, but we didn’t give her much of a choice.”

  I chuckle, thinking back about how tough she used to be. “We teased her a lot, but she dished it right back. I remember this one time Bastian and I tried to flush her doll down the toilet.”

  “You didn’t!” She laughs and shoves at my arm. “Rotten boys.”

  “Oh, I didn’t finish. To get back at us, she put all our matchbox cars in a box and buried it in the backyard somewhere. We never found it.”

  “And, she never told you where she buried it?”

  “Nope.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “Guess she really loved that doll. God, we were punks.”

  “You still are,” she says and gives me a wink. “And, I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  We share a soft kiss and my heart has never felt lighter. Thanks to this amazing woman, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

  “I love you, Easton” I say.

  “Love you more,” she says.

  “Impossible,” I tell her and lean in to kiss her again.

  Later that night, we decide to have a movie night. When I ask her what she’s in the mood for, she shrugs and says whatever I want. Then, she adds, “But, maybe not The Expendables again?”

  I laugh and end up borrowing a DVD from Griff. When she asks what we’re watching, I just pop it in and give her a coy smile. “You’ll see.”

  When the opening titles of one of her most popular flicks begins, she covers her face with her hands and bites that red lip. “Oh, no!” she bursts out with a laugh.

  “Can you believe this is going to be the first movie of yours that I watch?”

  She makes a funny face and grabs for the remote. But, I pull it out of her reach and raise a brow. “Griff reassured me that you don’t do nude scenes. I hope to God he wasn’t lying.”

  She bursts out laughing and cuddles down next to me. “Only with you,” she assures me.

  I place a kiss against her temple and reach into the bowl of popcorn on my lap. “Good,” I tell her.

  As the story plays out on the screen, my nerves start to increase. I have a plan and it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the movie when all I can think about is the woman nestled beside me.

  Of course, she’s amazing in the role and I think she’s a very talented actress. But, I’m going to have to re-watch it because my thoughts are preoccupied. I keep running over the same scenario in my head, have a whole speech memorized, and I pray that it turns out the way I hope.

  The way I need.

  When the credits begin to role, I give her a round of applause and she blushes. Then, I stand up and head into the kitchen, telling her I’m going to refill our drinks. Instead of another Budweiser for me, I grab a second champagne flute.

  As I pour the Blanc de Blancs champagne into both glasses, my heart begins to pound. I reach into my pocket, pull out a ring and stare at it for a moment. My hand shakes and I swallow hard.

  The brilliant, square-cut diamond is flanked by two striking emeralds and sparkles under the kitchen light. Looking at it, I feel my heart clench within my chest. I’m about t
o do something that I never thought I’d do in a million years.

  I’m going to propose to a woman who is undoubtedly the love of my life.

  I drop the ring into her glass before I psych myself out. It sinks down through the fizzing bubbles and plops against the bottom with a soft clink.

  After taking a deep, steadying breath, I walk back into the living room and sit down on the coffee table across from her. Here goes, I think. In one minute I’ll either be the happiest man alive or-

  Stop, I chastise myself. No more dark, gloomy thoughts.

  I hold her glass, positioning my hand so she can’t see the ring, and the moment I look into her emerald eyes, I feel a calming sensation sweep over me. Even though I’m sweating and nervous, nothing ever felt more right.

  “There’s something I want to tell you,” I say. Her gaze lifts to meet mine and then those bright red lips curve in a warm smile.

  “You never want to watch one of my movies again?” she teases.

  “What? No,” I say and look down at the engagement ring in her glass, surrounded by bubbles.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  Shit, I’m screwing this up already. And, I want so badly for it to be perfect. I take another deep breath and decide to just be myself and forget the memorized speech. “Easton, when we first met, I was a big, fucking mess. I was actually hungover when you called me to meet.”

  She doesn’t seem at all surprised by this piece of information. Encouraged, I keep going. “Something happened when you hired me and we began spending time together. Something that’s never happened to me before. I was in such a dark, hellish place and I believed I could never love anyone. I honestly didn’t know how,” I admit and set my glass down. I reach for her hand, entwine my fingers through hers.

  “But, you taught me how. You turned me around, you healed me.” I offer her the glass and as she takes it, she sees the engagement ring. Her bright red lips part in surprise.

  “I can’t live without you,” I say and slip down on one knee. Her bright emerald eyes widen and I squeeze her hand. “Easton Ross, will you marry me?”