JACKSON
My cock had its own heartbeat. All the blood in my body had pooled in my groin. One lingering look from Bianca and I was twelve years old again, unable to control the sudden shocking flare of hormones that ignited a forest fire in my pants and left me speechless and sweating, and feeling guilty to boot.
Judging by her flight of terror into the bathroom, I was pretty sure I’d just made a fatal mistake.
“You fucking moron,” I said to the carpet as I leaned over the bed with my head in my hands. “You complete, colossal fuckwit.”
I couldn’t even console myself with the memory that we’d already shared two kisses before I lost my mind and almost shoved her hand down my pants. Those kisses didn’t count. They didn’t mean anything, at least to her. The first was simply a ploy to make her ex jealous. The second was simply my infantile ego throwing a fit over being called nonsexual.
Though both kisses were scorching hot—I thought so, anyway—it wasn’t like she wanted to kiss me in either instance. And now here I was again, mistaking what was probably a look of worry or concentration or something else altogether for a look of lust.
Could I be any more of a cliché? If a woman like Cricket couldn’t love me, Bianca Hardwick was the last woman on earth who would.
My brain was scrambled eggs. I wasn’t thinking straight. Bianca had told me not fifteen minutes ago that she was my friend. My friend. Not the girl who’d think it was a super great idea to play handsy with the aching, throbbing, twitching monster between my legs right before we went down to dinner with my estranged parents.
This was a disaster.
The water went on behind the bathroom door, followed by some faint gasping noises. That was probably Bianca puking into the sink. I had to make this right. I had to apologize.
I lumbered to my feet and went to the bathroom door. I rested my forehead against it and closed my eyes. When the sound of running water stopped, I said, “If you want to hit me with something, there’s a very heavy bronze reproduction of the obelisk in Saint Peter’s Square on the credenza. I can bring it to you. It has a conveniently pointy tip.”
Her response was muffled by the door. “I don’t want to hit you.”
I didn’t dare hope that meant anything other than she’d rather shoot me than clobber me over the head. I waited, my hands pressed flat against the wood, my heart pounding.
She moved closer to her side of the door, because her voice was clearer when she said, “Maybe we could just . . . forget that happened.”
I was swamped by relief. Until she added softly, “For now.”
I bolted upright and stared at the door. For now? For now? What the hell did that mean? Was she going to wait until after dinner to yell at me, or . . .
Or what?
Holy fuck. I was having a heart attack. No, I was letting my imagination run away with me again.
No. I was having a heart attack.
The doorknob turned. She cracked open the door and peeked out at me through a two-inch sliver. Only the left side of her face was visible, and all of it was flushed.
“You mentioned something about clothes,” she said.
I nodded.
“Is the dress I’m wearing appropriate for dinner?”
“Yes. But there are things in the closet you can look through if you’d like to wear something else.”
Her left eyebrow arched.
I said, “I had a few things brought in for you.”
She swung the door open wide. “You shopped for me?”
I couldn’t tell from her expression if she was pleased or thought that was creepy, so I just nodded again.
“How did you know my size?”
Now I knew it would be creepy if I said I’ve spent a lot of time staring at your body, so I went with, “I guessed.”
Her expression soured. “Please tell me you didn’t guess I’m a size two, because if you did, I’ll be wearing this dress for the rest of the weekend.”
Pressing the smile from my lips, I turned and went to the wardrobe. I opened the doors and stepped aside.
Bianca poked her head out the bathroom door and gazed at the wardrobe. It was a big hunk of carved oak, an antique from Italy, I think, and had enough drawers and hanging space for even the most dedicated clothes horse. Intrigued, she walked over and stopped by my side. She stared into the wardrobe for a while, then looked up at me, her face serious.
“There are a lot of clothes in there, Jax.”
“They don’t belong to someone else, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted you to have choices.”
She looked back at the wardrobe and kept looking at it without saying anything.
I wasn’t sure what this reaction meant, but I was getting a little desperate. “You don’t have to wear anything you don’t like, of course. But anything you do like we’ll take home . . . I mean, assuming you want to. Or we can leave it all,” I finished lamely, looking at my shoes.
“This is all for me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said gruffly, trying not to vibrate with excitement because if I wasn’t reading her tone wrong, she was happy.
Then I tried not to groan out loud because she turned to me, stood on her toes, put her arms around my shoulders, and hugged me.
“Thank you,” she murmured against my neck.
Oh God. Sweet holy mother of God. I was going to buy her clothes every single day for the rest of her life. I wound my arms around her waist, pulled her closer against me, and closed my eyes. Breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, I whispered, “You’re welcome.”
A delicate shudder ran through her chest. I resisted the violent urge to run my hands all over her body, to take big, squeezing handfuls of her glorious ass, and stood there breathing raggedly, knowing nothing else except I wasn’t going to be the first one to let go.
After a while, she said, “You’re very tall.”
I blurted, “I’ll buy you platform boots.”
Her laugh was muffled in my neck. Her perfume was in my nose. A soft curl of her hair was caught at the corner of my mouth, and I was in heaven.
She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. Could she see the stars there?
She teased, “I see someone in the family enjoys hugs.”
There was a good possibility she was referring to the ten-inch steel pipe in my pants, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment by mentioning it. Instead I said, “Lucky me.”
My voice was so rough it sounded like I’d spent the last few days screaming.
She swallowed. Her lashes lowered, and then she was looking at my mouth. Her arms were still tight around my neck. She was so close I could see the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat, inviting me to touch it, kiss it, lick it gently with my tongue.
“What are you thinking right now?” she asked softly.
I closed my eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“It’s that dirty, huh?”
Fuck. Was she flirting with me or joking? I really needed to adjust my crotch but didn’t risk moving my arms. I whispered, “Filthy.”
Her breathing changed. I turned my head slightly, and the tip of my nose was touching her neck. My lips were so close to her skin, so fucking close . . .
In a voice so faint it was almost inaudible, she said, “Two years.”
I was too far under her spell to speak, so I just gave a little shake of my head to indicate I didn’t know what she meant.
She tucked her head down closer to my chest, like she was hiding again. “You asked me how long it had been since the last time . . . I had sex. The answer is two years.”
My exhalation shuddered out of me. I fought with every ounce of self-control I had not to crush my mouth against hers, to stand motionless while the heat and tension built between us, while her heart pounded so jaggedly against my chest.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. I wasn’t going to push myself on her. If—if—she wanted me, I had to let her come to that realization herself. Though I ached to throw her on the bed and bury myself in her, I had to let her be in control.
I couldn’t live with myself if she ever felt obligated.
“That’s nothing,” I said, my voice faint. “I’ve got you beat by a mile.”
When her arms loosened, I almost broke and kissed her, but I forced myself to stand still and allow her to pull away. She looked up at me with bright eyes and clasped her hands behind her back.
“Why don’t you pick out what you’d like me to wear for dinner. Let’s see what kind of taste you’ve got, Boudreaux. I’m going to fix my hair.”
She went into the bathroom and gently closed the door behind her, leaving me standing alone, wishing there was something I could do to save myself from falling in love with another woman who would never love me back, but knowing it was already too late.