Annette: I love you but if you say that again, I'll tear your eyes out.
Brooke: Fair enough.
Brooke: When are you seeing him next?
Annette: I'm not sure. He got a call and had to go check on something near the Nevilles' inn.
Brooke: That place is fucking haunted.
Annette: No disagreement here.
Brooke: You didn't articulate next steps? Didn't establish expectations going forward? He just zipped up and zipped out?
Annette: I could barely speak when he kissed me goodbye. I was in no condition to formulate action plans.
Brooke: He really knows what he's doing, huh?
Annette: My head is fizzy like sparkling water, my chin is still trembling, and I can't feel my lips. Aside from sex in the storeroom, he brought me cold brew and chocolate old-fashioneds and said really sweet things. I almost told him I loved him.
Brooke: I wouldn't blame you. I love him for you.
* * *
Confidence was a tricky thing.
For years, I'd believed my big aspirations for my tiny bookstore were within reach if I worked hard enough. If I did the right things and put in the time, people would come. Even when I only sold a handful of books each day, I kept on believing my work would pay off.
That confidence moved me forward when I was barely covering my expenses and my family wanted me to give it up for a reliable income. It pushed me out of my disappointment when I couldn't snag big-name authors for an in-store visit during their book publicity tours. It picked me up when I couldn't convince the locals to join a book club unless I was offering free food and wine.
And it was that confidence that had me nodding in smug agreement when I woke up this morning to find my sweet little shop listed as one of the best independent bookstores in the country.
The country.
At first I thought it said county and that seemed plausible. But then I noticed the next bookstore on the list was in Culver City, California and realized this list had nothing to do with my county. Repeated mention of works by local artists, photographers, and diverse authors I stocked here had me thinking back to Cole, Owen's deckhand boyfriend. He'd gushed about one of my Maine photography books. Bought several copies, too. With his fancy black card, the kind reserved for professional athletes and movie stars and other special people. When I followed the article's threads back to the beginning, I discovered it was first posted on a small site two weeks ago. Only days after Owen, Cole, and all the vodka in the Cove.
But I shook that coincidence off. The shop was inundated with customers today and I wanted to focus on that rather than the strange sequence of events leading to my shop being full. People came from Bar Harbor, Kittery, even Portsmouth, all touting the online article that was now trending on all the local news sites.
My shop had never seen traffic like this. I had to call in my part-time sales clerks, Jane and Yosefina, just to keep up with the mad rush. I barely had a minute to pee but I found a few moments to wonder whether Jackson was watching me from his office. I hoped he was watching. I hoped he was still thinking about me and us and yesterday morning. I wanted it even when wanting scared the shit out of me.
That confidence, it sure was tricky.
Around noon, I took a call from someone at an internet company wanting to help me develop an online storefront. I'd never considered such a thing. It came at the perfect time, since I'd spent the morning juggling customers in-store and fielding calls requesting many of the local books and gifts I stocked here.
By four o'clock, the Portland newspaper had called to schedule an interview. They were working on a series about female-run businesses and wanted to come up to Talbott's Cove to visit.
Shortly before closing time, Jackson appeared in my shop, his height and heft sucking up the oxygen around him. My gaze scraped over the long lines of his body without conscious thought. He was dressed in sheriff's garb today. I couldn't decide which look I preferred, the suit or the uniform. He seemed more comfortable in suits but more authoritative in the uniform.
As I watched him scanning the shop, his gaze passing over each customer before landing on me with an easy smile, I realized I craved both his comfort and his authority. Even when I didn't know what to believe or where to stow my trust, Jackson wrapped me up in his steady strength. I liked that. I didn't understand it or know the right way to embrace it, but I liked it.
He lifted his fingers to his head, tipping an invisible hat toward me. "What's going on here?" he mouthed from across the room.
I held up my hands and let them fall to the counter. When I registered a pinch in my cheeks, I realized I was grinning at him like a madwoman.
I was roused from my staring contest when a customer bustled up to the counter with a pile of books the length of her arm. "Do you have the next book in this series?" she asked, holding a paperback up. "I couldn't find it but I wasn't sure if you had a special supply in the back."
"I can check. Give me a minute." I caught Jackson's eye over her head. He winked, as if he knew I was thinking about yesterday morning. I was never looking at my grandmother's old kitchen table the same way again.
Once I was alone in the storeroom, I pressed my hand to my chest and surrendered to shuddering breaths. Of all the things that had happened today, it took Sheriff Lau tossing a wink in my direction to get my heart hammering against my ribs and my lungs begging for oxygen. Not to mention the heat between my legs and the ever-present urge to drop my drawers. I stood there a moment, cataloging my body's reaction to this man.
A hat tip, a smile, a wink. That was all it took.
After collecting a few books, I returned to the counter and finished the sale. Jackson was tucked into the nonfiction corner with a new political hardcover. I watched him while he flipped through the book, stopping every few pages to skim the text. And I wasn't the only one watching him. Nearly every customer shot glances in his direction, taking in his broad shoulders and the height that forced everyone to crane their necks.
I signaled for Yosefina to take over the sales counter and then made my way to Jackson. When I reached his side, I tapped the book cover. "Getting between some new pages?"
He shifted, turning his back to the shop as he studied the shelves. From the other side of the shop, I was certain it appeared we were carrying on a quiet but book-centric conversation.
"Haven't thought of anything but getting between your pages since I left here yesterday morning," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'm sorry I had to run out like that. I've been keeping my eye on a situation and ended up dealing with it all day, and—"
"No apologies," I interrupted. "I had customers and it was nine o'clock in the morning and it just wasn't the time."
Jackson looked away from the shelves, his gaze landing on my lips and sliding down the v-neck of my blue wrap dress. "It damn well better be the time soon," he said. "I haven't been able to think of anything but bending you over that counter since I walked in."
I dragged my tongue over my parched lips. "You should tell me about it. To get it off your mind."
A switch flipped in Jackson, shutting down his cool, calm sheriff vibe and turning on the starved, sexual man I was beginning to adore. His jaw locked, his lips pulled up in a naughty smirk, his nostrils flared. He was verging on snarling bull and I couldn't help but lean closer to him.
Jackson shot a glimpse across the shop. "Turn off all the lights. Lock the doors. Get you behind the counter," he said, each statement rushing out in a huff. "Skirt up, underwear down. Wrap your fingers around the edge of the counter because you'd need to hold on to something." He dragged his knuckle from the base of my throat to the valley between my breasts. "Get my cock out and slide inside you, fuck you, lose my damn mind on you."
A choked sob slipped past my lips and I didn't try to cover it up. There was no point. My nipples were tunneling their way through the fabric of my bra and dress, my cheeks were flushed, and my chest was heaving with erratic, choppy breaths.
"This place will be cleared out in ten, maybe fifteen minutes," I said.
"And yet we could be upstairs in your apartment in three," he replied. "Decisions, decisions."
"My apartment is small," I cautioned.
I didn't know why I said that about my sugar-cube-sized apartment. It seemed like I should warn him that me and my existence were less than he was anticipating. Even if I'd wowed him with muffins and pies and a tumble on the back table, I didn't want to escalate his expectations. I didn't want to disappoint him.
"But it has a bed?" He shuffled, causing his elbow to brush my arm, and a tiny purr rumbled in my throat.
"It does," I replied.
"That's all we need," he said. "I've been waiting to get you in bed for months."
"More like weeks," I said, stealing glances over my shoulder at the remaining customers.
"Months," Jackson repeated, pressing his hand to my belly. "Believe me, Annie, it's been months."
His fingers stretched from the bottom of my bra's underwire to the top edge of my panties. He stroked me in tiny circles and lit a line of heat down my torso. I was aching for him, my core throbbing and clenching while my shoulders were strung tighter than ever before. The slightest tap could split me in half and leave me in shards on the floor.
The door chimes sounded and I shot another glance over my shoulder. The shop was nearly empty, only two customers still perusing the shelves. On any other evening, I would've been right there, chatting them up and staying open long past the official hours. Tonight, after dropping into the deep end of crazy-good publicity, I was shutting this place down.
"All right, here's the plan," I said to Jackson. "Go on upstairs. The door's open and I'll meet you there in five minutes."
"The door is open? Why would that be the case?" he asked, separating his warm hand from my belly.
"Because I left it open," I said. "I burnt some orange brioche rolls last night and needed to air the place out."
Jackson shook his head as he backed away from me. "We'll talk about that later," he promised. "The burnt rolls and the unlocked doors. And the pepper spray I want you to keep in your bag."
"Later," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "We'll talk about everything."
* * *
I managed to hurry the stragglers along, lock up the cash, send Jane and Yosefina home, and secure the shop in three minutes. I moved with the singular purpose of getting upstairs and getting under Jackson. It didn't matter whether it was loaded with complications or weighed down with all my doubts and issues. Right now—tonight—I was setting all of it aside. I could want Jackson and have him without getting lost in the thicket.
If I kept telling myself that, it would be true.
I climbed the stairs and pushed open the screen door to find Jackson standing in the middle of my apartment and his sheriff's belt slung over the back of a kitchen chair. He seemed too big for my cozy home, too male for my flamingos-and-pink-pineapples décor. But he crooked his finger at me and I went to him, dropping my phone, bag, and keys to the floor.
Too big, too male, too right.
"That was six minutes," he said, tracing the line of my dress's v-neck.
"I know, I know," I replied with a sigh. My fingers went to his short-sleeved uniform shirt, attacking the buttons as I groaned about my most talkative sales clerk. "Jane usually works a few weekend hours for me and was able to come in today because, you know, a million people came through the shop. Yosefina too but she's antisocial so that's good. But Jane wanted to talk about those million people and didn't realize I was trying to, uh, I mean—"
"Go home and get fucked?"
I stopped unbuttoning, flattened my hands on his hard chest, and looked up. "Yeah. Yes. That. She didn't understand that and I wasn't prepared to explain it to her."
"She didn't need an explanation. We're the only ones who need to know." Jackson reached for the tie at my waist, loosening it with one finger. When it fell away, he loosened the internal tie. My dress hung open, revealing my mismatched panties and bra. He ran his knuckles over the rise of my breasts and down my belly. "Annette," he rasped.
I went back to working his buttons and opening his trousers, my gaze steady on the barely covered wall of muscle in front of me. After everything we'd shared, this was the first time I was getting my hands on his naked skin. Anticipation hummed through my veins, electrifying every touch and breath.
"Mmhmm?"
"Am I allowed to touch your panties tonight?" he asked. "Because I want to. I want to twist them around my fist and rip them off."
I pushed his shirt over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. A white cotton t-shirt separated me from his chest and I pushed it up, driven by my need to touch him. All of him.
"Annette," he prompted.
"What?" I murmured, busy tugging the t-shirt over his head. When it was free, I smoothed my hands up the hard ridges of his abs and across his chest. There was a dusting of golden hair there, barely dark enough to stand out against his skin. But I loved the feel of those coarse strands under my palms. "Oh, this is nice."
"All right, that's it," he said, bending down and hoisting me over his shoulder. He marched through my apartment and into the bedroom, yanking off my undies as he went. "Won't be needing these."
With more care than I expected from him right now, he set me on the bed and freed the dress from my shoulders.
Jackson pointed toward my bra as he kicked off his shoes, socks. "Get rid of that," he ordered.
He pushed his trousers down, stepped out of them. Only his boxers remained, and the huge erection stabbing at the fabric.
"Annette," he said, dragging my gaze away from his crotch. "The bra. Lose it."
He dropped his knee onto the bed and my legs fell open. I reached back to wrest open the clasp then flung my bra aside. I was naked and waiting, my most intimate places revealed to him. But it wasn't self-consciousness (hello, belly rolls) or doubt (what if I wasn't good in bed?) that sent a herd of buffalo stampeding through my stomach. It was that I knew I could love him and maybe I already did.
And wasn't that hysterical? After everything I'd experienced in the past couple of weeks and all my efforts to curtail my attraction to Jackson, I was carving out a spot for him in my heart. I already knew it was a deep, yawning cavern, a space he'd grow into over the years. Yep, it was absolutely hysterical because even as I went on making room for him, I didn't trust myself to give him the keys. It belonged to him but I couldn't let him take ownership.
Not yet. Not until I understood us better, knew it was real. I was the queen of mind games, after all. I'd carved out space for a man before. I'd handed him the keys, too. I wasn't going to be so giving this time. It wasn't like we were in any rush. Nope, no rush. We had all the time in the world.
"Jackson," I said, holding out my hand. The way he stared at me, I was amazed the bed wasn't on fire.
He shucked his boxers and crawled toward me, his cock heavy and hot as it bobbed between us. I reached for him, needing an anchor. "You feel so good," he murmured, thrusting into my fist. "You're stunning. Do you know that? Looking at you now, I can't believe how beautiful you are."
"It's not like this is the first time you're seeing me naked," I said, laughing.
"It is," he replied. "It's the first time I'm looking."
A breath shuddered out of me as Jackson pressed his lips to mine. It was a sweet kiss, slow and generous, but the need vibrating between us was enough to register on the Richter scale. He knew this, too, and pulled my hand from his cock.
"No more. No more, beautiful. I don't want to come on your belly. Not this time," he whispered against my jaw. "Let me get a condom."
"We don't have to," I said, wrapping my arms around his wais
t to keep him in place. "I've been tested and I have an IUD and if you wanted—"
"Fuck yes. Yes, I want," he roared, his fingers finding my clit. He circled me there, unhurried at first then quicker. Much more quickly. "I don't know what to do with you right now, Annie. I want everything. I want to lick you for hours. Suck on your nipples and fuck you with my fingers. Feed you my cock. Tease you and find out what you like. Flip you over, fuck you from behind while I grab that round ass of yours. Flip you back over, wrap your legs around my waist and fuck you slow. I want it all and I don't know where to start."
I canted my hips and locked my legs around him. "Let's start at the end of that list and see where it takes us."
Jackson took that recommendation and ran with it, sliding inside me with one magnificent drive. He stayed there, his body rigid and his breath coming in ragged pants. Then, after dropping his forehead to my shoulder, he started to move. His hips pumped in quick jabs, in and out, in and out. I dug my heels into his backside, urging him deeper. I wanted longer drags, harder thrusts.
"Like this?" he asked, pulling out and then grinding into me.
"Yes," I said, forcing that single word into thirty syllables. "You feel so good, Jackson. It's so good. I'm so full. Don't stop."
"That's funny," he said, chuckling against my shoulder. "You make it seem like I'd electively leave your pussy paradise."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
Jackson nodded, grunting when he rocked inside me again. He forced his arms under my back, holding me tight. "I'm not trying to be one of those guys who says it's better without the rubber but fuck me, you are fucking perfect right now. I don't want this to end."
"It doesn't have to," I whispered, my fingers scrabbling over his back, desperate to hold on to him as my body dissolved like sugar over high heat. Something about his grip on me, the way he gathered me up like I was fragile but fucked me like I was unbreakable, it tripped me into the immediate orgasm zone.
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