by S. E. Harmon
I peeled out of the parking lot just as Julian burst out of the service door.
“Avery Jane!” I heard his booming voice even through the sealed windows of my BMW. “Tomorrow,” he promised threateningly as I drove by. His amused expression showed me that he’d clearly enjoyed the chase and he knew exactly what my hurry was.
I thought that by now, Jackson and I should be well used to each other. Getting sick of one another. But six months in, and I still couldn’t get home fast enough. We still went back and forth between his place and mine, but he was starting to hint that we should move in together. Hint in his very Jackson, very lawyerly way, that was. This included a very methodical listing of all the benefits of us cohabitating. He actually called it that. Cohabitating. Good Lord. If I didn’t cave soon, he was probably going to resort to something drastic. Inside, I already agreed it was a wonderful idea, but I was stalling. Mostly because I was looking forward to what would probably be a very inventive PowerPoint presentation.
I couldn’t deny that the highlight of my day was seeing his face. My favorite times were the weekends, when we could be lazy together and go to Starbucks. Then we’d run errands or go see a movie or do something fun that would sustain us through the week. Through the week, we didn’t always have time for everything I wanted to do. Sometimes we didn’t even have time for sex. Since we both had demanding jobs, sometimes the only thing we could do was have a quick dinner that one of us picked up on the way home, shower, and fall into bed.
But sometimes, with the right person, that was all you needed.
Just as I pulled in the garage, I heard the throaty purr of an engine down the street. The obnoxiously bright headlights of Jackson’s Audi pulled in behind me, and I waved at him briefly before pulling out my laptop bag from the backseat. I may be anxious to be alone with Jackson, but my precious laptop waited in the car for no one.
I shouldered the bag and headed out of the garage, waiting on the front steps, arms folded across my chest. I watched him amble up the driveway, unable to help the slight smile on my face. Looking at him now made my chest tight for other reasons—mostly because I knew him. Knew him. Knew his heart. But fuck, he was still the hottest guy I’d ever seen.
I still couldn’t decide which Jackson I liked more—laid-back casual Jackson who didn’t think holes and rips in jeans were a sign to throw them out. Or the Jackson who was coming toward me right now in a black, tailored power suit, a snowy white shirt, and a pink silk tie that he was working on loosening with one hand. I liked a man who could pull off pink.
He stopped a few inches from me. Between my heels and the being one step above him, I could look directly into his eyes, which suddenly crinkled at the sides. A smile pulled at his mouth. “I’m sorry, don’t you usually get off around six?”
“Do I?” I reached out to touch his tie and used it to tow him a few steps closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off that powerful body. “Must’ve found a new route to get around traffic.”
He glanced down at his watch and then held the Brietling out so I could see. The oversized face gleamed. 6:01. “Must’ve been one hell of a shortcut.”
“It was.” I let his tie drift through my fingers and pressed both palms against his chest. His nostrils flared briefly as I moved my hands up until both arms were around his neck. “Wait a minute. Don’t you usually stay at the office until seven?”
“Sometimes eight,” he agreed, leaning into my touch as I sifted through his hair. “But my bosses think I work too much. That it’s time for me to cut back a little.”
“Do they? The bosses that emailed and called you fourteen times in one weekend?”
“The very same.”
“That’s not going to look very good for you making partner.”
The slightly teasing air was suddenly gone between us as he gave me the look. That look. The one that made my stomach melt like boardwalk taffy under the heated gaze of the sun. The one that let me know I was everything he’d ever wanted. “There are more important things,” he finally said.
Yes, there were. And I was looking at him.
Then he was taking my laptop bag off my shoulder and laying it on the side table. I had a brief moment to wonder where we were going to live when we were both fired. And then Jackson lifted me off my feet. I locked my legs around his back, and he kicked the door shut before heading down the hall toward my bedroom. Worth it, I thought. I was going to have to make our cardboard box very homey.
*
My eyes opened lazily, and settled on the lingering touches of predawn that dared enter the bedroom. We’d overslept and missed dinner. Again. I probably should have cared more. Instead, I turned in his arms, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. I glanced up to find him still sleeping peacefully, soft, shapely lips lax, his long lashes fanning across his cheeks.
I pressed my lips to his, savoring his sleepy warmth as he came awake with a gusty sigh and murmured something intelligible, and the strength of his arms as they wound around me and pulled me tight. He buried his face in my neck and I slid my hands over the arms clasped at my waist.
“Say it again,” I whispered into the darkness.
He didn’t have to ask what I meant. “I love you.” His sleep-roughened voice rumbled near my ear. After a moment, his affronted voice broke the stillness. “That’s when you say something in return.”
I pretended to think. “Really? Like what?”
I closed my eyes, a smile creeping across my face. I barely had a moment to enjoy my quip before he had me flat on my back, where I landed with a short shriek. He raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”
“This is abuse,” I said, between gasps of laughter.
“Don’t make me bring out the handcuffs.”
“You have handcuffs?” My mouth opened and closed as I imagined the possibilities. “Do tell.”
“Avery,” he began.
“Fine, fine. You are the jam to my peanut butter,” I declared. “The hot sign to my Krispy Kreme donut. The ice tray to my cubes—”
“For God’s sake.” He grinned. “Shut up and kiss me.”
“But I had like six more.”
“Save them.” He pressed his mouth to mine. “I’m not going anywhere, and I plan to hear them all.”
His statement, said so blithely, sent my heart into overdrive. He made me happy I’d taken a chance. Happy I’d decided to trust. And happy I’d listened to the stupid, always hopeful part of my heart that had known he wasn’t part of the rule…but the exception.
“Now. Tell me you love me again,” he requested, dropping kisses on my neck.
I would. But I wanted it to be special. I also wanted to annoy him…for my own pleasure, of course. So I cleared my throat and began caterwauling, “How Do I Live” by Lee Ann Rimes in my best outdoor voice. “How do I,” I started tentatively, “get through a night without you?”
“Oh God.”
“If I had to live without you,” I warbled, gaining strength, “what kind of life would that be?”
“Please no.”
“Aaaand I need you in my—”
Still chuckling ruefully, he kissed me into silence. “Would it be too much to ask for the words? Just the words?”
“I love you. I’m going to love you so many different ways, you’re going to wonder how you ever managed without me.” I arched into his mouth like a cat, seeking his touch like a heat-seeking missile.
“Yeah?” He grinned. “What kind of ways?”
“Obnoxiously. Loudly.” I kissed him softly. “Often. And always.”
And that was exactly what I did.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost, I'd like to thank Inkspell Publishing for believing in my work. I’d also like to thank my editor, Audrey, for helping me whip this book into shape. A big thank you to Ashley and Angel because you're my biggest fans. You make me want to be the person you think I am. Lastly, I'd like to thank all the readers out there who enjoyed Avery and Jackso
n's story--you guys make this all possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S.E. Harmon has had a lifelong love affair with writing. It’s been both wonderful and rocky (they've divorced several times), but they always manage to come back together. She's a native Floridian with a Bachelor of Arts and a Masters in Fine Arts, and now splits her days between voraciously reading romance novels and squirreling away someplace to write them. Her current beta reader is a nosy American Eskimo who begrudgingly accepts payment in the form of dog biscuits.