I Wish You Were Mine
Page 31
The corner of his mouth lifted and he held up the empty Brita pitcher. “Was just going to fill this up.”
Mollie cleared her throat. “Right. Of course.”
Move, Mollie. He needs to get to the sink, and you’re in the way.
Her feet didn’t budge. Instead she and Jackson stood close—not touching, but close. It was almost an exact repeat of earlier in the evening when they’d been arguing.
But they weren’t arguing now. Nor were they fully clothed.
Oh my God, I’m half naked standing in front of Jackson Burke, who’s three-quarters naked.
A glass of cold water was no longer going to cut it. She’d definitely be needing the full shower.
“Mollie.” His voice was gruff.
“Yeah?” Her head tilted up just slightly of its own accord.
“Mollie.” His voice was lower this time. He was looking at her mouth.
This time she didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Was too afraid she’d say something she’d regret. Like Kiss me, or Take me, or I want you, or—
Jackson stepped back. Cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”
Reality crashed back down.
“I—no. I was just getting some water,” she said. “Cold water.” Because thinking about you made me horny.
He shifted past her, being careful not to let their bodies touch as he filled up the pitcher.
“Madison put some leftovers for you in the fridge.”
Annnnnd…moment officially over.
“Nice of her,” Mollie said, barely keeping the bite out of her voice. “But I’m good.”
He pulled a glass out of the cupboard and they both stared for several moments at the pitcher, waiting for the water to filter down to the bottom.
Mollie’s eyes drifted over the shoulder that was at eye level, but what started out as an admiring perusal turned to agony as she saw the ragged raised scar running along his right shoulder.
“Oh, Jackson.” She lifted her hand and very gently touched her fingers to the raised scar tissue. He flinched, and she jerked her hand back. “Sorry. Does that hurt?”
“No,” he said, not looking at her. “It’s just…nobody other than the doc’s seen it since the accident, much less touched it.”
“Nobody?” she asked, surprised, looking at his profile. “What about—”
She broke off, and he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze. “What about what? What about all the women I’ve been fucking both after my divorce and before it?”
Mollie winced. “When do we get to drop that subject?”
Jackson shifted quickly so that instead of standing side by side, they were face-to-face, with her sandwiched between the hard granite and his even harder body. “We’ll drop it when you look me in the eye and tell me you believe me. I get why the whole world thinks I’m a philandering bastard,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ve read the interviews with those women I apparently spent the night with, tying them up and stripping them down and doing God knows what depraved things to. I don’t give a shit what the world believes, because they don’t know me. But you know me, Mollie. You know me.”
He punctuated these last words by slowly bringing his hands up on either side of her, palms flat against the counter as he caged her in.
She licked her lips nervously. “It doesn’t feel like I know you lately.”
“Don’t change the subject. You either believe me or you don’t. You either think I cheated on my wife or you don’t.”
She searched his face, wanting to believe him. Yearning to, really. And if he’d been married to anyone other than her sister, if she hadn’t seen just how destroyed Madison had been in that last year of their marriage…
“What about after the divorce?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Have you—”
“Yes. Plenty,” he said without apology. “And I don’t remember a single one of their names.”
A stab of jealousy coursed through her at the thought of him rutting with nameless women. He deserved more. Heck, so did the women, but she didn’t know them, and Jackson was right about one thing—she did know him. And he wasn’t a liar.
“Maybe Madison got it wrong,” she said quietly. “Maybe you were pulling away for other reasons, and she misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood, or deliberately planted rumors to make herself look better?”
“I don’t want to fight about Maddie right now.”
“Of course not,” he said, his voice a low purr. “Wouldn’t want to criticize big sister.”
“Oh, knock it off,” she snapped. “Despite making a huge show of not wanting to talk to her, you certainly managed to keep each other entertained for two hours at dinner tonight.”
His soft laugh tickled the hair around her temple. “Mollie, babe, don’t kill me for saying this, but you sound jealous.”
“Of course I’m not jealous,” she said quickly. “I care about you, Jackson, you know that, but you’re like my brother.”
He stiffened slightly. “Your brother.”
“That’s what you were,” she said softly. “For years.”
“Is that how you’re thinking about me right now?” he asked, easing toward her just slightly. “Do I feel like your brother?”
Mollie swallowed and looked away.
Very gently Jackson laid his palm along her jaw, turning her face to his. “Mollie.”
Mollie cleared her throat. “Right. Of course.”
Move, Mollie. He needs to get to the sink, and you’re in the way.
Her feet didn’t budge. Instead she and Jackson stood close—not touching, but close. It was almost an exact repeat of earlier in the evening when they’d been arguing.
But they weren’t arguing now. Nor were they fully clothed.
Oh my God, I’m half naked standing in front of Jackson Burke, who’s three-quarters naked.
A glass of cold water was no longer going to cut it. She’d definitely be needing the full shower.
“Mollie.” His voice was gruff.
“Yeah?” Her head tilted up just slightly of its own accord.
“Mollie.” His voice was lower this time. He was looking at her mouth.
This time she didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Was too afraid she’d say something she’d regret. Like Kiss me, or Take me, or I want you, or—
Jackson stepped back. Cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”
Reality crashed back down.
“I—no. I was just getting some water,” she said. “Cold water.” Because thinking about you made me horny.
He shifted past her, being careful not to let their bodies touch as he filled up the pitcher.
“Madison put some leftovers for you in the fridge.”
Annnnnd…moment officially over.
“Nice of her,” Mollie said, barely keeping the bite out of her voice. “But I’m good.”
He pulled a glass out of the cupboard and they both stared for several moments at the pitcher, waiting for the water to filter down to the bottom.
Mollie’s eyes drifted over the shoulder that was at eye level, but what started out as an admiring perusal turned to agony as she saw the ragged raised scar running along his right shoulder.
“Oh, Jackson.” She lifted her hand and very gently touched her fingers to the raised scar tissue. He flinched, and she jerked her hand back. “Sorry. Does that hurt?”
“No,” he said, not looking at her. “It’s just…nobody other than the doc’s seen it since the accident, much less touched it.”
“Nobody?” she asked, surprised, looking at his profile. “What about—”
She broke off, and he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze. “What about what? What about all the women I’ve been fucking both after my divorce and before it?”
Mollie winced. “When do we get to drop that subject?”
Jackson shifted quickly so that instead of standing side by side, they were face-to-face, with her sandwiched between the hard granite and his even harder body. “We’ll drop it when you look me in the eye and tell me you believe me. I get why the whole world thinks I’m a philandering bastard,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ve read the interviews with those women I apparently spent the night with, tying them up and stripping them down and doing God knows what depraved things to. I don’t give a shit what the world believes, because they don’t know me. But you know me, Mollie. You know me.”
He punctuated these last words by slowly bringing his hands up on either side of her, palms flat against the counter as he caged her in.
She licked her lips nervously. “It doesn’t feel like I know you lately.”
“Don’t change the subject. You either believe me or you don’t. You either think I cheated on my wife or you don’t.”
She searched his face, wanting to believe him. Yearning to, really. And if he’d been married to anyone other than her sister, if she hadn’t seen just how destroyed Madison had been in that last year of their marriage…
“What about after the divorce?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Have you—”
“Yes. Plenty,” he said without apology. “And I don’t remember a single one of their names.”
A stab of jealousy coursed through her at the thought of him rutting with nameless women. He deserved more. Heck, so did the women, but she didn’t know them, and Jackson was right about one thing—she did know him. And he wasn’t a liar.
“Maybe Madison got it wrong,” she said quietly. “Maybe you were pulling away for other reasons, and she misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood, or deliberately planted rumors to make herself look better?”
“I don’t want to fight about Maddie right now.”
“Of course not,” he said, his voice a low purr. “Wouldn’t want to criticize big sister.”
“Oh, knock it off,” she snapped. “Despite making a huge show of not wanting to talk to her, you certainly managed to keep each other entertained for two hours at dinner tonight.”
His soft laugh tickled the hair around her temple. “Mollie, babe, don’t kill me for saying this, but you sound jealous.”
“Of course I’m not jealous,” she said quickly. “I care about you, Jackson, you know that, but you’re like my brother.”
He stiffened slightly. “Your brother.”
“That’s what you were,” she said softly. “For years.”
“Is that how you’re thinking about me right now?” he asked, easing toward her just slightly. “Do I feel like your brother?”
Mollie swallowed and looked away.
Very gently Jackson laid his palm along her jaw, turning her face to his. “Mollie.”
