To hell with consequences.
Jax steps to me and folds me close, his mouth on my mouth, one of his hands squeezing the delicate skin of my backside while the other is raising my leg, and then he’s inside me, pressing deep, filling me, stretching me. He lifts me, and my legs wrap around his hips. He turns, his body settling against the wall beneath the windows, our anchor, and I grind into the thrust of his hips, the jut of his cock driving into me.
My fingers wrap long blond strands of his hair, my lips at his ear, on his neck. I can’t get enough of him, as if he fills a need I have long had and finally, only he can satisfy what is missing in me. He seems to know. “Lean back, Emma,” he says, his fingers splaying between my shoulder blades.
I inch back to look at him and our eyes lock and hold. “I won’t let you fall,” he promises. “I won’t let you get hurt.”
I know forced trust during sex. I know it well, but this is about so much more than sex. And this is Jax, not York. I trust Jax, at least in this intimate way. I trust this man I have only known a few days, a man who has reason to hurt me, more than I did my fiancé. That means something, and later, later, maybe I’ll tell myself not to make it mean too much, but it does. Right now, it does. I lean back, and I push against him as I do. He grips my hip and thrusts, his heated gaze raking over my breasts as they sway with our bodies. And it takes nothing, nothing to push me to the edge. I shatter.
“Jax,” I breathe out, and he folds me into him again, holding me close, my breasts to his chest, my body quaking. And then his body is shuddering.
We hold each other, ride out the wave of pleasure and then we still hold each other. Jax doesn’t put me down right there. He walks and doesn’t stop until we’re at a shower door. Only then does he ease me to the ground, parting our bodies and opening the door to turn on the water. I grab a towel and clean up, but my mind is all over the place. No, really, one place: why would Jax’s brother kill himself? I have questions about this, about him. So many questions and so many thoughts. Maybe Jax didn’t really know him. Maybe Jax doesn’t want to admit he wasn’t stable. Maybe my family pushed him until he could be pushed no more.
Jax catches my arm and I toss the towel down, letting him turn me to him. “Come,” he says, guiding me into the shower, and once we’re there, warm water streaming over us, he folds me close. He feels safe. He feels right when there is so much wrong about how we came together. I tilt my chin up and I meet his stare, his blue eyes piercing. I want to ask him if he’s my enemy, but I don’t. I don’t ask. He’ll tell me that we’re not. He’ll mean it too if he says it, I believe that. Jax told me the truth out there in the living room, but truth or not, my family has a way of taking people and turning them inside out. I wonder if that’s what they did to his brother. I wonder if we’re next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma…
We laugh.
Out of nowhere.
In the intensity of all that has passed between us the past half hour, Jax and I stand there under that water, jagged emotions cutting left and right, and we laugh. “Why are you laughing?” I ask.
“Because you’re laughing.” His lips, those beautiful lips that I know can be both brutal and tender, curve and he brushes my hair from my face. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re laughing.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl, and we laugh all over again.
“I’m all about satisfying your hunger, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Let’s get finished up and grab some food on the way to your place. Or better yet, let’s order delivery to meet us there. Then I have you to myself the rest of the day and night.”
This is the second time he’s made that statement and I find it pleases me just as much this time as last. I don’t mean to compare him to York, but it’s hard not to. A Sunday with York was about York. This doesn’t feel like it’s about Jax. It feels like it’s about us.
“I like that idea,” I say, shoving aside all the niggling warnings about enemies destined to burn and hurt each other. We were burned and hurt when we found each other, which is exactly why I think—I think we need each other.
The remainder of our shower is short, but we spend it smiling and laughing, setting aside families and tragedies. It’s like the breath we both need to take and so we do, now, here, together. A few minutes later I’m dressed in black jeans and a hot pink T-shirt, putting on make-up, when Jax steps to my side in faded jeans and a brown North Whiskey T-shirt. He proceeds to watch me do my make-up.
“Don’t you need to shave or something?”
He runs his hands over his thick stubble. “I like it this way.” He catches my arm and pulls me to him. “And I like you like this.”
“Like this?”
“Yes. Like this. Just like this.”
“Okay but only one of my eyes has eye shadow on it right now,” I say, deciding I should have asked for some private time to dress. The man is gorgeous, and I’m presently a mess.
“You’re beautiful, even with one pink eye.”
I laugh but he doesn’t, his mood shifting, the air thickening. “Why the fuck do you have to be a Knight?” His voice is low, guttural, tormented.
It sets me on edge. “I can’t change who I am.”
“And the irony of that statement is that who you are is half the attraction.”
I blanch, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” He strokes my cheek. “I’m going to get packed.”
He turns and walks out of the room, leaving me a bit stunned and confused. We can’t get by this family issue. He stood right in the bedroom and told me, point blank, that his brother is dead because of my family. He doesn’t trust me. He can’t trust me. We can’t trust each other. And yet, I’m still here. Why? I turn to stare in the mirror and study the woman in the mirror, as if she will have that answer, as if she’s not me. She who was born a Knight but hasn’t felt like she belonged her entire life. Jax knows this about me when all those close to me don’t. Maybe that’s my answer. The real me is invisible to everyone but him. But why have I accepted that status in my life? Where has that gotten me?
This idea dominates my thoughts as I finish my make-up, dry my hair and flat iron it to a rich brown sheen, that lays down my shoulders. Satisfied I now look presentable, I squat down next to my bag to pack up my make-up, when my hand hits my father’s journal. I frown and pick it up. Why would I pack this for a quick shower? Did Jax pack it?
I thumb to the page that I have marked and open it to read that dreaded line that haunts me: We were all better off with him dead. I swallow hard with the brutal statement that means more after talking to Jax today. After hearing how certain he is that our family is not only the reason his brother is dead, but that there was foul play in our dealings with Hunter. I think of that strange exchange with him a few minutes ago, about me being a Knight and suddenly that makes more sense. Did Jax read this?
***
Jax…
I pack a bag with the scent of Emma’s perfume on my skin, the taste of her on my lips. I need to rein myself in. I came here to prove the Knights killed my brother and then make them pay for it, but I ended up in bed with Emma. No. This is more than in bed. I invited her to the castle and for no reason, but I want her with me. I want more time with her. I scrub my jaw and walk out onto the patio, leaning on the railing. How the hell did the one woman I can’t walk away from end up being Emma Knight? Part of me wants to turn around and fuck her all over again. If I fuck her enough, maybe I’ll fuck her out of my system, but that’s bullshit I would tell myself to feel better for about three seconds. I’m not fucking that woman out of my system and the only reason I’d try, is to have an excuse to get her naked again. And again. And fucking again.
My cellphone rings in my pocket and I snake it out to find the caller ID reads “Jill”. Jill being my operations manager who I’d emailed early this morning and instructed to push my meeting back a few days. “This is Jax,” I answer, formal by nec
essity. Jill’s too damn clingy for comfort, considering she’s not just my operations manager, she’s my brother’s ex-fiancée.
“I know it’s Jax,” she says, giving a fluttery laugh. “I called you. I got your email but Neal Mink is not pleased. He won’t move your mid-week meeting to right before the party Friday night.”
I frown at what feels out of character for Neal. “What am I missing? Why’s he so damn angry?”
“Something about you blowing up some investment and you’re going to have to pay in whiskey. He said he’s getting a flight out tomorrow. He’ll be in your office on Tuesday.”
“I’m not rushing back for Neal.”
“Do you know how much business we do with him?” she asks, her tone lifting. “Hunter spent years nursing that relationship.”
My jaw clenches because that’s not actually true. I nursed that relationship. “I’m not coming back for a Tuesday meeting.”
“What about the Whiskey Harvest, Jax?”
“What about it?”
“It’s this weekend. All of our big clients will be in to taste samples.”
“And you have managed this for three years. You don’t need me to prepare for it. I’ll be back in time for the event.”
“I had Hunter, Jax.” Her voice rises again. “I had Hunter.”
I scrub my jaw. “I’ll see if I can get back sooner than later. And I’ll talk to Brody and see if he can get in sooner.”
“Brody?” she demands of my brother. “You know Brody hates the Harvest.”
As do I, I think. “I need to go. I need to call him and Neal.”
“I need you back here, Jax.”
She hangs up. I text Brody: Jill is struggling. I’m stuck in San Francisco. Can you get there before Thursday when you planned to arrive for the Harvest?
Struggling how? He replies instantly.
I reply with: Hunter helped her with the event. He’s gone. She’s alone.
Fuck, is his reply. I’ll move some things around, but you know how I feel about Jill and the damn Harvest.
Considering she was his fiancée first, before she moved on to Hunter, yes, I do, but I’ve always believed that Jill loved Hunter and to her credit, Brody is a bastard when it comes to women. I dial Neal, who answers on the first ring. “You fucked me over.”
“I left you three messages to get out of that deal before it went south.”
“My broker said it went south because you pulled out.”
“My brother got me out because it was going south. He too tried to call you at my request. How about returning a call?”
“Fuck,” he curses. “I was out of the country.”
“Without email?”
“Crap. Right. Sorry, man. It’s on me. I’m losing my shit because I lost my shit.”
“Well don’t lose your shit. I have a lead on a sweet deal. Meet me for drinks before the Harvest opening. We’ll talk.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Jax. Sorry for acting like a little bitch.”
I laugh and we say our goodbyes and I turn back to the railing. Why does everything about what just happened bother me? I weed back through the mental reply and focus on Jill. For someone independent and territorial about her job, she’s too eager to get me back, no matter the emotional cards on the table. I’ve questioned her about the Knights and the sale, and she swears she knows nothing, but what if she does? What if Randall or Chance told her to get me away from Emma? That’s a ridiculous idea but it’s in my head now. It won’t let go.
I grab my phone and text the private eye I hired last month, when I should have hired him sooner: Jill Radcliff. Get a man on her.
I’ve barely sent the message when I hear “Jax” from behind me.
At the sound of Emma’s voice, I turn to find her standing in the doorway, her dark hair lifting with a gust of ocean air, and holy hell, she’s more beautiful every time I look at her. She’s perfect, but the look on her heart-shaped face is not. She holds up the journal in her hand, her father’s journal, and says, “We need to talk about this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jax…
I can feel myself go cold inside. “What about your father’s journal, Emma?”
“How did it get in my bag?”
“I didn’t put it in your bag, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I didn’t bring it, but it was in my bag, Jax. How is that possible?”
A text message buzzes on my phone that I ignore. I shove my phone back into my pocket. “I wasn’t even in the room when you packed. Your bag was zipped when you showed it to me and then we left.”
Her gaze searches my face, probing, accusing, then softening slowly. “Right,” she breathes out. “Right.” She looks away and then back to me. “I’ve been obsessing over his words. I must have scooped it up without thinking. I’m sorry, Jax. I didn’t mean to accuse you.” She closes the space between us, stopping just a lean from touching me, that damn journal between us. “You didn’t put it in my bag because you thought I wanted it?”
This exchange once again drives home the drama between our families, the poison that threatens to kill us before we ever get started. “You mean because I wanted to read it? Because that’s your tone. But no. I did not.”
“Right,” she says. “Right. I did sound accusing, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You did, but considering the way we started, I get it, Emma.” My hands come down on her arms. “I’m not using you now. I swear to you. I’m not. I will not. God, woman, I’m crazy obsessed with you because of you, not our families.”
“That’s not what you said in the bathroom.”
“I’m obsessed with you. Just you.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I wish you weren’t a Knight.”
“I wish you weren’t obsessed with the Knights.”
“I’m obsessed with you, woman. You. I don’t care about the journal, Emma. Or fuck—” I cut my stare and look away. That was a lie and I don’t want to lie to her.
Her hand catches my face and urges me to look at her. “Your brother is dead. Of course, you want to look at the journal. It’s okay to say that. The truth is, I think you need to read it. I think maybe there are answers inside, but it’s getting harder for me to let you. I don’t know how you’ll react or how I’ll react to how you react.”
“I’m not pressuring you to read it, Emma.”
“I know that,” she says firmly. “But you want to, and that’s okay. I’m not sure it’s going to help anyway. He was smart. He didn’t name names and he talks in generalities. But there are some things that might lead you to answers and me, too. I want to know what happened.”
I want that journal, I’ve wanted it since the moment I heard that it was her father’s, but now, here, faced with the opportunity once again to just take it from her, I find myself hesitating, which is all about Emma. It’s all about what she’d said a few seconds before. She doesn’t know how I’ll react to what’s inside. I’m not sure either of us is ready for that reality. “Let’s get out of here,” I say. “We’ll go to your place and we’ll figure this all out.”
“Yes. Okay.” She hesitates and then pushes to her toes and presses her lips to my lips.
I cup her head and kiss her, a deep stroke of the tongue, before I murmur again, “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
She nods, but the mood between us is decidedly grim. The truth is that we’re headed down a dark and winding path filled with quicksand. The kind that might suffocate us both. I don’t know where that leads the two of us. I just know that I can’t walk away, not from my brother who can no longer fight for himself and not from her.”
We step into the room and I shut the patio door. “Let’s decide what we want to order food and order now,” I suggest trying to lighten the mood, getting us back to us.
“If you’re into pizza, I have a favorite place. Mellow Mushroom.”
“I love Mellow Mushroom,” I say, and I notice these small things we have
in common, that I might not with someone else. “I miss it.”
We debate our favorite toppings and it’s not the kind of fluff conversation that fills in dark spots of conversations with people you don’t really care about. We settle on our order and when she smiles at me, she lights me up. She lights the whole damn room up. We share a look of warmth, an understanding between us that is about far more than pizza. Beyond reason, family, and perhaps even murder, the words neither of us has dared speak, we get each other. And at this point, we’re in too deep to walk away.
***
We wait until we’re arriving at Emma’s building to push the pay button on our pizza order with a plan to settle inside and be ready to eat without chaos. Entering her apartment building, we step into the lobby, and find a guard behind the security desk who wasn’t there earlier. “I just realized no one ever called me about the security issue,” Emma says as we pass the station.
“We’ll deal with them tomorrow,” I say, sliding my arm around hers. “Who’s the guy behind the desk now?”
“I don’t even know him,” she says. “Which is odd. I haven’t seen a new face here in a very long time.”
I don’t like how that sounds, and I’m not leaving her here alone any time soon. The timing of York and his re-entrance into Emma’s life hits me wrong, but I’m also reminded of the comment she made to him about not sharing some secret. That’s a comment I want to understand before I decide how to handle this.
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