“I BURNED THEM. Every single picture—I burned them all. I didn’t need to see…” Jackson shook his head, like he was erasing the memory of my betrayal. The one he may not have seen but obviously still felt.

Paralyzed where I stood, I struggled to put the pieces of his story together with what I knew to be true. And as what Jackson said sank in, his words boiled down to one thing—we’d been played, nothing more than pawns in his father’s fucked-up game. Our lives so unimportant that it’d only taken a couple of scheming moves to set us on new paths—separately. Permanently.

“Lucas, I don’t blame you,” Jackson said, misunderstanding the horror I knew was written all over my face. “I up and disappeared without explanation, and you…moved on. It was my fault. I should’ve said—”

“I came to see you,” I said, my voice a whisper as I gripped the edge of the counter. “At your house.”

Jackson’s expression transformed from apologetic to incredulous in the blink of an eye. “You… What? When?”

“The day after graduation. I showed up on your doorstep and was told you didn’t want to see me.”

The blood drained from Jackson’s face.

“So, stubborn ass that I am, I went back the next day. And then the next.” I rubbed at the stubble on my jaw as I remembered the way his father and the household staff took turns slamming the door in my face. Not my finest moments, but I’d refused to believe Jackson hadn’t wanted to see me. Until… “And then a letter was dropped off at my hotel, along with the necklace. I got the message then.”

Jackson had gone stock-still, a beautiful, haunted statue staring down at the marble countertop. What was running through that head of his? He was probably freaked out that I hopped a plane to chase after him, like I was some kind of desperate stage-five clinger. Too late to take back that piece of history, and I didn’t regret it anyway. The last thing I’d been thinking was what his father would say about me blowin’ in upstate, but maybe that should’ve been my first thought.

Jesus, he was quiet. Too quiet. The silence ramped my anxiety up to a ten, so when Jackson refused to speak, to even breathe, I finally spoke up. “Say something.”

Like he was coming out of a trance, Jackson blinked and slowly lifted his head to meet my gaze. “I can’t…believe…you did that.”

He can’t believe… “You just fucking left,” I exploded, pushing off the counter, my outrage finally pouring out in a rush meant for his father—but he wasn’t here, and it was coming out one way or another. Gripping the ends of my hair, I paced the kitchen without looking his way. “What else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know if you were hurt or okay. You just disappeared in the middle of the night… Jesus. You fucking—” Turning around, I slammed straight into Jackson’s strong, unyielding body, my hands coming up to catch myself on his abs. It was like latching on to the side of a rocky mountain ravine. Goddammit, I didn’t need to be touching him like that. I didn’t need to know what he felt like under my palms or catch the scent of my soap on his skin. Which reminds me, I need to stock some generic Irish Spring bullshit in the guest bath. Not that he’ll be showering here again. Okay, Jesus, Lucas, move. Before I could move away, though, Jackson locked on to my wrists.

“You came for me,” he said softly, though his breaths were coming faster. Those contrasting eyes of his had dilated so that I could barely see the blue of his irises, making them almost a perfect match for once.

“And you had no idea. This whole time.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Hell, I really wanted to fucking rage. At someone or something…whatever would take the edge off the fire coursing through my veins.

I tried to jerk out of his hold, but Jackson’s grip on me was tight, and before I could blink, he had me backed up against the counter. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips, could see the way his eyes fell to my mouth. The rain beating against the window faded into the background as Jackson became the only thing I could see, and his soft panting all I could hear.

He dipped his head toward mine, pausing long enough that I had time to pull away if I wanted to. And maybe I should’ve. Kissing Jackson would complicate everything. It was throwing myself out to sea without a lifeboat or a preserver or any damn thing to hold on to to save myself. There’d be no saving this time, but as much as I knew that in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop from moving my head forward, so that our lips were almost brushing.

The truth I didn’t want to admit to myself was that I wanted his mouth on mine more than I wanted air in my lungs, but this was a bad idea. I didn’t know the man in front of me any more than he knew me, and as the thought crossed my mind, I found myself inching back from him. But Jackson didn’t let me get far. He closed the gap between us by jerking me forward by the wrists—and then his lips crushed against mine.

Oh fuck me to hell.

His sudden movement took me by surprise, and my brain lagged for a couple of seconds while it processed what was happening. Jackson was…kissing me. He’d made the first move, and his lips were on mine, warm and soft and urging mine to part for him.

Is this really happening? Maybe I’d hit my head on a flying wrench in my workshop and had gone the way of Dorothy in Oz, because there was no way this was real. I’d dreamed him up, put him in my kitchen amid a storm he couldn’t escape from, and twisted our past until it fit with a reality that was better than the one we’d been dealt.

Jackson’s teeth nipping at my lower lip brought me back to the present, and the entry he sought. As he dropped my wrists, my mouth parted, giving him the access he wanted, and then my hands were in his damp hair, holding him in place as I angled my head for a deeper feel of his tongue against mine.

God, he tasted so good. He kissed me hungrily, and I gave it right back to him, the urge for more causing us to switch places as I dominated and pushed him up against the pantry door. His fingers clawed at my waist, desperate and wanting, and I obliged his unspoken request by pressing my hips against his, one hard length to another.

I smiled against his lips as a moan, deep and filled with desire, left him. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like his body and his mouth were always supposed to be on mine.