“And you were right. I am scared that I’ll be the one who will want to call the next day. As a matter of fact, I know I will. I can’t stop myself from thinking about you. I can’t stop wondering what you’re doing. And that scares the ever-living shit out of me because I know you’re too good for me and I know it won’t take you long to figure it out. Then where will that leave me? Fucking crushed.”
Jameson let go of the door handle, stunned at what he’d admitted. He didn’t think there’d ever been a time when he’d confessed he was scared of something.
“Why do you think I’m too good for you?” she asked.
“Because I know you are. And what you just told me upstairs confirmed it. You’re stronger than I am. I’ve allowed the things I’ve seen to blacken my soul. You’re too good to have someone like me darken your doorstep.”
Jameson’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Weston had texted that he’d cleared Kennedy’s house and she could go home to check if anything had been taken.
“What have you seen?”
Jameson hated that she’d asked.
“Enough to fill me with hate.”
“Right,” she mumbled. “Full disclosure and honesty from those around you but you get to keep your secrets bottled up.”
“What I’ve done and seen isn’t dinner conversation, Kennedy.”
“Good thing we aren’t eating dinner then.”
She had a smartass comeback for everything and it was annoying as hell.
“I didn’t ask you to come down here and talk to me. You followed me. You apologized, and I’m sorry I lost my temper. We can simply be done now and walk away. If we see each other walking down the street, no hard feelings, we can wave and say hello. And while I’m the type of person who gives second chances, I don’t give thirds, so please don’t ever try to feed me your bullshit again.”
Why did the thought of them going their separate ways make Jameson’s gut tighten? He’d gone a full week without speaking to her and it’d been torture. He’d actually gotten into his truck twice to drive over to see her and had to force himself to go back into the house.
What was it about Kennedy Lane that drove him to the brink? He’d never met a woman who’d called him on his shit, and there’d certainly never been one who’d accused him of being scared.
“Come on, I’ll take you back to your house.”
“Sure,” Kennedy whispered her sad response.
He knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but he wasn’t sure he could tell her about his life, or if he even should. She’d been right yet again, nothing would change. He still couldn’t have her. Not for the long haul. And sex with Kennedy was out of the question, he knew that would be the biggest mistake he could ever make. He wouldn’t call for seconds, he’s simply keep calling until she stopped answering.
Jameson had spent two hours with Kennedy at her house as she walked through it, checking to see if anything had been taken. Weston continued to comb the outside for anything that the suspect had left behind. Even though they had the guy on video, Weston had wanted more.
When Kennedy declared nothing had been taken, she called Jonny Spenser to report the break-in and Weston had left to go back to the office to email a copy of the recording to the sheriff’s office.
Jonny had come out to take a report and was frustrated when he found out the guy had worn gloves. He’d taken Kennedy’s statement, told her to keep her doors locked, and left.
Holden had called and said there was nothing going on at Kennedy’s mom’s house, but he was staying for a while longer just to be safe.
After Jameson had ascertained that Kennedy would be all right by herself for a bit, he left.
Now he was on his way back to her house and he knew by the way she’d said goodbye to him, she didn’t think he was coming back.
The second his truck pulled to a stop, he saw the curtain in her living room pull back and he knew she was freaked out and probably standing guard.
He grabbed the bag on the seat next to him, made his way to her front door. She opened immediately, a wary look on her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, babe, sorry I scared you.” Jameson held out the bottle.
“What’s that?”
“That’s for after I’m done.”
After she took his offering, he went back to his truck and opened the tailgate. The water heater was going to be a bitch to carry by himself but he didn’t think she had a dolly and he hadn’t stopped by the farm to pick one up. He could’ve called Weston for help, but he didn’t want the intrusion.
“What are you doing?” Kennedy asked, standing behind him.
“Replacing your water heater.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no way in hell you’re taking a cold shower after the day you’ve had. Pissed as shit you’ve been doing it for a week and I didn’t know.”
“I was planning on replacing it tomorrow.”
“Well, it looks like your day just freed up.”
“You can’t buy me a water heater, Jameson.”
“Do you ever not argue?”
She stared up at him, stunned and clearly thinking about her answer.
“No.”
“Right. As long as you’re standing here, help me carry it in. It’s not heavy, but it’s awkward.”
“I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”
“Fine, write me a check for two hundred dollars.”
Kennedy smiled wide, thinking she’d won.
The check would be ripped up and tossed in the trash before he left her house.
But in an effort to get the new water heater installed so they could move to the second part of their evening, he’d agree to anything if it meant she didn’t argue.
10
Kennedy
I was taking a nice warm shower and I hated to admit it, but I felt better knowing that Jameson was downstairs. Earlier, when he and Weston had been in the house with me as I looked for something missing, I hadn’t been scared. I was pissed someone had been in my house. When Jameson told me he was leaving I didn’t think anything about it, until I was alone.
Then irrational fear had crept in. Irrational because I knew Weston and Jameson both had searched my house from top to bottom and no one was hiding under a bed waiting to jump out and kill me, but damn if it hadn’t felt that way.
I’d never paid attention to the creaks and groans my old house made. I’d lived in it my whole life, I was used to the sounds it made. But as I stood in my kitchen looking for something to make for dinner, debating what I was going to eat, every noise made me jump. Then I starting thinking about the fact my truck was still in town, which meant if someone did break in, all I could do was run.
So I opened my safe and grabbed my shotgun. Once the double barrel twelve gauge was within reach, I felt a little better. But not much.
Someone had been in my house. And what freaked me out more was they hadn’t stolen anything. At least nothing I could find. So what the hell had the guy been doing? I’d watched enough movies to know there was plenty of sick shit he could’ve been doing in the fifteen minutes he was alone in my house.
I finished my shower, grateful it wasn’t ice cold and quickly dried myself off and dressed. I took a look around my room. Nothing was out of place but I still yanked the sheets off my bed knowing there was no way I’d be able to sleep in them tonight.
I walked down the stairs and stopped when I found Jameson sitting on my couch. His ass was on the edge, his legs bent and spread wide, elbows on his knees, and his head was bowed. He looked deep in thought and when his gaze came up to meet mine, I knew I was right. He wasn’t masking the stark pain.
He lifted his chin in a silent question and I explained.
“I know it’s silly but I don’t want to sleep on sheets that a stranger could’ve…done stuff on.”
He nodded his understanding but said nothing. I spotted the unopened new bottle of wh
iskey sitting on the coffee table in front of him and wondered why he’d brought his own when I had plenty.
I didn’t inquire as I walked past him, through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I dumped my sheets into the wash, started the machine, and stopped to grab two glasses out of the cabinet. Then I made my way back into the living room.
I placed the glasses on the table and sat next to Jameson.
“Unless you wanna drink straight from the bottle.” I gestured to the glasses. “Which is cool with me, too.”
He uncapped the bottle, took a healthy swig, and passed it to me. I followed suit, my swallow not quite as healthy as his but enough for the liquid to burn down my throat and warm my belly.
“There’s a lot I can’t tell you,” he started. “The missions I went on are top secret. And just because I’m no longer in the Navy doesn’t mean I can talk about them.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure where he was going with the conversation but it didn’t look pleasant.
“I’m struggling,” he admitted, and clenched his jaw like it was the worst feeling in the world. “I don’t know what to do with you. Straight up honesty here, I’ve never met a woman I’ve wanted to talk to about my past. And not because I want to unload my burdens, but because I wanted her to understand why I am the way I am.” He stopped and took another drink before he looked me dead in the eye and continued. “I’ll never be like you. I’ll never be the type of person that rolls with the punches, takes one on the chin, and still looks on the bright side of life. That will never be me. I’m not wired that way. It’s ingrained in me to protect, to watch for danger, to predict it, to stop it before it happens. And when I can’t, I react to the threat in a manner that eliminates it permanently.”
Jameson handed me the bottle and waited for me to take a drink before he took a deep breath and went on.
“I was a total dick earlier. I made assumptions about the type of woman you are, because I’ve never met anyone like you. You confuse me and surprise me. Neither of which I’m used to. The physical attraction between us is undeniable. We both feel it. You were right about all of it. Everything you said was spot-on. And that’s another thing, it bothers me that you barely know me, yet you can see right through me. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had a relationship. Hell, I’ve never dated or had a girlfriend. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my emotions in check and you make me want to test the waters. You scare the ever-loving hell outta me.”
“Not even in high school, you didn’t have dates or a girlfriend?”
I found that hard to believe, Jameson was a good-looking man. I was sure as a teenager he was just as good-looking. Teenage girls would’ve gone crazy trying to get with him.
“Didn’t say I didn’t hook up in high school, but there weren’t movies and ice cream involved.”
“Oh.”
That made more sense. Of course he would’ve gotten some action, but the thought of him never opening himself up to anyone made me kind of sad.
“My dad walked out on my mom. And I saw what it did to her. She fell apart in her grief. I remember her telling me how much she loved him—that was years after he’d left and she still loved the asshole. She waited for him to come home, prayed about it, begged God to answer her one wish. When I left home to join the Navy, she was still prayin’. I wanted no part of that. If that was what love did to you, I never wanted to find it.”
That I could understand. I’d watched my own mother break down after my dad died. But he didn’t leave us intentionally, he was taken from us. And even though it was painful to watch my mother have a nervous breakdown there was beauty in it. She loved my dad so much she couldn’t cope with his death. She couldn’t imagine a life without him. But I wouldn’t tell Jameson that—the situations were vastly different, and his father didn’t deserve the kind of love and devotion his mother had offered.
“What if I’m like my dad? What if that’s in me?”
“What if what’s in you?”
“Whatever is so fucked-up in him that he could walk away from a good woman and his kid. My whole life I’ve been told by everyone in my family I’m just like my dad. I look like him, I’m built like him, I was a good athlete like him. So what if he gave me that, too; that fucked-up gene that makes me destroy my family?”
“He didn’t.”
“You can’t say that. I know I’m an ass—”
“He didn’t, Jameson, and you already told me why you could never be him. You’re not wired that way. It’s ingrained into you to protect.”
“I’m a product of my environment. If he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t’ve had to step up and be the man of the house, care for my mom, support us. I would’ve been a normal kid going through life. I would’ve been like everyone else, looking for love and wanting a family. Instead I’m this man, the one who won’t touch emotion with a ten-foot pole because his father taught him love hurts.”
Damn, I kind of hated Jameson’s dad. What kind of dick leaves his family? And by the sound of it, severs contact with his own flesh and blood.
“Maybe you wouldn’t have had a skewed view of love and relationships. Maybe you would’ve found a sweet woman and married her and had a couple of kids by now. But that didn’t happen. What happened was, your dad’s a jackass and left, his decision sparked a chain reaction, and that made you into a man that has a burning desire to protect those around him. And because of that, because of him, and what he taught you, you’d never inflict that type of pain. He taught you a great lesson.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Jameson huffed. “How to be a cynical, distrusting prick?”
“No. He taught you everything you didn’t want to be. And sometimes that lesson is more important. You’re the man you are today, because you knew the man you never wanted to be.”
Jameson picked the bottle back up and I watched the muscles on his neck constrict and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Every inch of his body seemed to have muscle piled on top of muscle. I’d never in my life found a man’s neck sexy, but all I could think about as Jameson drank was how much I’d like to run my tongue over the corded lines and trace a path.
It was crazy that six hours ago I was standing in Jameson’s office pissed off as all hell, yet there I was once again thinking about how much I’d like to touch him. It’s funny what a little honesty does by way of forgiveness and understanding.
Trying to find the good in people and the reasons behind their actions didn’t make me a doormat. I was telling Jameson the truth—I gave most people a second chance, because everyone screws up and says hurtful things. But the chance is only given if there’s sincerity behind their apology. And I believed Jameson was a good man. Twice now, he’d admitted he was scared, and for someone like him, I imagined it was a difficult confession. One I would not squander and throw in his face.
“How drunk are you?” Jameson’s odd question took me by surprise.
“I’m not.”
“Tipsy?”
“No, it takes more than a few sips of whiskey to get me buzzed. Why?”
“Because, I’m going to kiss you, and I need to know if you’re sober.”
Butterflies took flight in my belly and nerves set in. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if I’d ever get used to Jameson being so forward. Jameson didn’t give me time to process my thoughts because his hand went to the side of my face and slid into my hair, and simultaneously he pulled me toward him and he leaned in.
Our mouths met and his tongue brushed my bottom lip. Without thought or hesitation I opened for him. Not that I was doing much thinking as his tongue swept in and tentatively slid against mine. I’m not sure which one of us moaned, but the sound echoed in the silent room. Jameson deepened the kiss and lifted me up off the cushion and pulled me astride him.
Gone were the butterflies dancing in my stomach. The excitement of the kiss pushed everything aside. I could feel the hard length of him pressed tight against my wet center and I rocked my hips. His g
rip in my hair tightened and he slanted his head, taking a seriously hot kiss and making it hotter.
I’d never been kissed like this before. Never felt the raw need and passion. Jameson wasn’t kissing me, he was devouring me. All I could do was follow his lead, let him take me where he wanted us to go. I was more than okay with that, I didn’t want to do anything but feel the anticipation he was building.
Without warning, he broke the kiss and shoved his face in my neck. I would’ve been seriously disappointed but his tongue lashed out and he was doing exactly what I’d fantasized about doing to him, blazing a trail down my throat to the swell of my breasts. His hands went to my hips and he easily lifted me higher so he could continue to lick and suck on the skin there.
“Sweet Christ, I knew it’d be good,” he said without lifting his head. “But I had no idea.”
Needing the friction back, I adjusted myself back over his hard-on and ground down.
“Fuck, Kennedy,” he groaned.
One of his hands left my hip and went to the collar of my tank top. I heard it tear as he yanked it down, settling it under my breast.
His mouth latched on to my nipple through the lace of my bra and my back instinctively arched.
“More,” I begged.
He sucked harder and I moaned.
“More.”
He tore the lace down and his tongue flicked against my bare breast.
My hips were moving on their own accord. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt under me and the sensation his mouth was creating.
All I knew was I needed more. All of him. I wanted the layers of clothes between us to be gone so I could really feel him.
11
Jameson
Jameson was fighting for control.
He’d had no clue that the reality of Kennedy would be so much better than anything he could’ve dreamed up, or he would never have kissed her.
He wasn’t sure if either of them was ready to go any further. But damn if he didn’t want to fuck the hell out of her. There was nothing timid or shy about Kennedy, he’d been stupid to think there was. The moment their mouths had touched, he knew he was in trouble. And when she’d swung her leg over him and started rubbing herself on his dick, he knew he had a bigger dilemma than he’d been prepared for.
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