Angelic

I knew it was only a matter of time before he asked about the tattoo. They all asked about the tattoo. The sweet wedding photographer. Who would think from looking at her that she would have a tattoo hidden on her somewhere?

“I was waiting for that. It was too easy to believe that you hadn’t noticed.” Even with the comfort of his arms around me, it was going to take everything I had to get through this story. “Don’t you have to get back to work?” Maybe I could stall this conversation for later.

“No, I told Anita I would be in tomorrow. Today, I had an important personal matter I wanted to take care of first.”

“Wow, it must be really important if you took the entire day off work.” I kept my tone light.

“Yes, very important. I’m trying to convince the woman I love to wake up with me everyday for the rest of my life.”

That growly sexy voice of his. How could it not melt me every damn time?

“Mr. Naile, are you proposing?” I gently elbowed him in the ribs, giggling. When did I become the kind of girl who giggled?

Oh yeah, about the time he came back into my life, that’s when.

“If that what it takes, then yes.”

I gasped, he could not be serious. We spent one weekend together. One glorious, fantastic weekend. But marriage? What could he be possibly be thinking?

He turned me to face him, “Too much, too fast?” He smirked. He did understand my skittishness. It didn’t stop him from trying, however.

“Angel, tell me you didn’t think it felt right waking up together?”

“I can’t argue that.” My heart fluttered, remembering what that felt like. It was more than feeling right. It gave me a comfort I had been missing in my life.

“Angel, I know you confided in me a lot this weekend. If you need to keep this one, I can accept that. For now.” He tilted my chin upwards and leaned in to meet my lips.

All the love, all the passion, all his trust came through in that one kiss. I could trust Jackson with this. I already trusted him with so much. I already trusted him with my heart.

I took his hand and led him in silence back to the loft upstairs. I motioned for him to sit on the couch. Taking the place beside him, I laid my head in his lap. His hand smoothed my hair with gentle caresses.

A few deep breaths in and out helped calm me before I started.

“The hole I was in was boxed in. To keep it from filling with dirt, I suppose. It had a nail sticking out. After a while, I wasn’t sure if I was really there or in some nightmare. Every day, I leaned into that nail. When I felt the pain, I knew. I knew it was not a nightmare, it was real. But I also knew that pain meant I was still alive. That’s where the scar came from.”

Sometime during the conversation, he moved his hand from my hair to my back, gliding his thumb across the scar in soothing circles.

“The tattoo is a semicolon. It’s a symbol for an organization, Project Semicolon. They help people who had attempted suicide, or had thoughts of suicide. Or someone who’s loved one suffers. A semicolon in sentence is a pause. That’s what that experience was, a pause in my life. A period signified the end, the sentence was over. I wouldn’t let that be my end. My life was not over. It took a long time and a lot of help, but I realized that my life mattered. Even if it only mattered to me, it mattered. That tattoo covers that scar. I don’t need that scar to remind me that I was alive. But that tattoo reminds me every day that my life matters.”

He raised me to his lap and slid down on the couch, taking me with him. With all my baggage on the table, we laid there in comfortable silence. Bearing your soul and pain was emotionally exhausting. The rhythm of his calm breathing and soothing touch lulled me to sleep.

I hoped I hadn’t slept too long. I had every intentions of putting in a full day. Jackson was proving to be a very big distraction. I tilted my head upwards and noticed him fully awake, watching me.

“How long have I been out?” I was hoping he told me he had no idea because he fell asleep as well. It would be embarrassing to know I laid there, essentially pinning him down.

“It’s only been half an hour, barely a cat nap.” He cupped my chin and kissed my forehead. Every time his lips touched any part of my body, it responded instantly. It knew what those lips could do, and it wanted more.

“Jackson, did you bring an overnight bag?”

“No, why?” He really could be dense sometimes.

“How did you expect to wake up with me tomorrow morning if you didn’t bring an overnight bag?” I poked at his chest teasingly.

“I didn’t want to seem to presumptuous this morning.” His smile had my panties wet and my pussy empty with need. God, that man could really distract a person.

“Why don’t you drive me to my place, I can throw a few things together. We can come back here and continue with our date as planned.” The gleam in his piercing blue eyes suggested he was anxious to get this date started.

Most likely because we both knew where this date was going end. I think I was going to let him squirm a little longer.

“First, I can’t drive you, I don’t own a car. Second, I need to finish some work or I won’t be ready for Wednesday.”

“You don’t own a car? How do you get around?” His brow furrowed with concern that I didn’t own my own vehicle.

“As you can see, my commute to work does not require me to drive. I mostly use public transit. If I have an off-site assignment, I use a rental.” This scenario had been working for me for the past year. He needn’t be concerned.

He moved us into a sitting position, me straddling him. His cock was rock hard through our layers of clothing.

He needed to leave or I was never going to get back to work today. Pushing myself off his lap, I raised to my feet.

“Jackson, you should call your driver to come and get you. Don’t come back until it’s time for our date. That way, I will at least be able to get some work accomplished with what is left with the rest of the day.” I wanted to sound annoyed so he would comply.

Instead, it came out raspy, sexy, needy.

He jumped off the couch, closing the distance between us within seconds. He pulled his cell out of his jeans pocket and pushed a few buttons. “Driver will be here in ten minutes. I told him to pull up in front of your studio.”

I opened the door before I changed my mind and dragged him to bed. “We better get going, then.” I lead the way out of the loft and down the stairs. I stood in front of the studio, reluctant to let him in.

“I’ll wait out here with you,” I let him know, trying not to appear too jittery about being alone with him again.

“What’s the matter, Angel, afraid to be alone with me because you know what will happen?” Those eyes, that smile and his low sexy growl. How was I ever going to get any work done with him around?

“Yes,” I answered without thinking. My body language had already answered the question for him, why bother trying to deny it? My chest pressed into the wall of hard muscle, his cock hard against my belly.

We came together with a clashing of lips and tongue. My hands made their way up his shirt, feeling the ripples of his abs as I feathered my fingers across his chest.

He cupped my breasts over my shirt.

I was oblivious to the public displays of affection until I heard a car rounding the corner. Good God, I had my hands so far up his shirt I practically had it off. This man had me tied up in knots. I almost regretted asking him to leave.

He broke away and waved to the car approaching; his driver, I presumed. “I’ll be back at six thirty sharp. Don’t get lost in your work and forget about me.”

Like that could ever happen. Most likely I was not going to get any work done because I would be too distracted thinking only about him. His touch, his taste. The thought of his stamina alone sent a shiver down my spine and had my thighs quaking.

He gave me one last kiss and jumped into the car. I didn’t enter my studio until he was out of sight.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I needed to get these files categorized tonight. That gave me tomorrow to Photoshop and make any required touchups.

I locked the door behind me. I headed to the back room to retrieve the photos I developed last night. These would be great in my portfolio. They were definitely be included in the files I was going to take with me for Wednesday’s meeting.

Only a true photographer could appreciate the painstaking time it took to inspect every photo, deciding which were simply redundant duplicates and which captured that something special in a shot.

The shot I took of Richard and Mackenzie my first night from the front step of the inn was priceless. I decided to make that one the shot for the album cover.

I decided the day I took this assignment I was not simply going to hand over a thumb drive of prints and let them have the hassle of printing them off. I knew that was the current trend. It was promoted as a way to keep the cost down for the wedding couple.

I never liked that premise and refused to offer it to my clients.

When the cost of printing was factored in after the fact, most couples decided it would have been easier and just as cost effective to have had the photographer do it in the first place.

This wedding album I was creating was going to be epic. The uniqueness of the venue, the genuine affection from everyone involved, it all came through in each photo.

I couldn’t remember the last time an assignment excited me this much.

The passion for the job had waned a little over the past year. The stress of getting started. The anxiety of taking on such a debt to rent the perfect studio.

Everything I had worked on came down to this. That one perfect shot. The one that told you, yes, you could do this. That one perfect assignment that validated all your reservations.

I came across the one I took of Jackson when I thought he wasn’t looking. I blushed when he caught me. Something in the way he was looking at me. Something almost predatory, possessive even.

I slapped my laptop screen down. Don’t do this, Angelic, I mentally chastised myself. Don’t look for something that wasn’t there. Don’t ruin a good thing before it even had a chance to get started.

I opened the computer and took a long look at Jackson’s photo. Not all men were like my stepfather. Jackson had already proven he was willing to compromise.

He was compassionate and giving.

I pushed the nagging thought to the far recess of my mind. My only fear was that by doing that, I let my guard down.

I hoped it didn’t come back to bite me royally in the ass further down the line.