Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “So what do you say? Let’s blow this joint and spend more time together. Maybe we’ve changed a lot, but how are we going to get to know each other as we are now if we decide to call it quits again?”

  Jennifer blinked and he couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. “Are you saying…you want to try again?”

  He paused. He wasn’t sure that that had been what he’d been saying, but why the hell not? He knew he loved this woman, loved her more than anything else on the planet—knew she was more important to him than any other damned thing had been in his life. “Yeah, I am. We should.” He still couldn’t read her, couldn’t see through the mask she’d been wearing since she’d been back in his life.

  She smiled sweetly then and placed her hand on his. “Okay.”

  He swore he could feel his heart swell in his chest, and that one little word made his world feel a whole lot better.

  Chapter Ten

  “OHHHHH. OH, GOD, Zane. Oh, God. Oh, God. Ohhhhhh.

  “Mmmmmm.”

  “See? What did I tell you?”

  “Yeah, I…know.”

  “I know you said you loved sex no matter what, but if someone’s doing it right, there’s a prize at the end. Like that.”

  “A big, happy, amazing, mind-blowing prize. Holy crap.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Are you ready? I really want to feel you wrapped around me now.”

  “You kidding? I feel like a warm ball of putty. You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart.”

  “I…I love you, Jen.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Jennifer couldn’t believe she was doing it. She was doing it. But at least she’d been halfway—halfway—smart about it. Zane had tried to talk her into going to his place in his car, but no way. Jennifer needed a way to escape at any moment, any time, and she didn’t want to be at his mercy. At this point, she had no doubt that everything would be okay…but she didn’t want to take any chances. Yeah, she still cared for Zane very much and felt hopeful that maybe this time would be different from all the others. Maybe this time they would work.

  Their past track record told her things wouldn’t work…but that didn’t mean they couldn’t try.

  Still—caution was key.

  Zane didn’t live where he used to, and before they left the restaurant, he’d warned her of that and told her to call him if they got separated in traffic. He lived in Thornton now, a suburb north of downtown, but he’d lived in Denver the last time they’d seen each other. And, when she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d made sure to avoid any and all places she knew he’d ever frequented. The pressure was off once he was working on his side project’s album and touring, but before that, she needed to be careful. She hadn’t wanted him involved in the pregnancy for more reasons than she would have wanted to throw at him.

  It was easy following him on the interstate and up the off ramp and even once they were on the main drag. She started getting nervous when he turned off onto a side street, but it was actually easier following him then instead of in the heavier traffic.

  It grew really dark as they drove farther off the beaten path and she could see (or rather not see) wide open spaces off to one side, and that was when Zane turned on his blinker, signaling to her that they were taking a right.

  So it wasn’t a gated community, but it was definitely a posh development, an exclusive and expensive one—it didn’t take Jennifer’s college education to tell her that. The folks here had the kind of money she could never even dream of having, unless, by some miracle, she won the lottery.

  After zigzagging through several winding streets, Zane pulled into the driveway beside a hulking three-story home. The area was lit well enough that Jennifer could see the front—she guessed she could call it a yard, but it was larger than what most people would consider one—was lush and well-maintained, and Jennifer couldn’t imagine Zane doing yard work, even though she could remember him telling her he had to do it all as a kid because he was the only boy in the house. He was the one running the lawnmower, trimming hedges, and pulling weeds. Maybe he did now, too. Maybe it was therapeutic, but it was so huge and she knew Zane was gone a lot, so she was pretty sure he had some help.

  It was beautiful…breathtaking…and intimidating.

  Zane drove his car up to the huge garage and then stopped, and Jennifer pulled her car next to his, although she could have parked behind his car and still left plenty of room for more. She wasn’t thinking, though, instead worried about finding her way out of here when it was time to leave. She had to hope that the maps app on her phone worked. She’d had a few times where the directions had been wrong and she’d been lost, thanks to the stupid thing, so she was paranoid.

  What was the worst that could happen? It was like a corn maze, right? It might take some time, but if she drove through enough, she’d eventually have to find her way out. She had plenty of gas to try.

  The problem was that most of the homes looked eerily identical. It looked like they might have been painted in different colors, but the design was the same. She supposed that, for those whose minds preferred the simplicity of matching design, it could be calming, but Jennifer disliked it. There was nothing unique about each home. The only thing that appeared to differentiate one from the other was the landscaping. And, while the homes were aesthetically pleasing, she couldn’t appreciate the fact that they all looked the same. It was like walking down a grocery store aisle full of canned goods—unless you scrutinized them, they all looked virtually the same.

  No, not true. There was more variety in the supermarket—different pictures, brand names, etc. Color would not be enough to make these homes stand out, and she was pretty sure they were all the same color or damn close. People this anal about their living situations wouldn’t go for an exterior color that was red or purple or robin’s egg blue. Nope. She imagined beige, gray, rust, and other earthy tones.

  Again, nothing wrong with that, but when they were all the same…

  Jennifer was stepping out of her car, realizing she was harshly judging all the people living in this neighborhood, and she didn’t even know a single one of them, other than Zane. And, of all the things she thought about Zane, his lacking creativity was not one of them. She knew a lot of people thought bassists were relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things where bands were concerned, but she knew better. Most of her knowledge of bassists and their importance came from Zane, who had her watch several Primus videos. “If you ever think a bass player is a nobody, watch Les Claypool,” he said. “The dude’s amazing.”

  She knew how important Zane was to Fully Automatic. He was by no means the lead of the band like Claypool was for Primus, but she could hear his contributions. He added a richness to their music that blended in instead of standing out, but the band’s music would be weaker without him. There was no denying it.

  All those thoughts were swimming and melding in her head as Zane walked over to her, and in the dim illumination from various lights, Jennifer could see the young man she’d fallen in love with years ago, the guy who was, unbeknownst to him, the father of her child, the man who had stolen her heart and made it impossible for her to love anyone else. Sure, in the abstract, she believed she could fall in love again, but it hadn’t happened yet. There had been no man to sweep her off her feet, to make her feel passion and pleasure and devotion like Zane had. Even when he infuriated her, she could feel a fire burning inside for him.

  And she knew that was why she had followed him home, in spite of her better judgment. As always, she wanted and needed him.

  He placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her up towards the front door. “After you, milady.”

  Jennifer smiled and shook her head but her focus was on his hand. It still felt as good as it always had…like it belonged on her.

  She kept her voice quiet, even though it wasn’t even ten o’clock on a weeke
nd night, because some of the homes around them didn’t have lights on and the neighborhood was eerily silent. It made her feel self-conscious. “When did you move here, Zane?”

  “Couple of years ago. All the other guys in the band had houses and kept calling me Ghetto Boy because I still lived in the same shitty apartment I had since we first broke big.” He shrugged. “It was time.”

  He opened the door and held it for Jennifer to walk in. There was already a dim light on just past the foyer and, once he locked the door behind them, he touched her back again and led her inside. She was feeling more comfortable now and decided to tease him. “Zane Carson. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you do something due to peer pressure.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I was pressured into buying a home. Holy shit.”

  She didn’t know that Zane had ever been pressured into doing anything. He’d been a street kid and, if anyone was the bad influence, it would have been Zane. But he was also a good guy underneath it all, something he didn’t let the world see. She’d seen it many times, though, and she figured it was because he’d vowed to never be like his dad. Zane had been the one protecting his mom and sisters near the end, and he’d made it his life’s mission to be a good guy.

  It had been a struggle, because he might have been good to the rest of the world, but she knew he wasn’t so good to himself—and sometimes the shrapnel got in the people he loved. And, in the past, every time she would bring up the subject, Zane refused to talk about it. Off limits, he’d say, as though she’d thrown a ball out of bounds and the game was over. She’d learned early on that she couldn’t talk to him about himself and how to make himself happy. He would become like a statue—frozen expression and no more talk. They’d even fought over that on occasion, but she learned not to press him there. It was like an open wound that she was poking. He wasn’t ready, and she didn’t know that he ever would be.

  She laughed at his joke but her breath was taken away. The sterile exterior of his house hadn’t prepared her for the inside. It was huge—vaulted ceilings and hundreds of square feet in front of her—and beautiful. She was pretty sure her whole damned apartment would fit in the great room.

  It was simple—some furniture situated around a large fireplace that was as much art as function, and the wall directly in front of them only went up so high and didn’t touch the ceiling, so light from another room was spilling into it, making it seem warm and homey without being harsh. She couldn’t quite tell what the artwork on the walls depicted, but there were some vases on pedestals on the other side of the room as well. Not only was the room clean and open but it was tasteful.

  Beautiful…but it didn’t feel like Zane.

  “Like it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grinned and led her through the room. There was a doorway to the left of the stunted wall that he took her through, and that was where the light was coming from. She was again blown away by the enormous kitchen. Zane walked toward the stainless steel refrigerator and asked, “Want something to drink?”

  She swallowed. “Just a glass of water.” Her eyes took in the white walls, oak cabinets, and dark marble countertops. “Do you actually cook in here?”

  He laughed again. “I have a microwave,” he said, pointing toward the appliance located over the stovetop. “But, really, not very often. I do have a woman who comes in three times a week when I’m not on the road and cooks for me. She needs a space like this, you know?”

  “It’s—wow.” Jennifer could barely imagine working in a kitchen like this. Her little apartment’s kitchen was almost the size of the island in the center of Zane’s. She would love to give it a try sometime. He walked toward her with two bottles of water that he’d fetched out of the fridge, but he set them on the island and got close to her. She felt like she belonged here, and she could see in her mind’s eye Zoe and Zane seated at the table next to her while they enjoyed some feast whipped up in his magnificent kitchen.

  Stop thinking like that, Jennifer.

  She couldn’t start imagining the two of them together permanently. She would only be setting herself up for disappointment.

  As if he was reading her mind, he said, “Anytime you want, you can come over and we’ll cook together—just like we used to.” She looked up at him and, before she could protest or comment, he pulled her close, his hands around her waist, and he was gazing into her eyes.

  She’d known this was where it was going to go, right?

  Yes, she did, and she wasn’t going to resist.

  So, as Zane’s lowered his lips to hers, she parted them in invitation and placed her hands on his chest. His warm tongue entered her mouth and danced with hers, causing fireworks to explode inside her brain, and her body joined the celebration.

  All it did was confirm that Zane was the only man for her, now and for all time.

  Chapter Eleven

  JENNIFER HAD A way of making Zane forget about all the bullshit in life. When they were intertwined with each other—bodies, minds, souls—the rest of the world just melted away. She was better than any goddamned drug on the planet.

  All the negative in his mind washed away—the doubts, the realization that he was winding down a shitty path again—and he became cognizant of her hands, her breath, her soft body giving into his.

  Their kiss was magical, standing in his well-lit, pristine kitchen away from the rest of the world. He didn’t dare let his mind think it was going anywhere else, though, in spite of the fact that he could feel his blood pumping harder and hotter. He knew, from past experience, that Jennifer had to decide she was okay with moving forward—she had to call the shots—and right now her hands were on his chest, not exactly indicating she even wanted more. Their clothes were still on, so he had to be calm and humble. He couldn’t go in locked and loaded when the white flag was waving in the wind.

  But that wasn’t going to stop him from continuing to kiss her. He was going to do that as long as she’d let him, knowing that might be all it would take to make her defenses fall.

  He’d kissed a lot of women over the years, far more than he’d care to remember, but none of them had been as magical as Jennifer. There was just something about the woman that ignited all his senses, and he was remembering all the things he loved about her—how her skin smelled underneath the airy, citrusy scent she was wearing, how warm and delicate her tiny body felt against his, the taste of her mouth…and that made him eager to taste the rest of her to see how many memories would flood back then.

  His flesh tingled as she lost herself in him, sliding her hands up his chest to his neck, winding back to the nape until she drove her fingers into his hair, pressing against his scalp. There was the green light he’d been waiting for, a sign that she was giving herself to him…but he still wasn’t ready to let himself completely let go. That wouldn’t happen until he had her in his bedroom—or at least someplace more comfortable.

  He didn’t want to stop kissing her, but once he knew they were both heated up, he knew he had to break off the action now or they’d be fucking on the table…and he knew Jennifer wouldn’t care much for that. Maybe once they were dating regularly again, but for the first time together once more, the kitchen table wouldn’t do. She needed to feel like a princess, and much as he’d love to fuck the shit out of her any which way he could, anywhere he could, she needed to know she was special to him.

  So the bedroom it was.

  When he parted from her, simply removing his lips from hers, he saw that she took a few seconds to open her eyes, and he knew that was a good sign too. She was reluctant to let the sensations go. He also couldn’t help but notice that her breathing was a little heavier.

  It was now or never.

  “Let’s go someplace more comfortable, okay?”

  “Like?”

  He grinned. “You still find beds comfortable?”

  She laughed and he saw her cheeks turn a little pink. “Yeah. Are you wanting me to sleep?”

  “Maybe after I wear you
out a little…but there’s still the question of ice cream.” She shook her head but the smile was still on her face. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen toward the back stairs.

  He still had a hard time believing he owned this gigantic house. He’d grown up in a tiny ranch-style house in a small town, and the only reason he’d had his own bedroom was because he was the only boy in the family. His two sisters had to share a room. He’d never had girls in his room as a kid, but he’d had plenty of fantasies, and by the time he’d discovered his fascination with the fairer sex, he’d needed privacy to indulge them.

  Now he had his own humongous home and could jack off in all the rooms if he so chose. An almost scary thought: he’d actually had sex in most of them.

  But his thoughts were on this perfect woman—and they were going to the room most customarily reserved for sexual matters. Thank the heavens he hadn’t fucked that slut in there earlier today, or he’d probably feel guilty and have a harder time climaxing.

  Up those stairs and down the long, wide hall. Jennifer was oohing and aahing at the place. He was glad his material possessions could at least impress her. Maybe it would be a way he could convince her to let him take her away from it all, all the bullshit she so obviously loathed about her life but, for some reason, refused to let go.

  He opened the door to his bedroom, turning the light on and then standing aside so she could walk through the doorway. Once inside, she paused and turned to look at him as he stepped beside her. “Zane, is it okay for this to feel weird?”

  He couldn’t help but smile at this sweet woman who meant more to him than anyone else. “I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to feel, babe. It just is…and that’s okay.”

  Zane saw her shoulders relax. “Good.” She looked back in the cavernous space of his room. “Wow.” Zane didn’t care much for aesthetics, but he’d paid a designer who did. He knew if he hadn’t gone to the trouble, then his house would have been a mishmash of yard sale furniture and crap from his starving musician days. Hell, he’d just as likely be living out of the cardboard boxes that he’d used to pack up all his stuff the last time he’d moved. His thought was that if he was going to own a home—a real home—then it needed to look and feel like one.