Jackson

by Melissa Foster

  Chapter Eight

  “WISHING YOU WERE home, dry, and safe, nestled in Bryce’s arms yet?” Jackson asked. He was crouched a few feet away, emptying the backpack, setting out their supplies, and taking stock.

  Laney pulled her knees to her chest. Cold had settled into her bones, her entire body was trembling, and he was making snide remarks? She didn’t bother to answer, just shook her head.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. Some guys looked uglier when they said things that pissed her off. Jackson never did. She watched his eyes turn sorrowful as he tipped them up toward her.

  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “Thank you.” She dropped her gaze as the answer came to her. “I don’t, you know.”

  His hand stopped midair, but he didn’t look at her.

  “I don’t wish I was with him.”

  He moved the empty pack to the side. The sound of thunder rumbled overhead. A few seconds later lightning lit up the sky, briefly illuminating their little cave.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and turned his back to her, as if she hadn’t spoken, and laid it out on the rock.

  “You should take off that wet shirt. You’re trapping the cold in,” he said without looking at her.

  She took off her shirt and laid it out beside her. “Jackson, we should talk, don’t you think?”

  The muscles in his back bunched as his shoulders rounded forward, and he rested his forehead in his hands with a loud exhalation.

  “Yeah. Probably.” He turned to look at her, his eyes dark and conflicted. His skin was damp, his muscles tight, but it was the way he reached for her hand, casually, friendly, that had her moving to his side.

  He folded her in his strong arms, holding her without reservation. She loved the way the contours of their bodies melted together, and she knew that no matter what she decided, he’d always care for her.

  Gathering her hair over the center of her back, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, warm and tender.

  “What do you want, Jackson?” she whispered.

  She felt his chest go still and knew he was holding his breath. Feeling his indecision like a thousand needles prickling her heart, she fought the urge to pull away. She didn’t want to pull away anymore. She needed to figure this out as much as he did.

  With her heart in her throat, she waited out his silence.

  The sound of the rain and the roar of the thunder was smothered by the blood rushing through her ears.

  Jackson fisted his hand in her hair and tugged her head back, bringing them eye-to-eye. His were dark and narrow, hers, she was sure, frightened of the precipice on which this decision had put them. She didn’t want to fall over the edge and into Bryce. She didn’t want to push Jackson into a different place in her life—but she had no control over a man who would choose his freedom over her.

  “I can’t make this decision for you, Laney.” His tone was sharp, his gaze steady. If not for the thundering of his heart, she might think this was his final decision.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I just want to know what you want from me. From us. I’m not asking you to make my decision for me.”

  His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, the sharpness turned to tenderness. “I always want you, Laney. You have to know that.”

  The weight of a thousand questions fell away, and she lowered her forehead to his shoulder. He pressed his hand to the back of her head, his lips to her temple. His arms tightened around her, holding her so close her inhalations were forced to shallow. Her entire body filled with relief. She’d always known, hadn’t she, that they’d never really be able to give each other up?

  She drew back and gazed into his eyes, and in the space of a breath, she felt that confidence slip away.

  ***

  RAIN PUMMELED THE ledge, sending ripples of water streaming beside them. Jackson focused on the tiny river, trying to bring himself to the place where he knew Laney had already settled. He saw relief in her eyes, felt her body go soft and pliable against his. His hand traveled over her warm skin, down the curve of her spine, over her slim waist, to the bloom of her hip covered by wet denim. He was hard again, wanting to strip her bare and bury himself deep inside her until reality slipped away.

  But he wouldn’t do that to Laney. He couldn’t do that to himself.

  Sex was a balm on a burn that would never soothe.

  Her slender fingers slid along his skin. “You love me,” she whispered.

  “Always,” he admitted.

  She searched his eyes, and her finely manicured brows knitted together. Her eyes dampened before he even said a word.

  “But you don’t want me?”

  “I always want you,” he said honestly.

  She shook her head, and he knew she heard the truth behind his words despite her reaction, because she saw all of his truths—and she deserved more than he could give.

  “But I have to let you go, Laney.”

  She dug her nails into his forearms.

  “Don’t you see? I can’t keep doing this to you. I’m not the guy you need. I’m not marriage material.” He forced her back from his chest as self-loathing simmered deep inside him. “I’ve never committed, Laney. Not once. You know this.”

  She was trembling again, shaking her head, clinging to his skin like a lifeline—only he wasn’t her lifeline. He could never be.

  “I can’t string you along, only to ruin your life by hurting you.”

  “You would never allow that to happen.” Her eyes blazed with anger.

  “I already have, haven’t I?” Why was his voice so calm when inside there was a tornado brewing?

  She shook her head, confusion written in the lines mapping her forehead.

  “I don’t know that I’m capable of being with one woman.”

  “You are!” she insisted.

  He moved her from his lap and rose to his feet, fisting his hands by his sides.

  “Don’t you think I wish that were true?” They stared at each other for a long, heated moment. Her eyes pleaded for him to change his mind while his heart shattered inside his chest.

  “I don’t want to fuck you up, Laney. I don’t want to be the guy you find in bed with another woman. It would kill me to leave you wondering where I am at three a.m. after a shoot, when I’m lost in the aftermath of a party, holed up in some woman’s bedroom with my head buried between her legs.”

  She stood, her whole body shaking, her eyes boring through him, sucking the life from his chest. “Fuck you, Jackson. You’re saying those things to scare me off.”

  He stepped in closer and lowered his voice. “Am I? Because you know damn well who I am. You’ve always known who I am. And who I am is not good enough for you.”

  She pushed at his chest, tears of anger streaming down her cheeks, nearly cracking his resolve. “Why are you doing this?”

  He forced words from his tightening lungs. “Because it’s the truth, and I love you too much to hurt you.”

  She pushed him again, and he grabbed her wrist—hard. “Look at me, Laney. Really look at me.”

  She clenched her trembling jaw closed as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “You know what you see. You’ve always known.”

  “I see a coward.” The truth slid from her tongue like venom. “A man I don’t know.” She stepped in closer, pressed her cheek to his, and whispered, “Let. Me. In. Jackson. Please let me in.”

  He closed his eyes against the truth—she was already in.

  In so fucking deep she’d become an inescapable part of him, and he knew he had to let her go.

  Chapter Nine

  IN THE AFTERMATH of the storm, they’d trudged back to the campsite, stripped bare, and lay within the dry blankets of the tent. Their bodies were twined together, their hearts pulling apart. They hadn’t made love. They hadn’t spoken through the night. They hadn’t needed to. Jackson had said everything he’d needed to say—and she’d begged for more. How could they mean everything to each ot
her except the most important thing of all?

  She shoved their supplies into the backpack, feeling like she was packing away the best parts of her life. Jackson disassembled the tent, and every few minutes she felt his eyes on her, holding her hostage, pinning her in place. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken heart.

  Even as she fought the urge to look at him, she admitted to herself that he wasn’t getting any satisfaction from this bullshit. He was just as broken as she was.

  Well…fuck him.

  She zipped the backpack and turned away from him, filling her lungs with a jagged breath as she withdrew the velvet box.

  “I figure we can make it back by noon if we hurry,” Jackson said.

  They were leaving days earlier than they usually did. Another thing that had taken no words to decide. She’d woken up before Jackson, still tangled in his arms, and she’d gone down to the water and sat there until the sun rose, trying to weed through the barbs he’d thrown at her.

  They still stung.

  He was pushing her away in the harshest way possible—and she saw right through it. It was hidden behind the sheen of determination in his eyes, where only she could see it. Hidden beneath the strength in his voice, where only she could detect it. But she’d never had to fight for Jackson before. She’d never had to find a way into his heart. It was like she’d been born nestled inside it, safely cocooned by him at all times. Except now she felt raw, exposed. Alone.

  “Laney?”

  She closed her eyes, fisting her hand around the black box that had started this torrent of hell whirring. Her throat thickened at the sound of his boots crushing leaves, the feel of his big hand on her shoulder. He crouched beside her and reached for her hand, opening her white-knuckled fingers. The velvet box was a beacon between them.

  Without a word he folded her fingers back over it, and she caught sight of the tattoo in his palm.

  He kissed the top of her head and whispered in a gravelly voice full of love and not enough sleep, “We should go.”

  She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to end their treasured trip like this. She knew she could get through to him. He was just scared. She didn’t understand it—he was never scared of a single thing—but somehow she knew that this…The finality of having to commit was too much for him.

  Her heart spilled out in a whisper. “You don’t have to marry me.”

  He squeezed her shoulder.

  “Nothing has to change.” The thinness of her voice sent a shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes against the uneasy feeling growing inside her, reaching out like tentacles gripping her heart and squeezing so hard it morphed her sadness to anger.

  What am I doing? What am I offering you?

  Herself on a fucking silver platter? No strings attached?

  Just like always?

  She’d been fine with it until now. What the hell did that say about her?

  But now…Now that she had an offer for more, she was thinking about more. Maybe she even wanted more. Now no strings attached wasn’t enough.

  She rose to her feet with the sudden realization.

  “I was wrong,” she said angrily. “Something has to change. Your brothers changed, Jackson. Logan, a man who sealed his heart off in a concrete cave, changed. Even Heath, who claimed not to have time or desire for a woman, fell head over heels in love and changed. People change.” She stumbled backward. “I’ve changed, Jackson.”

  He rose slowly, unfolding his powerful body and pulling back his broad shoulders with grace and dignity that belied any reaction to the statements she’d just made. He stared down at her, the air between them sizzling the way it always had, passionate and relentless. And somehow—God, somehow—he managed to keep his emotions in check. Unlike Laney, who wanted to scream and holler and fight until this whole mess was out on the table.

  “Are we ready?” he asked calmly. “We’ve got a long hike down the mountain.”

  She stepped in closer. “Oh yeah, I’m ready, all right.”

  She could force strength to her voice, and she could snub her nose at him as if she didn’t give a rat’s ass if he wanted to be a prick. But fooling her heart was a whole different ball game—and she didn’t give a damn what that said about her.

  Chapter Ten

  AN ESCAPE. THAT’S what Jackson needed right now. A sweet, sexy body with bedroom eyes and the ability to make him come until he couldn’t think straight. A solid dose of the reasons why he couldn’t tell Laney how he really felt. She hadn’t spoken to him the whole drive back from the mountains, and he didn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly been Mr. Cordial when she’d poured her heart out, acting as if she hadn’t said a damn word. Goddamn it. He hated seeing the destroyed look in her eyes. He’d protected her for all these years, and now he was the one causing her pain. It sucked. It more than sucked. It bowled him over like a tidal wave, drowning him in self-loathing.

  He was doing the right thing. He loved Laney too much to be the guy who fucked up the rest of her life. At least that’s what he told himself.

  Fuck. Life should not be this complicated.

  After dumping his camping gear at home and forcing himself to ignore the scent of her perfume, which lingered everywhere, he took a long, hot shower and headed over to NightCaps to drown his thoughts—and maybe pick up a willing woman to fuck the self-loathing out of him.

  NightCaps was crowded—thank God. He needed distractions tonight.

  “Isn’t this your camping week with Erica?” Dylan Bad, the owner of NightCaps and a childhood friend of Jackson’s, slid a glass of whiskey across the bar.

  “Yup,” Jackson grumbled as he brought the glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and emptied the glass in one gulp. He lifted his brows as he slid the glass back to Dylan for a refill.

  Dylan refilled the glass, his dark eyes narrowed, skeptical. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Jackson slid his gaze down the bar, checking out a buxom brunette and her blond friend. The brunette’s crimson lips curved up in a seductive smile. He lifted his glass as he answered Dylan, eyes still on the brunette. “Nope.” He downed the drink and pushed the empty glass across the bar again.

  “She’s a sure thing,” Dylan said in a hushed tone as he refilled Jackson’s drink. “I hear her friend’s into kink, too.”

  Perfect.

  “The blonde reminds me of Erica.” Dylan wiped down the counter, then tossed the towel over his shoulder.

  Fuck. So much for that idea.

  “Forget the blonde,” Jackson mumbled.

  Dylan moved down the bar to help another customer, and Jackson sipped his drink, trying his best to forget about Laney.

  His phone vibrated with a text, and despite his wanting to forget Laney for a few hours, his pulse kicked up with the hopes of it being from her. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and felt a spear of disappointment as he read the text from Cooper.

  Remington’s PR rep wants to meet with us before the opening. When are you coming back?

  Jackson hadn’t told anyone they’d come home early. He knew Sage Remington’s public relations representative, Luce Palmer. She was a spunky little brunette with a killer body and a well-honed ability to turn down Jackson’s advances. Usually the thought of taking on Luce gave him an adrenaline rush. He loved the way her eyes sparked with annoyance and heat at the same time, and he loved the challenge of trying to bed her—even though he had yet to succeed.

  He waited for the familiar zing of excitement to hit him, and when it didn’t, it pissed him off. He rubbed the aching muscles at the back of his neck and responded to Cooper’s text.

  I’m back.

  His phone rang seconds later.

  “You’re back?” Cooper sounded accusatory. “What happened?”

  I fucked up. “Nothing. I had things to take care of.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t have shit to take care of. You realize it’s Sunday night, right?”

  Jackson winced. How coul
d he have lost track of days like that? He never screwed up when it came to family. Then again, he never screwed up when it came to Laney, either, and he’d fucking mastered that this weekend.

  He checked the time. It was still early enough to make it to his mother’s house and see everyone. He slapped a handful of cash on the bar and nodded to Dylan as he headed for the door.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “You okay to drive?” Coop asked.

  “I’ll catch a cab. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He ended the call and flagged down a cab. On the drive over he realized that Logan and Heath would have their fiancées with them, and he wondered if he’d have been better off nailing the brunette than going to see his family.

  Half an hour later he was cornered by Cooper in his mother’s kitchen, wishing he’d done just that.

  “You look like shit, you smell like whiskey, and you’re giving off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.” Cooper was two years younger than Jackson, with jet-black hair and the recent addition of a beard, which women went crazy for. He shared the same dark blue eyes as the rest of their brothers and the same unwillingness to back off.

  “Take the hint.” Jackson reached into the cabinet and took down a plate to join the rest of his family, who were already seated at his mother’s dining room table.

  Cooper grabbed his arm. “Dude, did something happen with Erica?”

  Jackson wrenched his arm from his brother’s grasp and stalked into the dining room without answering.

  “Jackson?” His mother lifted her blind eyes in his direction. “Is that you, honey?” Mary Lou Wild pushed to her feet and opened her arms.

  Jackson sank into her embrace, startled by how much he needed it. “Hi, Ma.”

  “Sweetie, you sound stressed, and”—she sniffed the air around him—“have you been drinking?”

  “I had a few. Sorry, but don’t worry, I took a cab.” He forced a smile and sat down in the empty chair at the end of the table. He slid his eyes around the table. Logan was sitting with one arm around Stormy, a curious look in his eyes. Heath sat in a similar position with his fiancée, Ally, the exact same look in his eyes. He could try to lie his way out of this situation, but they all knew him too well. He was transparent as glass when it came to his family.