She stared down into his black, glittering eyes knowing every word he said he believed. She leaned forward and brushed her mouth across his. "Stop saying 'fuck.' "
Jackson had been furious at the thought of Stavros possibly reaching across the ocean and frightening Elle. Could he do that? Could the son of a bitch really come at her psychically? He and Elle had first touched mind to mind across an ocean. He wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap, put her somewhere no one could find her, hire an army to guard her, get ten dogs. He wanted the bastard dead. And then she'd kissed him. Not a real kiss, just a brush of her lips against his. And scolded him in that prissy little lecture tone of hers he loved.
"It's just a word, Elle." It was deliberate provocation, but he couldn't help it.
"It's not a nice word, Jackson and you don't need to say it."
"You think I don't know you were born into a high class, elegant family and I came from the biker camp from hell?"
"It doesn't matter where anyone comes from, Jackson. Once you're grown up, you still have a choice about who you want to be and how you want to live."
Now she really sounded prissy and he couldn't stop the small grin that welled up from inside him.
His hand curled around the back of her head. "I love you, Elle Drake. In case I haven't told you lately."
Elle blinked. She looked startled, like a panicked deer caught in the headlights of a hunter's truck. "You've never said that before."
"I'm sure I have."
"I'm sure you haven't. Believe me, I would have remembered."
"You probably weren't listening. I especially love your nasty little temper. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a lot warmer and I'm completely naked under here. Things are beginning to perk up and I wouldn't want you to get all scared on me." His hand slid down her back in a slow glide that didn't ask for anything at all, simply took her in.
"I'm not afraid of you, Jackson," she whispered. "I'm not going to let him do that to me. I won't." But maybe she was. A little. A lot. What if she couldn't do with him the things that she'd done with Stavros?
He spat out an ugly curse. "You're not going to do anything with me you did with him, Elle. When we come together, we'll be making love, not fucking. Hell, what he did wasn't even fucking. What he did to you was rape. Control. Power. That is never going to happen between us, honey. When I look at you, when I want to touch you, it's because I love you and I want to show you that."
She pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "What if I can't do the same back, no matter how much I want to? What if he keeps coming between us? I've heard that happens, Jackson. Before I went on the assignment, of course we thought if I was captured they'd kill me, but in my research on human trafficking I read about long-term effects on women who are subjected to physical and emotional abuse over long periods of time. The trauma affects them their entire life, even with counseling."
Jackson noticed she'd said "them," not "us" or "we." She still could not identify herself as a victim. "Of course it would, Elle. Do you think I'm not affected every damn day of my life? I wake up in a sweat, my heart pounding and adrenaline rushing. I have a gun in my fist tracking the room before I'm fully awake. I have a room full of weapons and I practice shooting nearly every day. I work out with weights and run to stay in shape, not because I want to look good, but because I want to be prepared. I worry that I'll be a paranoid husband and father and drive you insane. And don't tell me you haven't worried about it either, because we both know you have."
"But you can make love, Jackson. I can see it in your eyes, feel desire in your mind and hunger in your body. What if I can't satisfy that?"
He rolled over, gently putting her aside. His face was smeared with her blood. "We've got to clean up before anyone sees us and freaks out. Let's take a shower."
Elle sighed. Still weak, Jackson, who had already gone through so much, had to carry her into the bathroom and set her in the shower. She managed to remove her clothes while he turned on the water, blasting them both with heat.
"That feels so fu--er . . . good," Jackson said and wiped the blood from her face with a washcloth, his touch tender. "I'm going to wash and condition your hair, Elle."
She swallowed hard, unsure which would win, the rising panic, or her wish to please him. He hadn't asked her, but she knew if she put up her hand and stopped him, he wouldn't protest or question, he'd let her be. Her hair had been so important to her. Blazing red. Thick and long and feminine. It was her only feature she thought truly astounding and Stavros had made her hate it.
She braced herself, waiting for bile to rise in her stomach, but Jackson's hands felt soothing in the mass of tangles, the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp as the fragrance mixed with the hot water.
"Lean against me, Elle, you're swaying."
His body was hard, his erection unashamed and he was a big man, intimidating to her. She held her breath and hesitated before easing her body closer to his, until they were skin to skin, her back to him, the small of her back resting against his thick groin. She felt his heat radiating through her, his hunger, deep and strong, but just as equally his control, his need to love her as gently and tenderly as he knew how.
Jackson didn't think of himself as gentle or tender, she knew he worried about that in himself. His mind was only on her, on healing her body and mind, on finding a way to make her love her hair again, on accepting if she wanted to go through with dreading her hair when he loved the long silk of it shining in the sun. To him, her hair was as much a part of her as her temper, her intelligence, her tenacity, all traits he loved and admired in her.
"I won't dread it," she said, wanting to give him something back, "but you'll have to try to get the tangles out. It might take hours."
"I don't mind, baby, but do me a favor and stop thinking of me as a saint. I want you. Know that I want you. Get used to it. That's just reality and yes, I think you're sexy as hell. I always have."
Elle frowned, glad he couldn't see her face. She used to feel sexy and special and worth something, but Stavros had taken that away from her. She didn't want to think about anything but Jackson's fingers rubbing the conditioner into the tangles and the way his body made her feel safe instead of terrified.
"This smells like my favorite conditioner."
He held the bottle in front of her face for a brief moment before returning to his task. "It is yours. Sarah put a box of things in my truck before we left to go get you. Tea. A few clothes. Your personal things. I found them when I went to get the blanket."
Elle let her breath out. "She knew. She has precog. She knew I wouldn't stay with them. Why would she argue so much?"
"She didn't expect to see you covered in wounds, black and blue, your face swollen. You're her baby sister, Elle. Of course she wanted to take care of you."
"I'm sorry I hurt her--hurt all of them." She took a deep breath and blurted out the truth. "I'm afraid without you, Jackson."
"I know you are, baby. Don't you remember what it was like those first few days when I escaped the camp and was waiting for retrieval? You stayed in my mind and my heart beat so hard you were afraid I'd have a heart attack. I didn't want you leaving me, not for a moment, because you represented home and freedom and, above all else, safety to me." He skimmed his mouth down the side of her face. "Tell me you remember staying awake seventy-two hours because I was afraid to close my eyes. And when I finally did, the nightmares ate us both alive." His body shuddered against hers and his arms went around her waist, pulling her even closer, burying his face against her neck. "I'm still afraid without you, Elle."
She turned to face him, her bare skin sliding over his, her arms circling his neck as she pressed against him, giving herself to him, holding him, aching inside for both of them.
Something banged against the bathroom door and she jumped. Simultaneously, Jackson shoved her behind him.
"Tea's ready. Do you need help?" Ilya's voice called.
"You want to scrub my back?" Jackson
asked.
"I think that was the American version of sarcasm," Ilya responded. "If you're feeling better, I've got five women out here. I could use a little help."
"Hannah?" Elle asked, turning her head up to the water so it washed the conditioner from her head.
"Jonas took her to the hospital just to make certain she's all right. Come get your tea."
"Give us a couple of minutes," Jackson said, helping to massage the conditioner from the thick mass of red hair. He reached past Elle and turned off the water.
She put a hand on his belly and he felt the jolt slam right through his muscle and bones. His hand trapped hers--inches from his groin, now full and heavy and pulsing with need. He cleared his throat. "What is it, baby?" He tried to sound normal, but his voice came out gravelly.
"I heard his voice, Jackson. I need you to believe me. Yes, I panicked when you pulled out of my head so fast and I could feel you being swept out to sea. My throat closed and I could feel his fingers tightening around my neck, closing off my windpipe, but I know it wasn't just a panic attack. Maybe he programmed me, I honestly can't tell you, but I heard his voice, very distinctly. He told me he would keep killing everyone I loved until I came back to him." She looked up at him, her green gaze begging him to believe her. "I'm not crazy."
His large hands framed her face and he looked straight into her eyes. "I don't think for one moment that you are, Elle." His tone was one of absolute decisiveness. "He can't have you." It was a decree--a promise--his word. His head lowered toward hers.
Again he took his time giving her every chance to pull away, but she didn't, watching him come closer and closer until she could see his long lashes, the straight nose and wickedly sexy lips, parting just enough to catch a glimpse of strong teeth. She took a breath and closed her eyes just as his lips touched hers, brushed back and forth in a soft, coaxing manner. She went still inside. A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach. Her toes curled. The sensation of his lips against hers set off an electrical current that started with a small sizzle and built like a fireball rushing through her veins.
His hands held her face and she pressed her body close, skin to skin, melting into him, crawling inside his head, closer than two people could ever be. His mouth moved and hers answered. Deep inside, where her soul resided, she felt him there, holding her, sheltering her. She lifted her head. "He knows I love you." She touched his face, her fingers trembling. "He knows, Jackson. He can't get in when I'm filled with you and it's making him angrier. He's never denied himself anything and he believes he owns me."
"Well he's wrong, Elle. No one owns you."
Jackson bent his head and his mouth touched a long slash that curled over her breast. Her breath slammed out of her lungs and she went utterly still. She felt the gentle brush of his lips, featherlight across the torn flesh. He followed the line of whip marks with his kisses, so soft they were barely there, yet each set off a seismic reaction inside of her. Her body, so numb inside, nearly dead, no longer feminine or hot or needy, felt each of those kisses in her deepest core.
She closed her eyes tightly and held on to him as he kissed every wound, even dropping to his knees to plant kisses along the stripes inside her thighs and over her abdomen, deeper even where two or three times the whip had slashed through her most private, most sensitive spot. Again, she didn't feel as if his actions were in any way sexual, yet he was waking her body with love.
The intensity of his feelings shook her. How could she not have known how he felt about her? She kept her hands on his shoulders to steady her, fingers digging tightly into his muscle for an anchor. She hadn't expected the pooling of heat, or the wild beating of her heart. She hadn't expected the sizzle and burn of joy rushing through her veins, heating her body and making her breasts ache and her groin weep. She didn't even know if she wanted to be alive.
Jackson stood up and brought both of her hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before reaching for a towel and wrapping her in it. He took his time with her hair, tow eling the moisture from the long strands.
"Get dressed, Elle. Something that will cover most of the lash marks so you'll be more comfortable. I'll dress and find a good brush to start on your hair while you visit with your sisters. And don't worry, I think we're growing together in strength and no one will be able to penetrate the shields in your mind."
She stood there a moment, just looking at him. Jackson Deveau. The badass from the bayou everyone was so afraid of. Her Jackson. The man who was slowly, carefully, bringing her back to life.
Jackson smiled at her and caught her chin, kissing her again, making her stomach do a funny little flip. "Go, honey. I'll catch up with you."
Elle nodded, uncertain how to voice the emotions welling up.
10
ELLE found her sisters sprawled out around the spacious living room. They smiled at her wanly, Libby still pale and weak, but the others were clearly stronger. Ilya looked a bit harassed and she felt a little sorry for him. Her family could be very overwhelming at times. Bomber remained by the bank of windows staring out to sea, his ears forward, his body still, eyes focused on the unusual fog surrounding the house.
Sarah beckoned to her to come join them. "You scared us, honey. You nearly burned out your talent completely, but thank you for saving Hannah and Jackson."
"You all helped," Elle pointed out. "I'm not certain I could have helped Jonas pinpoint their location without you. And thank you. I appreciate you coming over and working so hard to heal me."
"Of course we'd come," Sarah said. "In spite of everything, you do look better this morning. I can see Jackson is taking good care of you."
Elle blushed, her color creeping up her neck into her face. She didn't know why. Jackson had been more than a gentleman. She realized that her fingertips had gone to her tingling lips and she hastily pulled them down under her older sisters' watchful eyes. She tasted Jackson in her mouth and it hit her then, he had miraculously managed to replace the touch and taste of Stavros with something good, something exciting. He didn't demand anything in return. He didn't even ask for anything. Jackson.
A stabbing pain shot through her head and he stuck his head through the doorway, black eyes half concerned, half furious. "Knock it off, Elle," he snapped, his tone low and mean.
Her sisters all swiveled around to stare at him. Tension rose in the room. They had no idea. Elle burst out laughing. He really was big bad Jackson, but hidden underneath all that steel muscle and the cold black eyes was something altogether different that no one, not even her sisters, suspected. He hid the gentle giant very well beneath that blue-jeaned devil.
"I didn't mean to."
He gave her another glare and disappeared again.
"Same old Jackson. I see his social skills haven't improved much," Sarah said. She waved her hand toward the teapot and it floated across the room and poured another cup of tea into the mug she was holding. "The man really needs to join the twenty-first century. I thought he might have improved while you're so fragile."
"Jackson is careful with me."
"Yeah, that sounded like it." Sarah rolled her eyes.
Elle looked around the room at her sisters, all obviously in agreement with her older sister's opinion of Jackson. She could have defended him, but it seemed more important to guard him, to hug his secret side to herself. She simply shrugged her shoulders. "Has Jonas called about Hannah?"
"The baby is fine, and Hannah is much better. Jonas said she warmed up fast in the ambulance. Both of them are very grateful to you and Jackson," Sarah continued. She waved the teapot in Elle's direction.
Elle pointed to a mug sitting on the coffee table. Sarah waved her hand again. She'd already forgotten Elle wasn't allowed to use her psychic talents. "Thanks, Sarah." It was embarrassing not to be able to use her skills. She rubbed at her throbbing temples. She'd had a headache for so long she'd forgotten what it was like without one. Jackson never forgot that her brain was shredded and every time she used her talent, she
was at risk.
"We're all very grateful to Jackson. He did an amazing thing."
Elle lifted an eyebrow. "So you're saying he's a cretin, but a heroic one."
Sarah nodded. "Very heroic."
Jackson stepped into the room looking sexy with a black tee stretched tight across his broad shoulders and heavy chest. His jeans fit him like a glove and now that she knew what he was hiding there, she couldn't help but notice the front of his jeans. "Elle saved us both," he corrected, pouring tea the old-fashioned way. He wasn't adept at levitation or parlor tricks. He just needed something hot to chase away the last of the cold lingering inside him.
He stirred in honey and drank the first cup down before pouring a second and moving to Elle's side. He sat on the floor between Elle's legs, half turning so he could take her bare foot onto his lap. "She shouldn't have, she was risking too much, but she kept us warm until help arrived. Thanks for giving her the push at the end. It saved us." He sipped the tea and brought Elle's foot against his belly.
It felt intimate to have him hold her bare foot. Elle could see that Ilya had started a fire to help heat the room and give more of an illusion of warmth. The crackle and popping along with the flickering flames added to the coziness of Jackson's living room. She glanced up the walls and could have sworn that for one moment they undulated, as if alive, as the walls of the Drake home sometimes did when ancestors settled into the walls to help make it a fortress.
Brace yourself, baby. It was all the warning he was going to give her. Her sisters were looking her over, trying to see inside her, trying to look past the bruising on her face and the few raw wounds they could see to what they couldn't see. He was going to confirm some of their worst suspicions.
Hidden Currents Page 18