by JM Stewart
When he stepped toward her, her muscles tensed, every inch of her on high alert, waiting in anticipation of his touch. He was always touching her, driving her to distraction with his hands. In an instant, she was riding the edge again. Adrenaline pumped hard and fast through her veins, her body ready to spring into action, to turn and flee if need be.
The sensation left her at odds with herself. She never fled from a fight. Confident in her abilities, she always stood her ground. Except when she had to deal with Jackson.
“Each and every time those words were spoken to me, they lacked the conviction, the meaning, behind them to hold them up. They usually came with a stipulation, something I had to do to earn them.”
Becca stood frozen, watching as he closed the distance between them with slow, careful steps, as if he were approaching a scared rabbit. She had the sense of standing at the edge of a precipice, afraid of toppling over into the unknown, yet needing to see the bottom. Jackson had never shown her this side of himself before, but he’d been doing it a lot lately. Now especially, she needed to hear whatever it was he’d say. Even if she didn’t like it, her heart needed those answers.
He gave a miserable shake of his head. “My father always said letting someone know they affect you gives them too much power. Power they can use against you.”
Becca furrowed her brow and shook her head. Did he think like his father did? “Is that what you think? That I lied the few times I found the courage to say those words to you?”
She’d told him she loved him twice, both times in vulnerable moments, after they’d made love and she felt closest to him. He’d never said them back, had merely gathered her close, kissed her head, and told her she meant the world to him, too. But she’d needed to hear those three little words, because after a while, she’d begun to notice the lack of them in his vocabulary.
He halted in front of her, a little too close for comfort. Far enough away she couldn’t accuse him of pushing, but close enough all she had to do was reach out and she could touch him. Close enough she could finally see his eyes.
He shook his head. “No. But the thought of saying them back, after the way they were tossed so carelessly at me, felt wrong.”
She averted her gaze to the deck. She didn’t want to see whatever emotions played in his eyes. Those eyes would be her downfall. The emotion in them would seep inside her heart and leave her helpless before she could think to move. “What do you want me to say, Jack? I need to hear them.”
He cupped her chin, the heat of his palm seeping into her skin. A simple yet powerful contact that had the breath leaving her lungs on a soft, shaky exhalation. “Nothing. I’m telling you because you asked. Because you deserve to know.”
His thumb swept from side to side over her chin, the movements slow and torturous, as if he touched her for the simple pleasure of it. Her skin tingled in response, tiny tremors running the length of her spine.
“I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He blew out a defeated breath and dropped his hand. “I’m afraid, sweetheart, that I am the product of my upbringing. Until you left, I never realized I’d done to you what my parents had done to me. I had all the best of intentions, but in the end, I became what I swore to myself I’d never be.”
She looked up at him and furrowed her brow in confusion, in pain, desperately trying to understand. “Then why didn’t you come get me?”
“At first? Because I was hurt and angry. You’d left me just like they did. But a month went by and all I could think was that I’d made you so miserable you felt you had no other option except to leave. You see, I spent my childhood observing my parents’ dysfunctional marriage. They were not only unhappy together but completely wretched. They’d gone past the point of arguing to simply ignoring each other.”
“So did we.”
“Mmm. Because I thought if I let the argument go for a while, we’d both eventually cool off. It’s not an excuse, but it was all I knew. When my parents spoke, neither even pretended to be civil. You and I were always civil. I thought for sure that was a good sign.” He gave a slow shake of his head, misery rising in his eyes. “I think my father had affairs, and I’m not sure my mother cared. Yet they stayed together, miserable in each other’s company. Damned if I’d put you through what I lived through and force Allie to grow up with parents who hated each other.”
Jackson cupped her face between his palms, his thumbs grazing her bottom lip. Seconds, minutes, how long he remained that way, silent, studying her, she didn’t know, but time seemed to pass in eons. Every second only increased the nervous trembling, increased the restless energy flowing through her body. Increased the singeing heat of his skin on hers.
“I knew you were miserable, but nothing I did seemed to make you any happier. We argued all the time and you kept drifting farther away from me. The day you served me those papers, I realized I only wanted you to be happy.” Heartache and regret filled his eyes. “Even if you were happier without me. I refused to stand in your way, to be the one making you miserable.”
His sweet words lodged deep in her heart, a much-needed salve over an impossible wound. But she knew better. She shook her head, unable to follow his thinking. “So, what’s changed? Why now?”
“Because I spent our sixth anniversary alone. Because I miss you. Because I’ve spent the last year since our divorce wondering how the hell I was going to learn to live without you. I don’t do so well without you. It’s like trying to live without a part of myself. Like someone’s ripped my heart clean from my chest and told me I have to learn to live without it.” He leaned down, lowered his face to within a hairsbreadth of hers, and stopped. Though whether he meant to torment her or simply because he couldn’t help himself, she didn’t know. His hot, harsh breaths teased her lips and left her struggling to drag air into suddenly oxygen-starved lungs. Every time she inhaled, she pulled in a heady mix of sleepy maleness and the faint minty sweetness of his breath.
A shudder of need raked through her, weakening her knees. Every cell in her body shook, begging her to lift onto her toes, to complete the contact and capture his mouth. She ached for one tiny taste of him. What she’d missed for so long now. To feel the passion of his heady kisses, to lose herself in the silent promise his kiss would give her. To believe in it.
Part of their problem was desire flowed as easily as water between them. More than she cared to admit, she wanted to let the emotion make her believe. In him. That they could make this work.
“The question now becomes, are you even willing to meet me halfway? Can you give me a second chance?”
The sensations wanted to draw her back in, threatened to be her undoing, but she ignored them all and tugged her chin from his grasp. She shook her head and stepped back, away from the unbearable temptation of him. Before she let his sweet words get to her.
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her only defense against him, the only barrier she could put up. “I don’t know if I want to anymore.”
That was a bold-faced lie. She wanted to so badly her chest ached, but what if she risked her heart again only to find out he hadn’t changed?
Yet even as she turned, moved back into the house and fled like a coward, a cynical little voice nagged at the back of her mind. How would she ever know if she wasn’t willing to give him another chance?
Once inside, she closed the door and sagged back against the glass, dragging in deep breaths in an effort to slow the fierce pounding of her heart. She’d taken the risk once before. Ignored her better judgment and jumped feetfirst into what she thought was love. How would she know if he was worth the risk again?
She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She wasn’t really getting on with her life, because she still loved him. Deep down, pounding beneath all the confusion, lay the knowledge she’d never be able to get over him unless—and until—they settled things between them once and for all.
The following morning Jackson woke early, determined to show Becca he’d meant what he’d told her. Coming downstairs, he found her at the sink, wearing the new pajamas he’d bought her. The long sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and she appeared to be rinsing dishes. So he took a moment to gather his courage and crossed the room to her. He checked behind him and listened for a moment. Save the water running, the house was silent. Which meant Allie was still sleeping.
Grateful for a moment alone with Becca, he bent and kissed her cheek. “Morning.”
Then he waited, his heart hammering in the vicinity of his throat. This could go one of two ways. He was either about to lose a vital part of his anatomy, or . . .
Becca turned her head, mouth slack, eyes wide with surprise. She didn’t, however, move to strike him. Neither did she glare at him. “Morning. What was that for?”
He winked. “Because even though you said you were leaving, you’re still here.” He sobered. If he was going to win her back, he’d have to start voicing his thoughts. So, he drew a deep breath and powered on. “I’m trying, sweetheart. I meant what I said. I’d like you to give us, me, another try. If I screw up, I need you to tell me, but I need you to have patience with me, too.”
She shook her head and turned back to the sink, picking up a plate from the basin. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Jack.”
He turned and leaned beside her, hands braced on the counter’s edge behind him. “I know. Which is why I’m not going to push you. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”
She didn’t say anything, but her hands stopped moving beneath the water. Her thoughts filled the surrounding air, and as he waited, even his heart seemed to stop beating.
Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He deserved the silent treatment, but he had to try at least. “Is it something you even want?”
“I don’t know. Can you accept that?”
Could he? He wanted to shout from the damn rooftops.
“It’s not a no, sweetheart, so yes. I can accept that. Thank you.” He kissed her cheek again then forced himself to pull back. Tension knotted every muscle in his body, and his hands fisted at his sides as another question rose in his mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he had to ask. “So, does this mean you’re staying?”
Several seconds ticked out in silence before she finally blew out a defeated breath. “For now.”
He resisted the urge to pick her up and swing her around the kitchen. It was a step in the right direction. Maybe a tiny one, but a step nonetheless.
“Thank you.” He leaned his head over her shoulder, peering into the sink. “I take it you’ve already had breakfast?”
“These are from last night. I was just about to make coffee.” Another long silence ticked out as she stood staring into the sink. Finally, she looked over at him, eyes reaching and searching. “You make the eggs, I’ll make the toast?”
“Deal.” He smiled and winked at her. “But I’m making the coffee. Sorry, sweetheart, but yours is terrible.”
A soft flush rose in her cheeks, and she averted her gaze to the sink again, bending sideways to slot the dish into the washer. He pushed away from the counter and moved to the coffeemaker, his heart lighter than it had been in months. She hadn’t exactly said she’d give him a second chance, but she hadn’t shut the door in his face, either. He’d take what he could get.
***
Two days later, he stood on the sidewalk outside her martial arts school, hands in his pockets as he stared through the plate-glass windows. The fluorescent lights spilling from within lit up the darkness. Becca’s white uniform contrasted with the blue of the floor mats. She stood in the center of a small group of women. A self-defense class, memory told him, for ladies who wanted to learn how to protect themselves.
At that moment, Becca appeared to explain something, using her hands as she spoke. Her brow furrowed in concentration. He admired the hell out of her. She had a passion for what she did. Her calm knowledge had fascinated him from the first moment they met. She gave a hundred and ten percent to everything she did.
He blew out a heavy breath, his mind rewinding over the last few days. Things had relaxed between them. Oh, she kept her distance. While she was aloof, definitely holding him at arm’s length, she was also friendly. He was caught between the need to give her space, to let her make her decision in her own time, and the rising frustration of not being able to do what he wanted to do. Like take her in his arms. She was so close, yet still so far away. One way or another, he had to get through to her, which meant earning her trust all over again.
Before he could, though, he needed to get close to her. A difficult task in and of itself.
Shaking off the onerous thoughts, he pulled the door open and stepped inside. It swooshed shut behind him with a soft thud and Becca’s gaze snapped to his. Something resembling pleasure lit in the depths of her eyes.
“Ahh, there he is, ladies. Right on time.” All heads turned to stare at him as Becca marched in his direction, determination etching her brow. Apprehension knotted his stomach.
“Don’t look at me, I didn’t do it.” He held up his hands in mock defeat and offered a teasing smile when she came to a stop in front of him.
She seemed to ignore his comment. Instead, her lips pursed and those baby blues slid over him, from his chest to his feet and back up, as if he were merchandise she hadn’t yet decided to buy.
Planting her hands on her hips, she finally met his gaze. “I need a man.”
Jackson bit back a miserable groan. The woman would be the death of him. He’d spent the last two days reliving the other night on the deck over and over. He could still feel her lips hovering beneath his. Her warm, ragged breaths blowing over his mouth and her heated palms against his skin. He’d been this close to finally having a taste of her sweetness. He’d been harebrained for two days, because he couldn’t think, at least not about anything but getting her back where he wanted her—in his arms. Preferably with her mouth attached to his. Having to keep his hands to himself made sleep damn near impossible, which set his nerves on edge.
And she had the gall to toss a provocative comment like that at him. The peaked look she had about her didn’t help any. Tendrils of hair escaped her ponytail and clung to perspiration-dampened skin. Her eyelids drooped, and her cheeks flushed a very becoming shade of pink. Exactly the way she looked after they made love.
Damned if he’d let her get away with this.
“Right here?” He leaned down to her eye level and arched a brow. “Really, don’t you think your office might be a bit more . . . private?”
Damn his horny hide. No sooner had the words left his mouth than the image formed in his mind. Locking the office door, sweeping the papers off her desk, and plunking her bare backside down. Long and slow or fast and furious, he ached to be a part of her.
Becca rolled her eyes. “I need a man to help me demonstrate. Someone bigger than me.” She tucked a damp tendril behind her right ear and nodded in the direction of the room behind her. “Every one of these women has been victimized. I like to have them practice what I’ve taught them with a man, instead of just themselves.”
“Right.” He folded his arms. “Why me?”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. “David usually helps me, but he had a family emergency and had to leave early. Kyle would’ve been my next choice, but he just got called to a homicide.” She looked him over again and let out a dramatic sigh. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and a devilish twinkle sparked in her eyes. “Since you’re the only man here, you’ll have to do.”
Oh, the little minx. He cocked a cynical brow at her. “Flattery will get you nowhere, darlin’.”
Her shoulders slumped and a defeated puff of air escaped her lips. The fire deflated, those tired eyes now pleading with him. “Jack . . .
”
He opened his mouth, ready to let her off the hook, to refuse, when an idea hit him. Before he could ever dream of getting close to her again, he had to get past her defenses. How to convince a very stubborn woman bound and determined to keep him at arm’s length?
Running with the idea, he peered over her head at the mats again and rubbed a hand over his chin. “I don’t know, Beck. We’ve done this before, and I distinctly remember ending up damn sore afterward. Not to mention, I have no desire to be tossed around like a rag doll in front of a group of ladies. I do have my pride, you know.”
Actually, his pride didn’t worry him so much. His libido, however, did. He remembered only too well all the times he’d played the part of her practice dummy back when they dated. Something about roughhousing with a hundred-and-ten-pound fireball who could do him serious damage always had his adrenaline, and his blood, pumping. The sessions always ended with both of them breathless, sweaty, and nine times out of ten, naked.
If Becca remembered any of this, she didn’t show it. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, clearly telling him what she thought about his need to protect his pride.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers, and tapped a finger against her lips, somehow managing to ignore their softness and the overwhelming desire to taste them. “You’re going to owe me for this one, I think.”
“Oh, I knew there’d be a catch.” She folded her arms, her jaw working furiously. As if to remain calm and not throttle him took every ounce of control she had. “Fine. What do you want?”
He narrowed his eyes. Oh, how he enjoyed watching her squirm. He’d always enjoyed matching wits with her. She could flip a sassy comment right back at him and damned if he didn’t find it sexy as hell. “A back rub. I remember you having magic fingers, and there’s a knot in my back that won’t go away.”
From having to spend day in and day out keeping his distance from her. From one too many damn nights lying in bed staring at the ceiling. From getting close enough to remember what her breath tasted like, but not close enough to relive the luscious stroke of her tongue against his.