One Man

by Lisa Renee Jones

  He cups my head, leaning our foreheads together. “I don’t feel good about York staying away,” he says, leaning back to look at me, and stroking my hair behind my ear. “Pack a bag and stay the night with me at my hotel. We can fly out to Maine in the morning.”

  “Are you really asking me to go to he castle again? The one you thought I was going to fuck you to buy?”

  “To the castle, my home, where I never invite a woman, but I am inviting you.”

  His home. Just that easily, those two words turn this invitation into something far more meaningful. “I can’t just leave. I have meetings.”

  “I’ll move my schedule around to leave when you can. When can you go?”

  I consider what I’m just learning about my father, what I need to deal with here. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Clearly, I’m asking the wrong question,” he says. “Do you want to come with me, Emma?”

  I don’t even need to think. I do. I want to go with him, but Jax is a complicated man who I respond to in a complicated way. Too much in my life is complicated right now, too much is out of control. I reach for some semblance of that missing control. “Stay here with me.”

  “I already told you I’d stay until you can leave but I have to be back at the castle for a weekend event.”

  “I mean stay here at my apartment. You want to know me, my apartment is all me.”

  His hands settle on my shoulders. “If I stay here until you can leave, will you come home with me?”

  I hesitate and I don’t know why. He’s staying here until I can leave. He doesn’t want to leave without me. Damn it, I don’t want him to leave without me. Why am I fighting the very escape I desperately crave? This is for me. Jax is for me. I haven’t done anything for me in far too long. “Yes. I’d love to see the castle, Jax. I’d love to see your castle.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jax…

  What the hell is this woman doing to me? One minute, I’m trying to ruin her family, the next, I want to save her. I have to save her. I won’t leave her here to drown in shark infested waters. I run my hands up and down her arms. “Let’s throw on some clothes, and we can go to my hotel and grab my luggage. We can shower together, grab a bite to eat and then move my things here. Unfortunately, I have a little bit of work I have to do.”

  “So do I,” she says, her eyes lighting with an idea. “I could put on a pot of coffee and turn on the fireplace and we can snuggle down in front of it and work.”

  “Yes,” I say, folding her close, warmed by how something so simple excites her. “It sounds like a perfect Sunday.” And it does. I don’t know what it is about Emma, but now that I’m with her, I don’t want to leave her. “Go get dressed and I’ll do the same. I’ll clean up the ice cream before we leave.”

  “We can clean up the ice cream and get more later.” She smiles. “It was good, Jax and it was—it was just good, and I know you were protecting me just now. Seeing him tonight. That set me on edge and I reacted to that feeling.”

  I want to ask her about that exchange with York about Marion. I know who Marion is, of course. What I don’t know is how she connects to York and Emma together, but I don’t ask. Not now. Not yet. Not when I feel like Emma’s about one wrong word about York from withdrawing. “You know I want to ask questions, I’m sure,” I say, “but I’m not going to. Not right now, but eventually, I will.”

  Her expression tightens. “Not right now is good,” she says. “Right now, right now, I’m going to brush my teeth and look in a mirror and scare myself.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I assure her. “Even with mascara all over your face.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Oh God. Do I really have mascara all over my face?”

  “You do,” I laugh, because fuck me, she’s adorable. Sweet. Honest. Too honest to be with York which still puzzles me. Too honest to be like her father, but her brother is another story, and that’s a problem for us I’ll deal with when the time comes. And it will come.

  She surprises me and pushes to her toes, kissing my cheek. “Thank you, Jax.” I have no idea what she’s thanking me for, and I don’t get to ask. With that statement, she turns and hurries up the stairs, a woman born to be my enemy and yet, she’s already starting to matter to me, too easily she’s starting to matter to me. I wanted to hit York. I wanted to yank his balls through his damn nose. Because he hit her. I know it. I don’t even want to know what else he did to her. He’s going to pay. He’s going to know my name like he knows no other.

  Searching for my clothes, I snatch up my shirt that has somehow landed in the foyer, and I pull it on. York had to have seen it when he walked in. Considering the neighbor’s comments about Emma’s lack of male companionship, that must have shocked the fuck out of him. I hope it burned a hole in his ego. I ignore my tuxedo jacket, and head into the kitchen, where I find trash bags and paper towels, as well as some carpet cleaner. The rug will be the easiest of the messes I’m cleaning up considering what I put into play with Eric Mitchell yesterday. I wanted to hurt her family. Now, I just want to protect her.

  Heading up the stairs, I enter the bedroom and find the bathroom door shut. I walk to the mess by the lounge chair and find the ice cream is contained inside the pints for the most part. Clean-up is quick and easy, and when I stand up, my gaze lands on the journal on the floor by the bed. Damn it to hell, I want to read what’s inside that thing. I want to know why my damn brother would even consider selling the castle, which means the entire whiskey operation. There was no financial reason that I’ve found. There was something else going on. Something he died knowing and I need to fucking know what, but if I pick that journal up, if I start reading, it will change who I am with Emma.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and picture her face when I reached for my belt, and I can almost feel her trembling in my arms when she wanted to go at York. I can’t do it. Not without talking to her. Not without her permission and she’s not ready to hear what I have to say. I’m not ready to tell her yet, either. I can’t risk a misstep. I can’t risk being wrong about her.

  The bathroom door opens and Emma steps into the bedroom, her hair smoothed out, her lips glossy. She holds up a toothbrush. “Brand new in the package. I’m assuming that’s why you haven’t kissed me good morning because any other answer smites more than a little. And I’m minty fresh, in case you’re wondering.”

  I laugh and set the trash bag by the door. “A toothbrush, you, and a kiss in the morning is exactly what I need.”

  I pause just beside her and kiss her neck, whispering, “But once I kiss you, I might not stop and we might not make it to my hotel room.”

  Her hand touches my face and just that easily, I’m hot and hard, and ready to fuck her here and now. Screw the hotel room. Screw breakfast. I nip her earlobe and groan with the effort it takes to walk away, and cross to enter the bathroom. Just inside the small room, the lingering scent of freshly-sprayed floral perfume insinuates itself into my nostrils and reminds me of every naked, unexpected moment I’d spent with her last night. Because everything with Emma has been unexpected.

  I brush my teeth and when I’m done, I study the room with more thought. It’s square-shaped with white-tile and a simple tub to match the simple room. I frown at what might spell big money in San Francisco but doesn’t match the only daughter of the Knight king. And she has to pay rent for this? Something feels off.

  I exit the room to find Emma by the bed. “I’m ready when you are,” she says, patting the small bag hanging on her shoulder. “I brought what I need to shower at the hotel and I got rid of the trash.”

  She’s ready to leave and I suddenly wonder if she’s as eager as I am to be out of Knight territory. I wonder what reasons she has beyond the obvious to need escape. Closing the small space between us, I slide the bag off her shoulder, onto mine, and catch her hip. “You sure you don’t want to get away and stay at my place? Room service and us in bed?”

  “Takeout and us in bed here,” she says, her
hand on my cheek. “I’m not letting York run me out of my own apartment.”

  It’s a smart answer, one of a strong woman who hasn’t denied abuse, and proves she isn’t beat but York is. He just doesn’t know it yet. “Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?”

  “Obviously not too badly, since you still haven’t kissed me.”

  I warned her that a kiss wouldn’t be enough and she didn’t listen. I toss her bag on the bed, preparing to make good on that promise.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jax…

  You still haven’t kissed me.

  At Emma’s words, I catch the loose strands of her dark hair in my fingers, dragging her mouth to mine. “And now I have,” I say, my lips slanting over her lips and I lick past her teeth, the taste of her sweet in a way I wouldn’t have believed a Knight could ever be sweet. I fold her closer, and she makes this soft, sexy sound that drives me fucking wild. Everything about this woman affects me. For once, I’m not thinking about a fuck and a finish. I’m thinking about how I make her sigh for me again. I’m thinking about how I can send her to bed with my name on her lips, and her, all of her, on mine.

  And that’s exactly where I want her now.

  I slide my hands under the loose-fitting sweats to find no panties, and a free zone to that sweet spot between her legs. I settle on one knee, press my lips to her belly, dragging her sweats lower, squeezing her sweet little backside. Her fingers jab into my hair and I lean her on the bed, and drag her pants down her hips. “How’s this for a kiss?” I ask, my gaze catching hers before my tongue flicks her clit, a tease, a promise for more.

  She sucks in a breath, her hands gripping the mattress. “Jax,” she whispers, my name on her lips, exactly what I want, her pleasure and nothing more. I can wait. She needs to know I don’t have to take. I’m not fucking York. Just thinking about him touching her, taking a belt to her in some mockery of sexual pleasure has me suckling her deeper, sliding a finger along her sex, seeking what he clearly did not. Her satisfaction.

  Right now, I want and need what she claimed I can’t have, what I swore I’d never ask for. I want to own her, at least her pleasure, her body. I lick her again, my fingers flexing on her backside. There are so many things I want to do with Emma and to Emma, but I remind myself to go slow, she needs me to go slow, to focus on one orgasm and then the next.

  I suckle her clit. I lick into her sex. I fuck her with my tongue, my mouth, fast and deep, and then I pull back. I slow myself down. I slow her down. Now it’s all about gentle, tender licks, the taste of her salty and sweet, the sounds she’s making—low pants and moans—tightening my balls. I want inside her. I want to thrust and drive and pump. I want all that wet, tight heat clenching my cock, and I show her with my mouth. Over and over I lick her until that last desperate lift of her hips, with my fingers buried deep inside her, sets her to trembling, spasms milking my fingers where I wish like fuck my cock was buried right now. She jerks and then moans before sitting up, leaning forward, and burying her face in my neck.

  “Jax,” she whispers again, stroking my cock through my zipper. “I need you inside me.”

  I catch her hand. “No condom, sweetheart,” I say, and thank fuck I have a reason to have willpower, to stick to my vow, to make this about her, not me.

  She pulls back and looks at me, her eyes heavy. “I’m on the pill,” she whispers. “Not for him. For cramps. I’m clean. I’m safe. I made him use a condom. I didn’t trust him and—”

  I catch her hair in my hand, wrapping it around my fingers, rough but not too rough, and stare down at her. “You used a condom with him, but you’d fuck me without one?”

  “Yes. I really just want you right now.”

  “And later?”

  “You’re different, Jax. I hope you’re different. You feel different.”

  “I am different.”

  “Then why aren’t you inside me right now?”

  “I never fuck without a condom.”

  “Right.” She looks down. “That’s smart and—”

  I drag her mouth to mine, and kiss the hell out of her just the way I’m going to fuck her. “I also never take women to the castle, but I’m taking you there.” I kiss her again and her hands slide under my jacket, all over my body. I nip her lip and she doesn’t hide her reaction. She pants out a breath that I swallow and holy fuck, I want inside her. I tug at my pants and she does the same. I don’t even have a clear understanding of how my cock gets out of my pants and in her hand, but hey, that works just fucking fine for me.

  She kicks away her pants that are now at her ankles. I catch her knee, lift her leg, and there is no preamble to this. I press into the wet heat of her sex and then I’m inside her, and my pants aren’t even down. I carry her to the lounge chair, sit down with her still on top of me, those gorgeous legs of hers spread across me. She flattens her hands on my shoulders, and I pull down her tank top, taking the lace front of her bra with it, teasing her nipples, my head lowering, tongue lapping at one stiff peak and then the other.

  She grabs my face and I know she intends to kiss me and I intend to kiss the hell out of her, but that’s not what happens. Suddenly, we’re just staring at each other, and the pull between isn’t about fucking. It’s not about sex at all. Or maybe it is. Hell, I don’t know what this is happening between us. I just know that I can’t get enough of her. I cup her head and pull her mouth to mine, cupping her breast, pinching her nipple. She moans, and I thrust into her, pulling her down on top of me. And then we are moving, swaying, fucking. Hard, wild, dirty fucking and it’s fucking perfect. This is what sex is supposed to be, but anything this fucking good can’t last. She grabs a handful of my hair, bites my damn shoulder and then spasms around my cock while rocking those hips of hers, and I groan with the impact, my orgasm ripped from me, no questions asked, no prisoners taken.

  She collapses on top of me and I close my arms around her, holding onto her. “You didn’t even take off your pants,” she accuses, leaning back to look at me. “Or your jacket. Or anything.”

  “I’ll make it up to you when we shower at my place.” I catch her head and pull her mouth to mine. “You can have me any way you want me.”

  “And how do you want me, Jax?”

  There’s an edge to her voice, a tightening of her body that shouldn’t be there in this playful exchange, but I know instantly where this comes from: York and his sick appetites.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jax…

  More and more, I regret not punching York when I had the chance, but that would have given his bitch ass a chance to sue me, which no doubt was why he pointed out my professional boxing. He’ll pay for what he did to Emma, and he’ll pay in a way that hurts a man like him. I’ll take something that matters to him, starting with Emma. Emma, who is still staring down at me, waiting for me to tell her what I want from her. “I wasn’t talking about what I want. I was talking about what you want.”

  Her fingers curl on my chest. “But what do you want, Jax?”

  “You,” I say simply. “I want you.” I lean forward and kiss her exposed nipple. She sucks in a soft breath, and I pull her bra and shirt back into place. “You making all of those sexy sounds you make.” I cup her head once more and kiss her, moving her past the discomfort she feels or at least trying to. “Let’s go the hotel and take that shower. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have to eat,” I say, smiling against her lips. “Funny thing. I worked up an appetite. Don’t know how that happened.”

  “I’m hungry, too,” she says, a small smile on her lips that I feel like a punch in the chest. Her smile. Damn, it lights me up. “I blame you.”

  “I’ll take that blame.” I stroke her cheek, and I want to say more, but my gut says to move on, at least for now. I stand up and take her with me, carrying her to the bathroom and setting her on the counter.

  I grab her a towel and press it between her legs, reluctantly pulling out of her, and righting my pants. Awa
re of my belt, of her reaction to my belt last night, as I slide it back into place. That memory and her question on the lounge chair has me saying screw it to holding back. I press my hands to the counter on either side of her. “Anything and everything with me is only what feels good to you, Emma.”

  “That can’t be how this works, Jax.” She tosses the towel and grabs my belt and I don’t believe that’s an accident, which she proves by adding, “I know I react to things that I shouldn’t with you. I know and—”

  “And it’s okay.” I pause, gauging my words, telling myself she’s a Knight. I need to hold back, but as I look at her, as I look in her eyes, and see the hint of past wounds there, I’m reminded of how much I understand her. And I know that’s not what she needs from me. “Look. Sweetheart. This, us, I don’t know what this is. Believe me, I’ve been asking that question in my head, but what I do know is that it’s good. It feels good and you feel good. I want you to feel the same.”

  “I do. You have to know that I do.”

  “No. You don’t. You don’t know that I’m safe, and I get that. I met York. I saw what he was to you.” I pick her up and set her on the floor. “I’m going to make you think about me, not him,” and then, trying to ease the mood, I add, “but to do that I need food.”

  I’m rewarded with her laugh. “Food is the secret weapon.”

  “That’s right.” I turn her toward the bedroom and lean in, my mouth next to her ear. “I’ll fuck you all the ways you want to be fucked after we eat.”

  I expect her to laugh again but instead, she rotates in my arms and stares up at me. “I don’t know what to make of you, Jax North.”

  I caress her cheek. “Then I guess I better stay around for you to find out.”

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “I guess you better.” She pushes to her toes, kisses my cheek and then turns and walks out of the room, offering me a view of her tight cute butt.