Savor the Danger
Page 7
“Do it anyway!”
Sighing, lifting his hands from her as if in surrender, he stepped back. “This is me trying.”
Though the situation couldn’t be more skewed, he remained strong and capable. She envied him that. “What do you think happened? Did you drink?”
“Doubt it.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember, but I’m not much of a drinker.” And then with a shrug, “Never have been.”
She knew that about him. It was a control thing. Her brother and Dare…they disdained alcohol because it could throw off reflexes or perception, and they were all about control—of themselves and others. If Jackson imbibed much, they wouldn’t trust him.
She didn’t know the whole story of how Jackson came to join their team, but not long after she’d been recovered from Tijuana, they’d brought him on board. Obviously they trusted him, and that meant Alani could trust him, too—at least about this.
With anything more personal, like a romantic relationship, she just didn’t know.
He watched her every move. “I rummaged through my apartment, even the garbage, but I didn’t see any empty bottles. No sign of a drinking binge on my end.”
Suspicions crowded in, but for the moment, she pushed them aside. “Did you maybe fall and hit your head?”
That insulted him. “No.” He snorted. “Course not.”
“But you don’t remember, right? So how do you know?”
Roughly tousling his own hair, he said, “See? No bruises, no bumps.” He moved in again. “In fact, other than a few scratches that I’m hoping came from you, I don’t have any marks—no bruises or cuts or anything.”
“Scratches?”
His mouth quirked sensually. “On my shoulders. Small half moons right where a woman usually holds on tight when she’s—”
“So.” Interrupting seemed the safer course. “You probably weren’t involved in a scuffle, then.”
He shook his head. “Let’s talk about what might’ve happened…after.”
Would his possibilities mesh up with her suspicions? Likely. “After what?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Maybe you don’t understand how it is for me, how it’d be for any guy, but especially for me since I’ve been hot on your tail for a while now.”
The things he said, and how he said them, were both insulting and somehow…flattering. “Jackson…”
“To make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings, let me clue you in, okay? I’ve got a bad case for you.”
“Sexual chemistry. I know. You’ve told me.” Last night it had felt like more, but last night didn’t exist for him.
“Call it whatever you want, doesn’t matter to me.”
Sadly, what they called it mattered a lot to her. “I see.”
“Don’t go twisting my words, okay?” Jackson thrust out his chin. “Bottom line is that I have to know what we did. All of it.”
“I already told you.”
“We had sex, yeah. Got it. But that could mean a whole range of things. I need the particulars, like if it was nice and slow, or fast and furious.”
Oh. She peeked at him. “Both?”
He went still, then clasped his head and groaned again. In a croak, he asked, “Good old missionary, or did we mix it up a bit? Bedroom or living room?”
The first time had been in his bed. Then his shower. And later in the hall, against the wall. “All of the above.”
His nostrils flared. “How many times did I have you, anyway?”
She bit her lips then ventured… “All night?”
Jerking away, he stalked three steps, then rushed back to her. “Lights on or off?”
“On.” He’d insisted, but at that point, she hadn’t cared. She had enjoyed the concentrated way he’d looked at her, and she’d wanted to see him, too.
Not only had she forgotten any shyness over her nudity, she’d also forgotten about the past, about men who’d taken her and looked at her, handled her like property. With Jackson, she’d overcome a lot of hang-ups. Maybe too many, considering the night had been built on fraud.
His expression a mix of pleading and demand, he grabbed her shoulders. “Damn, baby, I need to see you again. All of you. I need to know how you sound when you’re excited, and when you come.” His busy fingers went to the shoulder strap of her sundress, touching almost idly, playing with it as if it tempted him greatly. “I need to taste you, smell you—”
Stunned, flustered and a little turned on, Alani grabbed his wrist. She hated to disappoint him—and herself—but she saw no other choice. Not right now. “Jackson,” she said gently, “you can’t seriously expect me to put aside everything that happened and just…”
“Pick up wherever we left off? Yeah.” He searched her gaze. “God, yeah.”
“Not happening.” But he looked very endearing in his need. No one had ever wanted her the way Jackson Savor did.
He also looked ready to collapse. Worried for him, she touched his jaw and forced her mind onto more immediate matters. “Have you eaten?”
He scowled. “No. Screw that.” He drew himself up. “You think I could wake up with you naked, soft and smiling one minute, pissed off and storming out the next, with no clue why or how, and I’d just go about my day?”
Sighing, lifting his hands from her as if in surrender, he stepped back. “This is me trying.”
Though the situation couldn’t be more skewed, he remained strong and capable. She envied him that. “What do you think happened? Did you drink?”
“Doubt it.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember, but I’m not much of a drinker.” And then with a shrug, “Never have been.”
She knew that about him. It was a control thing. Her brother and Dare…they disdained alcohol because it could throw off reflexes or perception, and they were all about control—of themselves and others. If Jackson imbibed much, they wouldn’t trust him.
She didn’t know the whole story of how Jackson came to join their team, but not long after she’d been recovered from Tijuana, they’d brought him on board. Obviously they trusted him, and that meant Alani could trust him, too—at least about this.
With anything more personal, like a romantic relationship, she just didn’t know.
He watched her every move. “I rummaged through my apartment, even the garbage, but I didn’t see any empty bottles. No sign of a drinking binge on my end.”
Suspicions crowded in, but for the moment, she pushed them aside. “Did you maybe fall and hit your head?”
That insulted him. “No.” He snorted. “Course not.”
“But you don’t remember, right? So how do you know?”
Roughly tousling his own hair, he said, “See? No bruises, no bumps.” He moved in again. “In fact, other than a few scratches that I’m hoping came from you, I don’t have any marks—no bruises or cuts or anything.”
“Scratches?”
His mouth quirked sensually. “On my shoulders. Small half moons right where a woman usually holds on tight when she’s—”
“So.” Interrupting seemed the safer course. “You probably weren’t involved in a scuffle, then.”
He shook his head. “Let’s talk about what might’ve happened…after.”
Would his possibilities mesh up with her suspicions? Likely. “After what?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Maybe you don’t understand how it is for me, how it’d be for any guy, but especially for me since I’ve been hot on your tail for a while now.”
The things he said, and how he said them, were both insulting and somehow…flattering. “Jackson…”
“To make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings, let me clue you in, okay? I’ve got a bad case for you.”
“Sexual chemistry. I know. You’ve told me.” Last night it had felt like more, but last night didn’t exist for him.
“Call it whatever you want, doesn’t matter to me.”
Sadly, what they called it mattered a lot to her. “I see.”
“Don’t go twisting my words, okay?” Jackson thrust out his chin. “Bottom line is that I have to know what we did. All of it.”
“I already told you.”
“We had sex, yeah. Got it. But that could mean a whole range of things. I need the particulars, like if it was nice and slow, or fast and furious.”
Oh. She peeked at him. “Both?”
He went still, then clasped his head and groaned again. In a croak, he asked, “Good old missionary, or did we mix it up a bit? Bedroom or living room?”
The first time had been in his bed. Then his shower. And later in the hall, against the wall. “All of the above.”
His nostrils flared. “How many times did I have you, anyway?”
She bit her lips then ventured… “All night?”
Jerking away, he stalked three steps, then rushed back to her. “Lights on or off?”
“On.” He’d insisted, but at that point, she hadn’t cared. She had enjoyed the concentrated way he’d looked at her, and she’d wanted to see him, too.
Not only had she forgotten any shyness over her nudity, she’d also forgotten about the past, about men who’d taken her and looked at her, handled her like property. With Jackson, she’d overcome a lot of hang-ups. Maybe too many, considering the night had been built on fraud.
His expression a mix of pleading and demand, he grabbed her shoulders. “Damn, baby, I need to see you again. All of you. I need to know how you sound when you’re excited, and when you come.” His busy fingers went to the shoulder strap of her sundress, touching almost idly, playing with it as if it tempted him greatly. “I need to taste you, smell you—”
Stunned, flustered and a little turned on, Alani grabbed his wrist. She hated to disappoint him—and herself—but she saw no other choice. Not right now. “Jackson,” she said gently, “you can’t seriously expect me to put aside everything that happened and just…”
“Pick up wherever we left off? Yeah.” He searched her gaze. “God, yeah.”
“Not happening.” But he looked very endearing in his need. No one had ever wanted her the way Jackson Savor did.
He also looked ready to collapse. Worried for him, she touched his jaw and forced her mind onto more immediate matters. “Have you eaten?”
He scowled. “No. Screw that.” He drew himself up. “You think I could wake up with you naked, soft and smiling one minute, pissed off and storming out the next, with no clue why or how, and I’d just go about my day?”
