“Terrible,” she agreed, leaning in.
This time the kiss was slower. Deeper. No crowd. No celebration. Just the two of them, standing in the middle of her cluttered dining room, the rest of the world melting away.
She tasted like beer and spring air and longing.
He pulled her closer, his hands sliding to her waist, pressing her against the edge of the table. She gasped softly when her back hit the wood, and he swallowed the sound, kissing her again, then lower, along her jaw, down the slope of her neck.
“Wait,” she said, breathless, pulling back just enough to fumble at the table behind her. She shoved aside a ball of floral wire and a rogue glue gun. “Okay, sorry. Now I’m ready.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “You sure?”
She nodded, eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Very.”
Jackson slid his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her, settling her on the table. Books toppled to the floor, a tin of buttons clattered somewhere under the radiator, but he didn’t care. Zoe was already tugging her dress over her head.
Jackson swore under his breath as she revealed the scrap of pink lace fabric that she called a bra. She unclasped it, dropping it to the floor, leaving herself exposed to him in her matching pink panties.
He cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing over her nipples, and watched her shiver.
“You are…breathtaking,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, pulling her closer until her knees parted. He traced a finger along her hip.
“Still good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes.”
He pulled the fabric aside, letting his touch slip lower, and a deep groan escaped him as she instinctively pressed into him. Her body melted around his fingers. She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb pressed just right there.
Her legs curled around his waist. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she responded to him—it unraveled him completely.
Jackson kissed her again, tongues tangling, breath mingling, as her hands pulled at his shirt. He let her tug it over his head. The map crinkled under her hips, her hands gripping his arms.
He moved his fingers faster, feeling her tighten, her breath getting ragged.
“Jackson…” she gasped.
But then the bottom dropped out. The endorphins coursing through his veins kicked up another memory. Heat collided with the past to memories of dark nights, clenched fists, screams of terror.
He suddenly felt unsteady. His breathing grew ragged as he fought the onslaught of memories. He pulled his hand back.
“Wait, what’s wrong?” Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling. “Did I?—?”
“No.” He shook his head hard. “No, it’s not you. It’s not that.”
Her eyes were wide now, confused and flushed and a little vulnerable.
And God, she was beautiful.
“Zoe,” he said, voice breaking, “I need you to know…I feel it too. What’s between us. It’s not fake, it’s not just in your head. I want you—I want this—so much it scares me.”
She blinked, not moving.
“But I’m not ready,” he went on. “I want to be. But I’ve got…I’ve got things I haven’t dealt with yet. I’m still figuring out how to live with what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen. And I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be someone who can give you what you deserve.”
“You don’t have to be perfect?—”
“I’m not talking about perfect.” He stepped back again, like space would keep her safe. “I’m talking about functional. I’m not okay right now.”
She opened her mouth, but he kept going.
