Trust in Me

by Dee Tenorio

  All alone with a hungry man and her own desperate wanting.

  Maybe it was a good idea to be in a place with sturdy furniture.

  She pushed out a calming breath, listening for his movement, but it never came. Mr. Silence clearly didn’t want her to have a chance to skitter away. His warmth touched her first, easing up her back as the front of his body aligned to the back of hers. Fabric rustled, the crisp white button-down he wore so well grazing the thicker cotton of her serviceable black blouse. Or was she just listening too hard?

  The scent of him curled around her, fresh and brisk, like ice in the treetops where she’d grown up. She could breathe in that scent for the rest of her life and not mind at all. Or maybe she just wished she could.

  Two firm hands—huge hands, she thought with a grin—settled on her shoulders, drawing her flush against his chest. “I’m not going to just jump on you, you know. We can ease into this weekend slowly.”

  Damn it. This would be so much easier if he’d pull the marauding Viking act, but he only used that aspect of his personality to bully his siblings into acting like regular human beings.

  “You sure? That couch over there looks like it could handle some jumping.”

  Locke scoffed. “That couch could handle Armageddon. In fact, I think it has. Twice.”

  She could just imagine. All seven of the various Jackmans, sprawled across the luscious pillows, boots still on, arguing over whatever was lying around until someone started a wrestling match…

  Susie blinked, looking around the oddly empty room without lust clouding her vision. Oh, there was plenty of furniture, worn spots in the rug under the wide coffee table, books and magazines stacked in neat piles. The whole place was clean too, in an untouched kind of way, though there was no noticeable dust buildup anywhere. Framed pictures filled in the mantel on the fireplace and the walls, showing this house to have been thoroughly lived in. But still, the emptiness felt pervasive.

  There should be noise in a house like this. There should be people in the kitchen beyond that swinging door over there. Someone in the dining room where a gleaming table big enough to be a runway stood alone. She looked around, listening for some kind of sound beyond the hollow quiet. Not even the whistle of the wind outside came through.

  “Creepy, isn’t it?” he asked, mild amusement tingeing his voice.

  “Yeah…”

  “Want a tour?”

  She sputtered a laugh and turned to shake her head at him. “You are so weird sometimes.”

  His slow, pleased grin just proved how perverse he could be.

  “Okay, fine, show me around your creepily quiet house as your bizarre form of foreplay, but you’d better make it worth my while in the end, buddy.” She offered her hand, which he didn’t even hesitate to claim. So sue her, she sighed and leaned into his shoulder as he slotted their fingers together, completely ignoring his snort at her choice of words. To his credit, he didn’t follow that possible line of conversation, either.

  “This isn’t foreplay,” he corrected instead, leading her into the massive dining room. “This is simply acclimating you to the house you’ll be walking around naked in. I want you to be comfortable here. For the nakedness, you understand.”

  “For the weekend,” she made sure to reiterate, watching him for any sign of prevarication in his response. She wasn’t dumb—she knew Locke had his plans. He always had plans. If she let herself, she could fall in line with them and let him lead the way just like his siblings did. But doing that would be giving him promises she still wasn’t ready to make. Reminding him she couldn’t stay reminded her as well. This can’t be your life, Susie.

  But oh, if it could…

  “How exactly did you guys find a house like this?” she asked when he led her into the kitchen. The giant, massive kitchen, with its center island and butcher-block table and cabinet upon cabinet lining the walls. It was as if the place had been designed for the pack of giant men to live in.

  “My father built it.”

  Of course he did. Obviously. What had she been thinking?

  “He had a construction company,” Locke added when she didn’t comment.

  Susie nodded, not sure what the right response should be. She had never known her father, and she couldn’t imagine her mother building anything that would last long enough to pass it on to her child. That woman had only just passed on her genes, and grudgingly at that.

  “We actually lived in a small house off Addams Street until Mom was pregnant with Amanda. It must have occurred to him then that their dream of a big family was going to work out.”

  “You don’t talk about them very much,” she finally said, walking over to the long cabinet door. She ran her fingers over the honey-colored grain, the beveled edges so perfectly, lovingly carved into the wood. “None of you do.”

  Locke let her touch, standing in front of the island, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He took his time replying, but she knew his gaze never left her. She could feel his pleasure at finally having her in his home. His satisfaction at watching her move amongst his things.

  If he expected her to move amongst his kitchen much, he was going to be in for some disappointment. She cooked well enough when she had to, but she had nothing on Amanda, who cooked like she loved it. Susie sometimes wondered if Amanda’s food was behind all that brotherly devotion. She gave it at least half the reason, anyway.

  “We do,” he eventually answered her unspoken question. “With each other.”

  “No one else?” Why she was pushing on it, she wasn’t sure. She knew she couldn’t be the person he confided everything to, not if she would have to run. And yet, she was starving for every piece of him she could take with her. For every second she could be with him longer. Selfish, she knew. But she couldn’t help herself.

  “No one else really remembers them. Not the way we do. Even if they did, most people are uncomfortable talking about the dead with their children. I guess they worry they’ll hurt us or something.” She turned in time to see him shrug those big shoulders, his confusion evident. “It would have been better for the younger twins if people had been able to handle it better. They died in a plane crash, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like there was anything to be ashamed about. You wouldn’t know that from the way everyone we knew acted though. Like no one should say their names except in a whisper. All the younger twins have are our stories. Our memories. It’s not enough.”

  It probably wasn’t, but at least the younger twins didn’t know anything different. “At least they have that. It’s more than some people have of their parents.”

  His disagreement made his voice tight. “Of all of us, they were the ones who were robbed of the most. Never knowing them at all? They deserved to have memories of their own. To know their parents firsthand.”

  She turned back to the cabinet. He wasn’t making a point, but somehow, that made the comment slide that much closer to the bone. “Locke—”

  “He built these cabinets himself. For my mother.”

  She glanced up in surprise at the unexpected revelation.

  He lifted his chin to point her attention back to the intricately carved pattern. “Took him months. I remember we were storing the food and dishes in boxes until he got them in place, and he wasn’t satisfied until they were perfect. Every time she opened one, she used to have this special little smile on her face. She’d touch them, just like you did. I always thought she never spent a minute in here without knowing how much he loved her.”

  Her stomach clenched, a reaction she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. A recognition that hurt, but she couldn’t ignore it. Because she hadn’t had a day since that night in the cabin that she wasn’t achingly aware of Locke’s feelings too. Her gaze traced all the woodworking in the oversized room. Joanna Jackman had been surrounded by her husband’s love at all times, his devotion to the life they’d built together.

  Not crushed by him, though, which was a critical difference between herself and Locke
’s mother. What an incredibly lucky woman, she thought, to be loved like that and never be afraid of it. Never wonder if she was only seeing what her husband wanted her to see. What he might be hiding. Joanna’s husband had wholeheartedly given of himself for her. The way Locke tried to do with her, every day. Her continued resistance took on a whole new scope in that light.

  The real killer was, she couldn’t change, and he refused to.

  It was that thought that finally made the guilt fade somewhat. No wonder their baby had made it this far—stubbornness like that had probably turned their poor kid into the most tenacious twelve-week-old ever conceived.

  “You must be so like him,” she murmured, letting her hands settle at the lowest part of her belly.

  “Me?” For once, Locke had missed the direction of her thoughts. “Not even close. I look like him, but that’s where the resemblance ends. My father was a certified goofball. If you ever want to know what he was really like, talk to Andrew for a few minutes. He’s my dad all over again.”

  Andrew, the musician. Handsome enough, she mused, though he lacked the rough sexiness of his eldest brother. Darker hair, as straight as Locke’s, but much longer, with those signature Jackman eyes. He’d gone on tour over the summer, if Susie remembered correctly. According to Amanda, that meant he spent months in a van with his friends, eating pizza, sleeping in their clothes and avoiding hygiene at all costs while occasionally playing music in dive bars for a few bucks.

  Of the brothers she’d ever spent any time with, he was the easiest to get along with. Andrew didn’t seem to have a temper of any kind, though he did get into random wrestling matches with his siblings whenever the mood struck. Easy-breezy, he came and went as he pleased, made people laugh while he was there and smile about him when he was gone. Next to Locke, Susie had always suspected him to be Amanda’s favorite brother. Now she wondered if Locke’s observation had anything to do with it.

  Still… “Maybe you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Your father sounds like he was a romantic.” A wonderfully huge-hearted one.

  He was still standing there by the island, his big body casually leaning, but his eyes had grown focused on her. Searing. A head tilt, that gaze stroking her face as surely as his hand would if she were back in reach. “I thought you said I wasn’t romantic.”

  She couldn’t possibly turn away from him now. She knew that look. “I remember mentioning your version of romance was done with a sledge. What’s this house, if not romance with a hammer?”

  A beat of silence. “You’re making it very hard for me to stick to my plan, baby.”

  “Which plan was that?” she asked, her heart starting to speed its beat, excitement beginning to thrum in her blood. “The one where you show me how nice and safe I am in your giant house-fortress or the one where you make me crazy waiting for you to kiss me while you make small talk until I’m getting ready to beg for it?”

  “Neither.” He moved toward her. Not with that speed that always stole her breath, either. No, one slow step at a time. Taking the air from the entire room and singeing it with the blatant hunger radiating off him.

  She was practically panting by the time he was in front of her, his hands sliding over her hips possessively. He lowered his mouth to her ear, rubbing his lips over skin she had no idea was so sensitive. She shivered, the heat of his breath triggering the reflex, and she swore she felt his lips curve. She rubbed her thighs together, reveling just a little bit in the slickness forming between them. He had barely touched her and she was already his for the taking.

  You’ve really got to start getting better at playing hard to get…

  Especially since he wasn’t actively trying to get her. He seemed content to have her pressed between him and those beautiful cabinet doors, his hands gripping her hips like an anchor.

  “This was the one where I let you make the first move.”

  The sensual haze cleared a tiny bit. “Was?”

  Wait, that wasn’t the word she should have been questioning. Let. She was supposed to say let.

  Strong teeth slid down her neck, just as his big open palms slid from her hips to curve over her ass. He squeezed tight, and her vision went white for a second.

  Let was okay. She could let him do that as much as he wanted.

  “Which…one…is it…now?” She took the smallest satisfaction in coming back to the conversation. He’d brought his tongue into it, stroking at the cord in her neck before sucking a tingling whimper from her. She rocked her hips against his and then gasped when he shifted his hold and lifted her up to fit her legs around his waist. Then God, yes, she could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing demandingly against her own aching sex.

  “Not that one.”

  Then his mouth was on hers and all she could do was hang on to his shoulders while they devoured each other. Deep, wet kisses, slow, strong thrusts of his tongue against hers. As if he needed to show her he was leading this and he wasn’t accepting any challenges.

  It wasn’t much of a battle. She didn’t want control. Not in herself…not in him.

  So she melted for him instead. He might like it when she challenged him, but one thing she’d learned was how much he loved it when she trusted him. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to put herself in his care.

  She didn’t know how much time they had before the other shoe inevitably fell. In this, the passion neither of them had any chance of dousing, she didn’t see the point in fighting anything. She wanted it. Wanted to feel the flames only he could ignite. There could be no holding back.

  She sighed into his kiss, snaking her arms around his neck, her body softening into his with unmistakable surrender. He growled into her mouth, pressing her harder into the cabinets. He shuddered this time, his hands deliciously close to rough as he ground into her, then suddenly he took them away. The inexplicable disappearance nearly made her snarl in frustration.

  He hadn’t been like that before she’d shared her past with him. Afraid his strength would hurt her. Frighten her.

  Or maybe just remind her?

  She almost groaned. As if she could ever confuse his lovemaking with the travesty Malcolm had put her through. Hadn’t he realized? When she was with him, the nightmare faded. It couldn’t be forgotten, no miracle like that existed, but here, in his arms, the moment was all that mattered. His touch. His body against hers.

  Malcolm dissolved from her mind like dust in a downpour.

  She refused to let him intrude now.

  She tore her lips away, gasping for breath, but there wasn’t much to be found. Not with Locke moving the edge of her blouse collar out of his way with his chin, trying to get more of her skin available to taste.

  “Take this off for me,” he rumbled.

  “You take it off,” she ordered, using her hands to pry at his buttons instead. If she could just get her hands on his belt buckle, she wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

  “My hands are busy.”

  That they were, sneaking up the backs of her thighs, parting her for a more devastating grind. She bit her bottom lip at the exquisite pleasure, rocking herself harder on him. Why the hell were they still dressed? “Use your teeth.”

  He dropped his forehead to her breastbone, stopping the thrusts even if he didn’t give up on the pressure. He wanted inside her as badly as she wanted him there, but that chivalry she liked so much about him was picking the wrong moment to rear its cute little head. His ragged breath beat a soft tattoo on the thin fabric still trying to cover her breasts. Poor man, trying so hard to gather his control. Did he even notice that his hands were back to kneading her ass?

  She rolled her hips, pleased to hear him suck in a rush of air between his teeth.

  “You’re trying kill me, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she answered, knowing good and well how evilly gleeful she sounded at his torment. “I’m trying to get your clothes off. You promised me nakedness, remember?”

  “If we get naked in here,
I’m throwing you on the butcher block and making a meal out of you.”

  That was more like it. “Will I be sitting on it or leaning over it?”

  She’d never heard that particular combination of swear words before. It didn’t even sound like English.

  Next thing she knew, her feet were unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Her ass would have surely followed if he wasn’t still holding on to it with one possessive hand. Satisfied she wouldn’t fall, he turned, grabbing her hand and dragging her back out the way they came. They passed the stairs, heading down a wide hall with a set of double doors at the end, and by then she was giggling. “What happened to my tour?”

  His answer was as unintelligible as the last one.

  The doors burst open under his boot. She had a fleeting impression of a huge room, stone, dark wood and the rich scent of cedar when suddenly she was on her back on top of what had to be a cloud. Blinking, sputtering her own hair out of her mouth, she started to sit up, only to hear a sharp, “Uh-uh.”

  She found him standing at the foot of what turned out to be the huge bed she’d landed on. Dark pillars rose from the corners of the mattress, elaborately carved with swirls she would have loved to better inspect if Locke weren’t shrugging out of his button shirt. A thin white T-shirt was peeled off next, revealing rippling golden muscles.

  Her mouth went absolutely, completely dry.

  He took no care whatsoever as he unzipped his jeans, yanking the straining fly so hard it might have actually ripped off the fabric. His boots weren’t toed off so much as pried from his feet with ruthless brute force.

  Snapping out of her stupor, Susie started prying at her buttons.

  “Stop that,” he growled, halted in the action of shucking his jeans and boxer briefs.

  “Come make me,” she replied, managing finally to get the stupid shirt open. In her current position on her back, only raised up on her elbows, the monster boobs looked about to explode off her chest, barely held in by her black bra. Ignoring the growl from the middle of the room, she sat up completely, trying to disentangle from all the open fabric. She’d just gotten the whole mess halfway down her arms when the world went sideways again.