He invaded her mouth, stroking tongue against tongue. He clutched her with possessive fingers; she bit his lip and pulled at his hair. A muffled groan escaped his chest from the sheer thrill of her touch. He’d been numb for the past few weeks. Feeling anything, let alone this cyclone of sensation, was such a fucking novelty. Everything was brighter, everything bolder. The summer night’s vibrant blanket of blues and purples drowned out the rumble of traffic from the nearby street. Even stars glittered in the periphery of his vision. Leah had a way of turning the dial up on the everyday.
They only broke apart to snatch a breath here and there. But the feverish rush gradually eased until their kisses were steadier, deeper. Jackson could feel the clock ticking down to when he would have to release her and he couldn’t bear it. Didn’t know if he was strong enough to do it again.
Leah drew back a fraction to look into his eyes, her nose almost touching his own. Their breath mingled, still coming fast and heavy. She searched his face, looking for something. When she pushed back against his chest, he knew she hadn’t found it. Jackson loosened his grip and placed her carefully on her tiptoes. It cost him half of his soul to take a step away from her. A semi rattled by, their surroundings coming sharply back into focus.
“Why, Jax?”
Such a simple question. So complicated to answer. He struggled for the words and, as always, fucked it up.
Because I need to keep you safe.
Because you want Matt.
Because I’m not smart enough for you.
I don’t know why.
“Because I’m a Hale.”
All these feelings. They stuck in his throat like too many people in one wing of a revolving door.
Leah’s face closed in. “I see. And that makes you so much better than me—the ex-foster kid who can’t find her place in the world. Well, screw you, Jax.”
He opened his mouth to protest but she was already turning away. There was so much dignity in the rigid line of her backbone it almost killed him. And she was wrong in every single way. Jackson wanted to shout that her place was with him. Instead, he clamped his jaw shut and dragged a shaky hand through his hair. He watched her disappear through the doorway, back into the bar. The stars dulled, veiled by smoky whispers of darkness, and three tepid raindrops fell on his shirt.
He only crossed paths with Leah once the following day. She must have spent most of the morning in her room and the majority of the afternoon at the carriage house with Hazel because Amity Court remained devoid of life for hour after long drawn-out hour.
Jackson trawled the house, immersing himself in any small snagging task he could find and trying to turn a blind eye to the larger jobs he was itching to start on. There was no point in tacklingany further renovations. The new owners would want to put their own stamp on the place. He hated how that made him feel.
His condo sold inside of forty-eight hours, without even going on the market. The local realtor assured him the sale would be a quick one; he hoped it would be quick enough. They could only hold Landon Peake off for so long without a big cash injection from somewhere. He’d made plans to trade in his car in, to cover the repairs to the crane, but none of it mattered against the weight of the outstanding loan. Surprisingly, he felt less attachment to his condo or the Aston than he did to his grandmother’s house.
His father was still dragging his heels over selling anything and constantly pushing for updates on the sale of Amity Court. This situation had brought them no closer together. Jackson, hollowed out with worry, buckled under the pressure of trying to firefight a blaze he hadn’t started. He was one more snide comment away from going to the police despite his dad’s vehemence, but they had nothing in writing. Jackson had no way of knowing if Landon Peake’s “people in Detroit” would come after them even if they managed to get him locked up. Peake had played the game perfectly; he had them over a barrel.
If Jackson hadn’t been so immersed in his thoughts as he climbed the stairs with a pathetic-looking grilled cheese at the end of the day, he’d have heard Leah before he saw her. Fresh out of the shower, she was towel-drying her hair as she descended, or maybe she would have heard him, too. They met at the bend of the staircase, one step away from crashing into each other. Jackson drew in a sharp breath, which was all grapefruit bodywash and cleanliness. Leah muffled a squeak.
Their apologies meshed together—his robotic, emotionless, and hers carefully bland. He willed her to look up but she didn’t lift her eyes from the second button down on his polo shirt. There was an awkward dance as they tried to edge by each other. In theend, he stood against the wall and let Leah pass him. It took all his restraint not to close his fingers around her damp curls as they brushed his chest.
Inside his room, Jackson ate the sandwich as quickly as his raw throat would let him, threw some clothes haphazardly into a bag, and left the house. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed to put some distance between them. He’d sleep in the office. Another silent night under the same roof as Leah would ruin him.
Chapter 46
Leah
If she’d been able to sleep the night before the silent auction, Leah wouldn’t have been in the kitchen at two o’clock in the morning, making a drink. And if she’d been in her room, she would never have seen the car, cruising silently down the driveway with its headlamps switched off. Whoever was approaching the house did not mean to be noticed. They pulled up just far enough away that the new security lights weren’t triggered by the movement. Amity Court remained in darkness.
Leah was alone in the house. Jackson hadn’t returned in the days leading up to the fundraiser; she’d heard nothing from him at all as the days passed. Her phone was in her room, two flights up. She froze in the stillness and waited.
The car doors opened and two men emerged—one bulky, one slight. Both wore baseball caps, black pants, and black sweatshirts. Even in the dark, The Tank was instantly recognizable. Leah held herself rigid by the kitchen window, peering out through the glass, her heartbeat racing harder and faster inside her chest. Her hands turned clammy. With just enough soft moonlight to see by when she padded downstairs, she hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. No one outside could see in.
She bit down on her lip. Would the security cameras be able to pick up these nighttime visitors in the dark? She’d never asked Jackson how they worked. She should have questioned him more.
The men popped the trunk, hefting two flat-sided containers out onto the gravel with a hushed crunch. Leah’s blood ran cold. The objects looked like luggage but she was pretty sure these guys weren’t planning a weekend break.
With a whimper, she turned and ran for the stairs, familiarity rather than vision guiding her way. Bare feet scudding over the carpet, she grabbed the newel post at the top of the first flight and spun around it, catapulting herself toward the second set of stairs. She fought to get enough air into her lungs as her legs pumped and she raced to her room. Bursting through the doorway, Leah threw herself onto the floor by her bed, fumbling desperately in the dark. Her fingers closed on her cell, halfway under the nightstand, and she tugged it free from the charging cable. Dialing as she galloped back down the stairs, Leah willed the call to connect.
“911, what is your emer—”
She missed her footing on the edge of a step, four up from the bottom, and tumbled. Her knee twisted, the momentum carrying her forward. Leah threw out both hands, sprawling in a heap on the floor, biting her tongue, jarring elbows and hips. The shock of the impact wrenched a low wail of pain from her throat. Blood oozed warm in her mouth as the phone hit the tiles with a service-ending clatter of broken pieces—her lifeline destroyed.
