“It’s amazing, Jackson,” I whispered after walking through the double front doors.
He just smiled in response, but I could tell he was pleased.
After thinking for a second I realized something. “You built this place, didn’t you?”
His smile turned into a wide grin. “That’s right. It was my first full-scale project. It was a real shithole when I bought it in an auction five years ago. Thought I was going to flip it, but I broke the first rule of real estate with this one because I couldn’t let it go.”
Suddenly a dog better described as a horse came barreling through the main area and jumped all over Jackson. It looked like a cross between a mastiff and a St. Bernard. I mean, it was huge.
Jackson crouched down and proceeded to scratch and rub the dog up and down his back, and then turned to me. “Lauren, this is Charlie.”
I loved dogs, but considering I was on the shorter side, I have to admit that the size of Charlie intimidated me. “Um…hey there, boy.”
I got a doggie smile and a bark in response, accompanied by a shower of flyaway drool when he shook his head vigorously back and forth. I didn’t mind as much as I thought I would, because even though he was the largest dog I’ve ever seen, I could tell he was also the sweetest.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Jackson wiped his own face and stood back up.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He nodded and smirked. “Like a woman who doesn’t freak about getting a li’l messed up. Just give me a second to make a call, take care of a couple of things, and then we’ll get going.”
“Okay.” I bent down to pet Charlie.
“Want anything to drink?”
“Nope, I’m good. Mind if I look around?”
“Help yourself,” he called back as he was walking into the other room. Charlie may have liked my attention, but it was obvious Jackson had his heart because he immediately followed his master.
The main room was covered in warm, rich wood floors with caramel striations, hand-scraped to add texture and depth. The front and the back of his house were floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but the other walls were white, covered in a variety of framed photographs and original artwork. The main area was an open floor plan, without any walls separating the living room, dining area and kitchen. I loved the wide, free-flowing space, but I felt drawn to the photographs. They were mostly black and white, with the occasional color shot thrown into the collage of art on the walls. It seemed he had the more artistic stuff hanging and his more personal pictures framed and scattered around the house. The ones of his family were obvious because they looked like female versions of him: dark, silky hair, light eyes, full lips and devilish smiles. Some had beautiful babies on their hips. Then there were others of his friends, of men riding or standing by their bikes, caught laughing, slapping each other on the back. Most were candid snapshots, and together they made you feel like you had just stopped by an afternoon BBQ for some easygoing, good company.
The one that grabbed me in an entirely different way was a small color photograph of a woman, semihidden among the other frames in his bookcase. She was gorgeous, exotic looking with long, chestnut hair and upturned, doe-like, amber-colored eyes staring into the lens of the camera. A flirty smile played on her lips. It was obvious that whoever had been on the other side of the camera taking her picture was a man she completely loved.
She was his lover, no doubt. Because no guy had a picture like this of his sister, that’s for sure.
I could imagine him on the other side of the camera, seizing a moment between him and this woman. Her chestnut locks were splayed across a pillow and she had a crisp white sheet tucked around her obviously naked frame. Her tanned skin was especially stunning against the stark brightness of the bed she was in—was it Jackson’s, in this house? The picture made me feel like I was an intruder, an outsider who had no right to be where I was standing. Stomach bile rose in my throat, but I couldn’t look away from the photograph. My vision blurred, and I pictured Jackson naked with his camera, taking intimate photos of this beautiful woman right before ripping off that sheet covering her, then devouring her the way he had me.
I knew I had my attributes, but she was the complete physical opposite of me, and I couldn’t help but wonder how we compared in his mind. I hated these kinds of feelings and knew intellectually I was worth more than these negative thoughts. I didn’t want to diminish myself because of a photograph—plus I knew I was already creating a whole narrative about the two of them, one I had no idea was true or not. I shouldn’t have cared or felt jealous, but I did.
I turned around and practically bumped right into him. For a second, I felt like I had been caught doing something illicit.
Jackson’s eyes homed in on the spot I was just focused on, and I thought I saw his features darken to a shade between sadness and anger. But when his eyes met mine again, they softened.
“I honestly forgot that picture was there.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jackson.”
I thought he would be relieved, but his brows furrowed. “Not about owing you one. It’s about wanting you to know me, even the stuff that sucks to talk about.”
That touched me. I liked that he wanted to let me in so soon. Usually that would’ve scared the shit out of me, but this time, all I felt was warm inside.
“There’s time later, right?”
His eyes crinkled because his smile was so wide. “Yeah, baby…let’s hit the road. Got my neighbor all set to take care of Charlie, so we’re ready to roll.”
“Gonna tell me where we’re going?”
He draped his arm around me, offering me one of those deep and easy laughs that I loved already, and led me out of the house. “Nope, gonna be a surprise. It’ll be good for you to learn about delayed gratification.”
I was about to playfully argue when I noticed that parked in his driveway was a Harley with two helmets and a jacket that looked about my size, resting on the seat, ready to go.
The wild child inside squealed like a schoolgirl and was jumping up and down. It had been a while since I had a man in my life into riding, and I didn’t know until that moment that I had missed it. He handed me the leather jacket and the helmet. Had these been hers? I chastised myself to brush those kinds of thoughts out of my head.
“It belongs to my sister. She’s about the same size as you.”
I rolled my eyes and playfully swatted his arm. “Stop getting into my head!”
After suiting up, I wrapped my arms around Jackson Sullivan and within five minutes of being on the open road, I forgot about most everything, including the mystery woman in the photograph. Instead, I enjoyed the warmth of this sexy, intelligent and unpredictable man and wondered where we were headed.
A beach house in January was not what I expected.
We drove north for a little over an hour to end up in a small beach town on the coast of Maryland, somewhere popular during the summer months but almost deserted in the winter, for obvious reasons.
It was a small, two-bedroom, gray wood Cape Cod beach bungalow. While Jackson’s home back in Virginia was all sleek glass and shiny wood, this place reminded me a pair of well-worn Hush Puppies shoes, all about comfort and wearability over time. The kitchen still had an avocado enamel oven and a refrigerator from the 1970s and the plaid-covered seating area across the room had definitely seen better days. But there was a large stone fireplace and sliding glass doors that led directly to a small deck and an endless beachfront.
It was a perfect little getaway place.
“Gotta warn ya, I forgot to bring a bathing suit.”
His deep-throated laugh filled the space between us, as he grabbed a couple of beers. “I like a woman with sass, so keep it comin’ baby. Just makes me want to fuck you that much sooner.”
Jesus, his words alone hit right into my core and my thighs a
utomatically tightened to relieve the growing ache between them. The gleam in his eye told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me too.
He opened the sliding glass door leading out to a wooden deck, right on the beach. I followed him out and took the beer he offered. He put his arm around me while never losing focus on the beach in front of us. It was sunset, and I was surprised how beautiful it was, even in the winter. Between his body heat, the alcohol and the leather jacket I was still wearing, I actually felt fairly warm and cozy.
“Everyone always comes out to the beach in summer, and I get that.” He took a pull from his bottle. “But I like how God or Mother Nature or whatever the fuck you want to call it shows her sadder, softer side in the off season. Winter on the beach may not have all the flash and color of summer, but I don’t know…I really get off on everything out here being more muted in grays and sand. Feels more real to me.”
In that moment, I knew I was in trouble because my heart expanded with its own breath. I was already falling for him, and not just for his beautiful face and dirty mouth, but for the way in which he saw the world.
So many of the men I have met and dated through the years were easily categorized. Feeling like my own version of Goldilocks, I was always feeling that this one was too much of something and that one was not enough of something else. No one had felt just right. So few of them seemed to break out of the one-dimensional construct I had conjured. Yet now, looking up at Jackson while he was peering down at me, I wondered if the problem had been me all along—choosing men I could easily compartmentalize, and thus, take less seriously over time.
There was no compartmentalizing Jackson Sullivan. That I knew. It scared and thrilled me at once. I also realized that many of the men I had gravitated toward were more than content to peg me as their free-spirited fling instead of taking the care and time to discover my other dimensions and flavors. Although, to be fair, there were more than a few who wanted inside my inner world, almost desperate to discover what made me tick. I usually responded by packing fast and answering as little as possible. Maybe that response was getting as old as I was.
I watched him as he scanned the receding ocean tide.
“Can I show you something?”
His gaze met mine and his eyes grew curious. “Anything, babe.”
A warmth flooded my body, causing a blush to spread across my cheeks. I was nervous because I wasn’t in the habit of opening up. This time, I wanted to, had to see if my hunches about Jackson were spot on or not.
“Hold on a sec.” I broke away and went back inside. He had brought my small bag in earlier and I took out the one thing I brought with me everywhere. My sketchbook. This wasn’t the one I used for work. It was the one I used the way a writer would use a diary, but instead of writing, I sketched and shaded my hopes and fears. Everything and anything that haunted or intrigued me ended up in one of my books.
I came back out with my arms wrapped around it, like it was a precious baby tucked against me. I handed it to him.
“What’s this?” His eyebrows rose, and I knew I had piqued his curiosity.
I attempted to sound and feel light and easy, but I was failing miserably. I took in a shaky breath. “It’s one of my sketchbooks. I draw out the stuff I see, how I feel. I don’t know, with the way you see the beach in winter, the way you seem to see things, I thought you might like it. Look through it if you want. If not, no biggie.”
He sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs and put down the now-empty bottle of beer. He opened the cloth-covered, hardbound sketchbook and took his time studying each page. My heart was pumping so hard, my pulse was thundering in my ears and I could barely hear the surf ahead of me. Why are you so jumpy, Lauren Elizabeth? I could hear my daddy’s voice in my head. They’re just pictures, more of those daydreaming doodles you’ve got stuck in your head, like cotton in a pill bottle. They don’t mean anything.
How many times I had heard him say something like that to me, I can’t be sure, but when it came to anything artistic, his words were far from a message from the cheer squad. I had been fourteen when I had showed my dad my sketchbook and that was the last time I showed anyone. ’Til now.
I had gotten so lost in my internal dialogue that I had almost forgotten I was there with Jackson, on his beach with my sketchbook. Without looking up, he said in a hushed voice, “You show these to anyone before?”
A lump caught in my throat and I tried to swallow it down. “No, not since I was a kid.” I sounded so hoarse right then. “I must have dozens of these by now, but this is the one I’ve had ever since I moved here. I-I never wanted to show anyone before.”
He kept looking through the pages, stopping on various images: a murder of crows, a child lost in a forest, a boy on a beach.
“You don’t use a lot of color.” It was more of a statement than a question.
He looked up at me, and I shook my head in response.
“You keep it simple, keep it bare, so you can see what’s real. Don’t you, Lauren?” His eyes were dilated, blazing fire straight through me while he kept his voice low, almost in a reverent tone.
Jesus, he got them. He got me. I nodded, using every ounce of control I had to quell the rise of tears burning my nose and eyes. I took a couple of slow, deep breaths.
He put the sketchbook down on the small table next to him, gingerly, then stood in front of me. His hands gently held my face. I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me, but he just stared at me with this incredible intensity. I didn’t know what to do with that, so as usual, I looked down.
In a husky voice that sounded rough but warmed me like whisky, he called to me. “Lauren.”
“Yeah?” I said while continuing to cast my eyes downward.
“Look at me, Lauren,” he commanded.
I took in a breath for courage and lifted my gaze.
“Means a lot.” He gently stroked the side of my cheek.
I didn’t know how to respond with words, and my heart was still pounding. Jesus, could an otherwise healthy woman have a heart attack from feeling too much?
A shadow of a smile emerged on his gorgeous face. “In my bar, of all places.”
I blinked a couple of times. I wasn’t following his train of thought. “What?”
His smile widened into an all-out grin as his hands slid down to my neck, holding me there, his pressure by my pulse undoing me.
“You coming into my bar on New Year’s Eve. Remind me to personally thank that fucker for blindsiding you because no way in hell would a woman with your kind of gorgeousness, class and fucking talent have been there otherwise.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t think much of your own bar, it seems.”
He shook his head and let out a breath. “Guess it sounds that way, but that’s not what I meant. Most of the ones who come ’round frequently enough for me to know ’em usually got a thick, hard shell that’ll never crack. Maybe life fucked ’em up or just as likely, they lived the way everyone else in that neighborhood has for decades. Self-fulfilling prophecies of flushing whatever gifts God gave ’em down the toilet. I didn’t grow up with country clubs or on tree-lined streets with lemonade stands either. My neighborhood was shite, but I still had dinner with my ma and the rest of the brood most nights and I worked day and night to afford college, to make sure that burden wasn’t on ’em.
“And a big part of the reason why I worked my ass off and bought properties instead of pissing away my money in a bar like mine, before it was mine, was because I knew I wanted the option of a woman like you. I wanted to be worthy of someone who was fuckin’ stunning, someone who maintained her sweet in a world full of sour. I wanted a woman with a heart and a brain and a soul. I’m a greedy son of a bitch, and I wanted my piece. I’m takin’ it and I’m not giving it back.”
His grip tightened on my throat as he locked his lips onto mine, in a possessive move th
at seared me with its force. Then he started moving us into the house, holding me firmly so I wouldn’t trip, since he was steering and I was walking backward.
In a frenzy he took off my shirt, unhooked my bra and shimmied my jeans and panties to the floor. I toed off my shoes and rolled off my socks. In seconds, I was completely naked and he was still fully clothed. For some reason, that totally turned me on.
Without breaking our fervent kiss, he lifted me up and laid me down on the covered breakfast table, just inside the sliding glass doors. He licked a trail from my neck to my breasts, plumping both with his calloused hands and then sucking and licking each of my nipples. He blew air on them, and they hardened, sending a shiver throughout my heated body. He pulled each one deep into his mouth, growing my need into such a rush that I was panting for him, dying for a release. I wiggled so I could rub my cleft against his strong thigh muscles, but he wasn’t having it.
“Not yet, babe. Not that way,” he practically growled in response.
“But Jax, I need…God, I need to come!” I was already out of breath, practically begging for anything of his, a tongue, fingers, cock. Anything.
He quietly laughed and dug his nails into my hips, lowering himself so that his mouth was at my entrance. He spread my legs open and with just the tips of his fingers he traced feathery touches on my skin. Then he muttered “time to eat” before fucking me with his tongue, curling it up, and I thought I was going to skyrocket across the table. He then released his magic mouth from my pussy and drove two fingers deep in my channel, maneuvering his fingertips to caress that same spot again while now brushing light, figure eight licks on my clitoris.
“Fuck, I could suck on your pussy for days. So good, so sweet,” he mumbled into my flesh, then continued to ravage me with his fingers and mouth. My moans turned into whimpers, and I felt as if I was going to break down because the pleasure was so incredibly intense. I climbed higher and higher until I spasmed in orgasm, convulsing and twisting my body into a version of myself I didn’t recognize.
Rule Breaker Page 5