What I can’t wrap my head around is why he would be interested in me. He’s been with so many women that he probably lost count a long time ago, why would he want me? I don’t have that kind of experience. And in all honesty, I don’t think I could relax enough to make anything enjoyable for any man.
Insecurity and good old-fashioned self-deprivation stomp out the flicker of hope that has me thinking about the possibility of him being interested in me. My cocoa has lost its appeal, and I set it on the wicker table next to my chair and walk to the porch post to lean my shoulder against it as I look out over the yard.
The combination of the cocoa and the slight humidity in the air has my tangled hair sticking to my neck and I lift it up to let the breeze do its job.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Jax’s deep voice comes from my right and makes me jump. I drop my hair and slap my hands over my heart as I take a step back.
My breaths are fast and short as I watch him appear like a ghost from the shadows next to one of the trees. His black fatigues and black t-shirt blends perfectly with the darkness cast by the big trees around the house. The panic in my chest won’t let me talk and he moves quickly to stand on a step that puts him eye level with me.
He grabs my hands with his large ones and presses my palms together like prayer hands, his long fingers wrap around to cocoon mine in his. He starts tapping a regular rhythm on the back of my hand with one of his thumbs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Breathe with me.” He is just inches away from me. “Count the taps. One, two, three, pause. That’s right. Again.”
He takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a count of three and exhales through his mouth, the force of ittickling my chin. “Again.” He softly orders and I follow along with him, looking at his blue eyes that seem to shimmer with the moon.
We breathe together for a few moments while I count the taps on my hand and time slows down, my heart rate returns to normal, and the sounds of the tree frogs are back as the ringing in my ears fades away. I nod my head and whisper, “I’m good.”
His eyes roam over my face. “You sure?”
I nod again. “MmHm. How do you know about the tapping?”
His lip twitches up on one side. “I’ve seen you do it, so I looked it up.”
He looked it up? He went through the trouble of looking it up?
“What are you doing out here?” I look around the yard. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t let go of my hands. “I don’t sleep well, so sometimes I patrol the house at night.”
When I feel the heat from his body warming my front, I realize that all I have on is my sleep boxers and a t-shirt. No bra. My hair is also in a jumbled, tangled mess around my head. I know I should be self-conscious, but I don’t feel that way with Jax.
Curving my mouth into a smile, I jokingly say, “You afraid someone might steal me away in the night?”
His face is serious, and his eyes move between mine. “Yes.”
My heart skips a beat and I lift my eyes to look around my safe space, seeing it differently than I have every night of my life.
His hands squeeze mine and my eyes drop back to his. “I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t my intention to scare you. Because of some events from my past, and doing the job I do, Isometimes see danger in places where there is none.”
“What events from your past?” His hands are warm around mine, and I don’t want to pull them away.
A deep sigh lifts his chest and the exhale through his nose moves over my chin, his eyes are guarded and I realize I might have crossed a line. Lowering my eyes to his chest, I try to pull my hands away, but he holds them tight. The warm calluses on his palms press against my knuckles.
“It’s not easy to talk about, lepa.” He pauses a moment. “I watched my mama and my little sister die at the hands of bad men, it was part of the reason my family came to America.” His features have hardened and I feel bad for asking.
Pulling one of my hands from between his, I set my palm on his jaw. “I’m sorry, for your loss and for asking.”
The hard lines soften and his lips tip up ever so slightly. “It’s okay. I will always answer your questions.”
Something else occurs to me and my eyes get wide as I suck in a small breath. “You weren’t born here. Is Jax your birth name? It doesn’t sound very Serbian-y”
His smile goes to his eyes this time, and he shakes his head. “It’s not. Jackson Simmons was assigned to me when we fled Serbia.”
I smile. “Does it make me a shallow person to say that I didn’t know until just now that your last name is Simmons?” I tilt my head to the side. “What is your birth name?”
He hesitates for a second. “Branislov Sokolov. My family called me Brana.”
“Branislov. Brana.” I say them both, enjoying the feeling of his real name on my tongue. I move my hand from his jaw and set my palm on his chest. “I like it. Would it be okay if I call you Brana?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, my entire face burns crimson. “Oh, that’s probably too familiar. You said it was your family who called you that…”
