“You can’t tell them about the cameras. They won’t notice them; they’ll be hidden. The fencing and the added security personnel they’ll notice, but we need the cameras to be kept quiet.”
“You still suspect them?”
“This is standard protocol, Aja. It’s not about suspecting them. It’s about keeping everyone on this ranch safe.”
She breathed a heavy sigh, the weight of this new burden clearly becoming increasingly difficult to carry. “I don’t like lying to them, Jackson. This is their home too.”
“Integrity being so important to you, I know this can’t be easy, Aja. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who believed in the truth as much as I do. Going against your instincts must be playing havoc with your mind right now.”
She dropped her eyes as if they were too heavy to keep his gaze. The image of her downcast lids in the soft light of the kitchen with her long ebony lashes sweeping the apples of her cheeks nearly broke him. Her beauty and sadness were tied together in an intricate pattern of twists and swirls, making it impossible to see where one ended and the other began.
The sight of her like this unnerved him; it made him reach for her. He pulled his hand from her shoulder and cupped the side of her face.
He took a moment to consider her, to contemplate how many ways this decision would come back to bite them both on the ass, and while his mind screamed for him to get away, her tongue swept across her full bottom lip and he was lost.
Suddenly, he needed to know what her bare flesh would feel like pressed against his, or how that wicked mouth of hers would taste when he tangled his tongue with hers. He groaned before leaning down and joining their lips together.
The kiss was fleeting, over in a matter of seconds. But the way heat surged through his veins and seeped into his flesh made his body burn from the inside out.
He wanted to reach down and steal another, but the way she looked at him, her dark eyes bright with wonder and a mix of something he didn’t quite recognize gave him pause. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha—”
“I’m not.” She placed a firm hand behind his neck and pulled him forward. Her movements were adept and intentional. Her lips pressed against his without the slightest bit of concern or reservation. She wanted to taste him. Her kisses, demanding, tempting, and filled with fire, made it impossible for him to let common sense intervene.
He pulled her closer into his embrace, their bodies touching while their mouths feasted on each other. His fingers delighted in the softness of her plush curves. A desperate moan escaped his lips, and he could feel his body tightening behind the godforsaken constraint of his denim zipper. If the fire between them didn’t consume him, his jeans would probably injure him for life.
That thought alone should’ve been enough to douse his burning arousal, but it didn’t. Knowing Aja tasted like sweetness and spice—like a deep, rich cognac aged to perfection, potent and smooth at the same time—kept him bound to her. He wanted more.
He slid his hand down from her waist until he had a handful of her ass in his palm. If Jackson Dean wasn’t an ass man before, he certainly was now. Wide and firm and yet still soft, even through the stiff material of her jeans, it molded perfectly to the shape of his palm.
Stop this now, Dean, before you have her spread over the floor. Have more respect for her than that.
He gentled their kiss, moving his mouth from hers, placing sweet pecks on her chin, each of her cheeks, and then her forehead. She burrowed the side of her face into his chest like she was seeking warmth and comfort, and his need to hold her, and hold on to her, burned deeper than before.
Then, he’d simply guessed at how good it would feel to touch her. Now that he knew something as simple as her kiss could send him up in flames, he wasn’t certain he could willingly walk away.
Standing in her kitchen with their bodies wrapped around each other, Jackson wasn’t sure of the tactful way to disengage from a woman who had effectively set his soul on fire with merely the touch of her lips. He didn’t dwell too much on either because he saw something move in the shadows outside.
He didn’t want to alarm Aja, so he gave her a light squeeze and whispered in her ear, “Do you get any animals close to the house?”
She cleared her throat and looked up at him. “No. Closer to the edge of the property, but never near the occupied buildings.”
He glanced briefly out the window and saw what appeared to be the shape of a man crouching near the side of the porch. He kept her in his arms, not wanting to tip his hand to whoever it was lurking in the bushes, and whispered again, “I’m gonna check on things. Lock the door behind me. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Colton and Storm to come to the house.”
He could see the worry in her furrowed brow and the tight lines around her mouth. He gave her a quick peck before he released her. “Do what I ask, please.”
She silently stepped aside while he grabbed the shotgun he’d placed in the broom closet behind the door when she told him to settle in and get comfortable. Grateful that she was cooperating, he stepped through the doorway, closing it behind him and waiting until he heard the click of the lock turning before he crossed the porch and headed in the direction of where he saw the shadow moving.
He padded through the grass with his weapon held at the ready, the mounted flashlight atop the barrel lighting his way. He watched the large bush on the side of the porch move and aimed the barrel where the leaves fluttered, using the mounted flashlight at the weapon’s front end to cut through the thick night.
“Unless you walk on four legs, you’d better ease on outta that bush. Hands up where I can see them.” The motion shuffling the leaves stopped. Jackson pumped his weapon to let whoever was in those bushes know he meant business. “You either come out, or I shoot.”
“P-please, don’t shoot.”
Jackson moved the gun slightly to the left, focusing the flashlight’s beam on where he saw the shrubbery parting. “Let me see those hands!” The person shoved their hands through the leaves, palm side up with their fingers spread wide.
First, his hands were visible, then one leg at a time, finally followed by his head and torso. Jackson saw dark, shoulder-length wavy hair. The man was either white or Latinx—from this distance and with the poor lighting in the backyard, he couldn’t tell which yet. He was slim and nearly four or five inches shorter than Jackson’s six feet, two inches, and he seemed to be appropriately frightened by Jackson’s threat to fire.
“Pl-please, don’t shoot! I’m supposed to be here. If you’d let me reach in my back pocket—”
