WELL, THAT HAD escalated faster than I’d expected. Not that I regretted it, because who in their right mind wouldn’t want their hands and mouth all over a man like Jackson? No, the problem was that now that I’d had a taste, it wasn’t enough. Instead of sating my lust, I’d only made things worse, because now I craved getting Jackson in bed and putting all that foreplay into good use as the opening act.

But fuck, I’d already tempted my self-restraint to the breaking point tonight, so as I parked with the engine idling in front of the Rosemont, I tried to tell myself this was the right thing to do. Leave Jackson here and go back home—alone. Even though I wanted him in my bed so badly it had me clutching the steering wheel to keep from reaching for him.

“Well,” he said, suddenly coming off shy and nervous, even though an hour earlier I’d seen the brazen side of him I knew was in there. “Tonight was…fun. Thank you.” Jackson’s fingers wrapped around the door handle, but he didn’t pop it open.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be thanking you.” I knew my smile had to be immoral, because Jackson blushed—actually blushed. And it was so endearing that the next words were out of my mouth before I fully thought them through. “You free tomorrow?”

What the hell, Sullivan? He’s leaving soon. Don’t get fucking attached, you idiot.

But I’d already thrown down the invitation, and when Jackson bit his lip and then nodded, I felt more relief than inconvenience.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at ten,” I said, and then gave him one last once-over. “And don’t dress up.”

I STIRRED THE next morning, tossing and turning in my bed as light filtered through the blinds in my bedroom. I had the vague thought that I needed to wake up, but at the edges of my mind hovered a memory of Jackson back when we were teenagers, and sleep claimed me again before I could open my eyes…

THE SAND WAS soft against my bare back, the night breeze coming off the ocean chilly, but there was no way I was putting my shirt back on. Jackson had pushed up onto his elbow beside me and was staring intently at the inked lines that covered my arm and shoulder.

I held my breath as he reached for me. His touch was tentative on my skin…so light I could barely feel it. And just when I felt him start to pull away, I put my hand over his and increased the pressure of his fingers where they’d begun to trail my tattoos.

Jackson met my eyes.

“You can touch me,” I said, my voice wavering. I hadn’t meant for my words to come out sounding unsure—they were anything but. There wasn’t one damn thing I wanted more than for him to keep his hand on me, but just below the surface of my skin lay the panic that at any moment he’d realize what he was doing and stop. Please don’t stop, I begged, sending up a prayer that would probably be shut down the second whoever was up there saw my name attached.

But just this once I was proven wrong, because slowly, ever so slowly, Jackson’s fingers began to move again, tracing the swirls that lined my collarbone. I shuddered under his touch.

“What does it mean?” he asked, following the outline that rounded over my shoulder and down my arm.

“They’re Celtic knots.” I cleared my throat. “They don’t have a beginning or an end, so they’re used to represent infinity…eternity. I got it after…” I couldn’t say the words “after my parents died,” but Jackson nodded like he knew anyway. He never made me talk about the car crash that had taken them from me only months earlier, sending me to live with my gram, and for both of those things, I was grateful.

Jackson’s finger came to a stop on the inside of my upper arm, and then he lightly ran over the symbol. “This one’s my favorite.”

I closed my eyes. There was no way he could’ve known that was the one part of the tattoo I’d designed. The one part I’d been insistent on having on the inside, where it wouldn’t be front and center. The reminder I’d made for me and me alone.

“Is this a knot too?” he asked.

“It’s a triskele. A triple spiral.” I took his hand and guided it over the three curls. “It’s one continuous line that represents life’s movement. Past…present…future.”

“Looks almost angry.”

A small smile turned my lips up. “A triskele represents strength. Moving forward, no matter the obstacles.”

“That sounds like you.”

I blew out a breath and shook my head. “I’m not strong. I feel…lost sometimes.” Until I’m with you, I thought. And then I feel like I have a purpose in staying alive after all.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Jackson said. “You don’t think so, but you are.”

“So are you.”

He jerked back. “Me? No.” Jackson scoffed, and then peeked up at me with a half-grin. “Just a rich boy on Daddy’s plan. Isn’t that what you said when we first met?”

“I’m sorry. I was wrong—”

“No, you weren’t. Not really. I mean, that is the plan. Going into my father’s business. Always has been.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Not if you…want something else.”

Jackson gave me a sad smile. “Some of us aren’t as strong as others.” Then he trailed his fingers down my chest, following the line of my abs down my stomach and lower…lower… “But there is something else I want.”

I STARTLED AWAKE as my alarm went off, the station set to a horrible rap station to entice me to get my ass up on time, and I sat up and hit the snooze with my fist. Figured my dream would be cut off before the good part. Fucking cockblock alarm.

Yawning, I scrubbed a hand over my face and thought back to the memory that had presented itself in my dream. It was no wonder it’d been brought to the forefront after last night. Right after Jackson traced the markings on my skin had been the first time we’d fooled around, right there on the beach, something I’d thought about last night as we lay under the stars.

I thought back to what he’d said, about not being strong enough to have a choice, and back then, I, stubborn shit that I was, had been determined to change his mind. My hand came up to finger the weathered cord of my necklace. I’d spent a week perfecting the triskele pendant in my gram’s basement just to give it to Jackson and prove him wrong. It had been my very first piece, the design that had later given me the idea for a business, and Jackson had loved it, wearing it every day under the collar of his uniform. At least, until the day it’d been returned to me.

But for now, Jackson was here, in South Haven, with me.

Maybe there was hope for the lost little boy yet.