by Jamie Beck
“You know enough about negotiation to know the game.” David paused and Jackson closed his eyes, frustrated. “While I’ve still got you on the line, can we talk about this family counseling session Cat mentioned now?”
“Actually, I’ve had a helluva day. I’m not trying to put you off.” Jackson leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist. “Okay, yeah, I am, but not because I’m not willing to talk about it. I’m just not up for it right now.”
“All right. Like I said, I’ll be there if and when you want me. Vivi sends her love.”
“Thanks, David. Tell V hi. And thanks for staying involved in this mess, too. I know you’re not charging me for your time.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Okay. Talk soon.” Jackson hung up and tossed the phone on the table.
After a minute, he stood and crossed to the fridge. Dinner options were limited: grilled cheese, canned soup, or an egg sandwich. He looked across the driveway to the Bouchard home. Gabby had probably cooked something hearty and savory. The girl had mad skills in the kitchen.
And elsewhere. Remembering their kiss sent a sizzle of electricity through him. Was she right? Was he a coward instead of a wise, self-sacrificing guy?
It seemed beyond ridiculous to think anything good could come of getting more involved with her, and yet, she was the first—the only—person in more than twenty-four months who had sparked hope in his chest. Who understood his heart. Who was willing to risk something to be closer to him.
Intelligence wrestled instinct, desperate to shine a floodlight on the insanity of them being together. Yet, instead of the stark rays throwing the flaws into sharp relief, it merely made the intangible, compelling facets of their relationship sparkle to life.
His confidence that he’d be strong enough to resist her for another few weeks flagged. Hell, even one more day would be tough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At ten o’clock, Gabby turned off the television after realizing she’d done nothing but channel surf for the past half hour. Her father had gone to bed early. And unlike her thoughts, Luc hadn’t stirred for hours.
She meandered through the first floor, picking up a toy Luc had left in the kitchen, loading her dirty cup in the dishwasher, and then straightening the throw over the back of the sofa. Until Jackson had arrived, she’d accepted this series of mundane activities and small joys as a good life. Now her peek into a world shimmering with the possibility of something like love made her normal life feel incomplete.
Glancing outside, she noticed the pale golden light shining through the garage apartment window.
She wondered if Jackson had spent the evening replaying their argument. Or reliving that all-consuming kiss. Or caring one way or another about what Noah had wanted from her this afternoon.
Noah. Gabby rubbed her forehead, puzzling about how long he might pursue his crazy idea of reconciling. Honestly, had he lost his mind? Only a man so caught up in his own life would think the girlfriend he’d dumped when she was pregnant with their child would be waiting around for him to come back—for her or their son.
In a matter of weeks, Jackson had managed to be more of a male role model for Luc than Noah had ever been. Certainly Jackson oozed more warmth and natural comfort with children than Noah.
Her head pounded from all the day’s events. Yet despite hours of mental gymnastics, she knew only one thing with certainty. She would get no sleep if she didn’t smooth things over with Jackson first.
She spied out the window again. Just twenty yards away. A one-minute walk. All she needed was a little courage, something that had always come pretty easily to her. Decision made, she shoved her feet into her sneakers and slipped out the back door.
Maybe he was right . . . she was young and impulsive. But maybe that’s exactly what Jackson needed—someone who took action instead of overthinking everything until all the joy and excitement got sapped from the situation.
When she reached the top step, she listened at the door but no ambient sounds came from inside. No television. No radio. Nothing.
Drawing a deep breath, she knocked three times. She heard his footsteps before he opened the door.
“What’s wrong?” His brows were drawn and he looked past her shoulder to the house. “Another problem with your dad?”
“No. At least, not in the way you’re thinking. I came to talk. Can I come in, or are you busy?”
Without a word, he stepped back and waved her in. When he closed the door, she noticed him clutch the doorknob and hang his head for a beat or two before he faced her.
“I’m just reading.” He faced her and leaned against the door, hands behind his butt, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
Tilting his head, he waited for her to speak. She supposed it made sense, considering she’d initiated the visit. Problem was, she’d rushed over without a plan.
“Can we sit for a few minutes?” She gestured toward the sofa.
“Sure.” He pushed off the door and followed her, but sat in the chair instead of beside her on the sofa.
She scooted along the cushion to get closer to him, and he visibly tensed.
Not a good start.
Did he anticipate some kind of rehashing of their kiss-and-fight moment? She decided to start from a different direction. “I’m going to meet with my mom.”
“You are?” Jackson leaned forward, more engaged now that the conversation had nothing to do with him or them. “How’d your dad take it?”
“We argued again.” She shrugged. “Not shocking, is it?”
“He’s only looking out for you, you know.” He narrowed his eyes. “What drove your decision?”
“You.”
He sat back, palm to his chest. “Me?”
“That night by the fire, you suggested if I didn’t go, I’d probably have questions my whole life. I think you’re right. Like I told you once before, she’s messed up, but she’s still my mom. Maybe I’m naïve, but the little girl in me still wants some kind of connection to her mother.” She didn’t mention the fact that she also wanted to see if her mom had beaten her addiction. At this point, she’d given up lying to herself about one reason why that part mattered. The answer sat beside her now, looking antsy. But surely if her mom could beat addiction, Jackson could, too.
Jackson bit his lower lip, which drew her immediate attention. As if she could ever forget the shape or taste of his mouth—or want to forget, for that matter.
She watched conflict go to war in his eyes.
“I hope you don’t end up resenting me if things don’t go well.” He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “From what little I know, it seems a fifty-fifty chance it goes south. Are you prepared for that?”
“Probably not.” She scooted to the edge of the cushion until her knee touched his. His eyes immediately veered to the point of contact and lingered. “Jackson, would you come with me? For support.”
The hum of the refrigerator reverberated through the silence. Jackson leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tapped his fingers together while thinking. “Why me?”
The words filled her mouth before she could stop them. “Because unlike Tess or my dad, you won’t judge.”
Embarrassment took hold, causing her nose to tingle.
Jackson reached out and clasped her hand. “Judge you?”
“Yeah, for being dumb enough to give her another chance. And judge her for her drug problem.” Gabby looked away when she said that last part, but not soon enough to miss seeing him cock one brow. “Before she left, people whispered about her all the time. Other moms looked down on me, like I might be a bad influence on their kids. Then she left, and people had opinions about that, too. I guess I don’t want anyone else to know that, after everything she did to my dad and me, I still care enough to want to see her. Does that make me a coward?”
He gripped her hand tighter.
“You are the furthest thing from a coward that I’ve ever met. But I have to be hon
est. I wouldn’t judge her for struggling with drugs, or judge you for wanting to make peace with her. But I can’t pretend I don’t judge her for walking away from you.” He leaned closer and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. In hushed tones, he said, “Then again, it was her loss, not yours.”
She raised her hand to touch his while he held her cheek. “Thanks.”
When he tried to withdraw his hand, she gripped it firmly. “Jackson, I also want to talk about our argument.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings with that baby remark. I was mostly upset at myself for the kiss.” He wrested his hand free, because he needed space if she intended to talk about that kiss while sitting there in her pajamas and no bra. “Let’s put it behind us and move on.”
“Move on?” She smiled at him, and he could read the hope in her eyes. “How do you mean?”
“Move on as friends. So there’s no need to talk it to death—I’ll be gone in a few weeks.”
“I know.” She held his gaze.
“Okay, then. I’m glad we agree.” When the relief he expected to feel didn’t come, sorrow whooshed in to fill the void.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” She licked her lips. “If it were up to me, I’d see where all these feelings might lead.”
No doubt she would barrel ahead, but could he be so reckless with both their hearts? “Why would you invite me and my real problems into your life? And I’m not just talking about the drinking.”
“What other problems are there?”
“Does it matter?” He stood, hands on his hips, and began pacing. “You’re young, and you’ve got a son to care for, and your mom might be coming back into your life. You’ve got enough on your plate without a hefty serving of my bullshit, too. And then, poof, I’ll be gone. What’s the point?”
“Quit doing that.” She crossed her arms, which resulted in giving him a perfect view of her cleavage.
He stopped pacing and dragged his eyes up to her face. “Doing what?”
“Saying things pretending like you’re protecting me, when actually you’re creating distance to protect yourself.”
Her ability to read him so well had a downside—he couldn’t easily hide. “If I’m such a coward, that’s another reason for you to walk away.”
“There you go again, deflecting.” She refused to look away.
He threw his hands out to his sides. “There you go again with an answer to everything.”
“Trust me, I have way more questions than answers. But our kiss was more than some one-off. Deny it, fight it, shove it away, whatever, but the truth is that there are feelings here.” She gestured between them. “Real feelings that go beyond friendship. I don’t know about life in Connecticut, but around here, that doesn’t happen all the time.”
He scrubbed both hands through his hair, frustrated and unsure of what to say. No, these kinds of feelings didn’t happen every day . . . or week or month or year. Naturally it would be his dumb luck to have them happen at the most inappropriate time and place imaginable, with a completely inappropriate woman.
Gabby’s shoulders slumped and she looked at her feet. “I only want a chance to know you better. Why is that so wrong?”
His throat squeezed, making it hard to swallow. She looked frail and young, vulnerable. As exposed as he felt every time she tried to peel another layer away and dive inside his heart. Once again, her openness called to mind his younger self. A man who’d been comfortable in his own skin, comfortable expressing affection through words and actions.
He’d like to think that better part of him still existed despite his cynicism, like water circulating beneath the frozen surface of a pond.
“It’s not wrong.” Still, he didn’t want to infect Gabby with his pessimistic poison. “Just unwise.”
She looked up, her baby blues filled with unhappiness. “You don’t trust me.”
“It’s hard for me to trust anyone.” He saw the force of his words set her back.
She straightened and watched him, but her mind appeared to be off someplace else. Finally she said, “Before, you said a lot of people hurt you. Is that why you won’t give me a chance? You assume I’ll let you down, too.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her unabashed manner. “I’m learning not to make any assumptions where you’re concerned.”
She flashed a saucy smile. “Good.”
Gabby stood and started toward him.
Restlessness wriggled through his limbs, and he fought the urge to rip off his sweatshirt in search of cooler air. The walls of the apartment closed in around him.
“You look uncomfortable.” She stopped inches in front of him.
“I’m damn uncomfortable. I don’t know what you want from me.”
She laid her hands on his chest. “Yes, you do.”
His pulse raced, and despite knowing better, he gripped her waist. Five seconds passed, each of them watching the other, breaths and limbs growing heavy with want. “This is a mistake.”
“Maybe.” Gabby’s eyes—now calm and clear—held no sign of doubt. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Any ability to resist fled as he gave over to her coaxing mouth and tongue. Unlike with the good-time girls of the past two years, Gabby’s kiss reverberated all the way inside and gripped his heart like a vise. That kind of terrifying, awesome, upside-down-and-inside-out sensation he’d forgotten existed rushed in and consumed him.
He dug his fingers through the loose, loopy brown curls that had captured his attention weeks earlier, then slid his hands down her back to cup her ass and tug her snugly against his body.
Without breaking their heated kisses, she wound her arms around his neck and held on tight. “Take me to bed, Jackson.”
Hearing his name on her lips tipped him headlong into a tumble of erotic sensation. Between kisses, he muttered, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
He swept one hand under her thigh and hauled her up his body. Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around his hips. Right where he wanted her. Where he wanted to bury himself again and again and again until neither of them had anything left to give.
He tottered toward the bed in their passionate embrace—mouths seeking pleasure, hands exploring, pelvises desperately grinding—until they fell onto the mattress together.
Gabby proved to be as forward in seeking pleasure as she’d been in every other aspect of her life. While Jackson remained off-balance, almost dazed by the rush of lust coursing through his veins, she’d begun loosening his clothing and stroking his back.
He didn’t want to rush, but he couldn’t slow down either. Madness—the only explanation. They’d both lost their minds to something he couldn’t identify, and maybe didn’t want to. Not when letting go of the fear and doubt felt this damn good.
All over his body, his skin broke into goose bumps—subtle ones that trailed behind her fingers wherever they brushed against him, like ripples across a lake.
He tossed his sweatshirt on the floor and then pinned Gabby’s arms over her head to regain control of the pace. Otherwise, it’d be over before it got started.
She strained toward him, panting hard. “Come back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured against her ear. “But this isn’t a race. If we’re courting the devil, let’s take our time.”
That earned him a broad smile. He kissed her then, because he could. Because he’d wanted to for weeks. Because this girl made him want to reconnect to parts of himself he’d thought out of reach.
He ran his tongue along her neck until his mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her body writhed in response. He liked that . . . a lot.
He nibbled her lips and kissed her again, then began raising her shirt with one hand while his other kept hers at bay.
No bra, as he’d suspected. He kissed her stomach and slowly made his way up her torso until he closed his mouth around her left nipple. She moaned and arched into him wh
ile he circled his tongue around and around before moving on to the other side.
Her blemish-free skin—silky yet taut—smelled fresh yet sweet, like a ripe pear. He pulled back to look at her face, her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, tangled hair fanned around her head. “You’re so damn pretty.”
Before she responded he kissed her again, deep and possessive. Needing to feel her touch, he released her hands, which immediately went to his waistband and began to yank his pants off his hips.
He was so hard it hurt. Within a minute, they’d stripped off each other’s clothes. He stroked her inner thigh until his hand found the center of her, wet and ready for him.
“Oh,” she moaned when his fingers entered her body. She writhed against his palm in a steady rhythm and then her hand gripped his erection, pulling a groan from his lungs.
At that point, their bodies intertwined and moved in harmony, like cogs that knew exactly how to maximize pleasure. Heady, warm, tender sensations crashed and rolled through him in waves, surprising him and drawing him under deeper and deeper.
When neither could wait any longer, he slipped on a condom and then seated himself deep inside her body. He hovered above her, braced on his forearms, hands cupping her face. Kissing her, he probed her mouth slowly, his hips moving in unison with his tongue, and then gradually increased the pace of his thrusts until they were both strung tight to the point of snapping.
“Yes!” Gabby cried out as she tightened around him, milking him as his own orgasm exploded. “Oh, yes.”
He’d buried his face into the crook of her neck. Rather than withdraw, he kept himself lodged inside her. A smile formed as he brushed aside some of her sweaty curls, which were plastered to her face.
As the frenzied whirlpool of desire ebbed, a new emotion fought its way through the formerly hardened muscle of his heart: peace. He couldn’t think of a better word, although it seemed too pale for the perfect state of grace consuming his very soul.
Gabby craned her neck to kiss him, and stroked her fingers lightly along his back. Her gentle touch made him smile because it seemed out of character for the girl who came straight at him with her questions and feelings.