Eyes raking over the facade of Amity Court, he glowered at the smoking structure of the porch, the firefighters, the vehicles and then... Leah.
She took a few uneven steps back.
“What the hell happened? Are you OK?” His voice rasped, harsh and low. His eyes pinned her in place as he lurched forward, hands fisting at his sides, only to recoil suddenly at the smell of her. “Is that—? You’re covered in gasoline!”
His knuckles were white, his body rigid. Her stomach bottomed out. Dealing with Jackson was too much on top of everything else. Leah’s feet shuffled backward some more.
The reassuring solidity of Roman Martinez moved between them. “And you are?”
“Jackson Hale.” His gaze dragged away from her face like a magnet pulled from its opposite pole. “I own this house.” He barely glanced at the police chief, swinging back almost immediately, as if he didn’t trust her not to flee when he wasn’t looking. “Leah—”
“This sounds like a complicated situation, Mr. Hale. I’ll need some details from you so I’ve got it straight. The sooner I’m up to speed, the better.” There was understanding in Martinez’s voice. He turned to Leah and Hazel. “Why don’t you go and get yourselves cleaned up and settled for the night. The house is safe and smoke-free. You can come into the station first thing in the morning and fill in any gaps.” He gave them a brief smile which softened his face. “Just don’t leave the country.”
In a daze, Leah hugged Hazel goodnight, leaving her in the capable hands of Liam Morgan, who promised to escort the older lady home. She avoided looking at Jackson at all.
Never had the stairs seemed so numerous or so steep. On the verge of tears, Leah showered off the gasoline, dried herselfhaphazardly, and left the towel in a heap on the floor. Pulling an old, baggy t-shirt over her head, she slid into bed. The sheets enveloped her in a nest of cool comfort; her head hit the pillow and she crashed.
Barely an hour later, Leah was woken by desperate fingers on her face, lips in her hair. A wall of vibrating muscle pressed into her back, an arm clamped around her midriff like the lap bar of a rollercoaster. There was no time to startle.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Jackson’s voice grated against her ear. It was broken, rough.
She tried to twist in his arms but there was no give in his grasp. Heat blanketed her from head to toe.
“Are you OK? Tell me you’re not hurt.” He was patting her down with hands that trembled, as if he could tell in the dark by touch alone she wasn’t harmed. His palms skimmed her cheeks, her neck, her sides, her hips. “Talk to me, Leah.”
His breath sawed in and out, his chest heaving against her back. She caught his fingers and squeezed them.
“I’m fine. Everything’s OK.”
That pulled a groan from him. Jackson buried his nose deeper into her hair. “It’s not OK—I saw the fucking damage!”
Every inch of him twitched and jerked as if he was physically incapable of lying still.
“It’s just the porch and the steps.” The words wheezed from her lips, his grip around her so tight it was hard to drag in any air. “The fire didn’t reach the house. There’s no damage inside.”
“Fuck the house, Leah. Fuck the fucking house!”
He spun her in his arms and loomed above her. His eyes were feral, blazing like the blue flame of a Bunsen burner in the dark. There was an agonized twist to his mouth, raw torment written large across his face. Her stomach clutched. Her heart raced faster than it had at any point during the arson attempt. And Leah fell allover again. As she would always fall for him. Even when she knew she shouldn’t.
A tear escaped the corner of one eye and trickled into her hair. “Jackson.” His name barely a breath. “I’ve missed you.”
His groan was savage. He dived for her lips and she met him halfway. His hands were all over her body, recklessly roaming, seeking her skin. They pushed under her top, then dragged the material up and over her head in one frantic maneuver. There was no finesse, no teasing.
Matching his impatience, Leah pushed the waistband of his boxers off his hips and down his legs until they pooled at his ankles. Jackson kicked himself free.
“Fuck me, Jax,” she whispered. “It’s been too long. I need you inside me.”
His shoulders grew impossibly tight, his head thrown back on a hiss of air. “Leah...” He couldn’t get any more words out.
She invited him in, spreading her legs, hauling him closer. He covered her completely, clumsily. His weight, a heated cage of muscle and bone, held her in place. With one long, hungry thrust, he pushed deep. The bare slide of him forced a gasp from them both.
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed, her chin lifting.
Jackson moved and his growl mingled with her desperate exhale. Their mouths hovered an inch apart, lips bumping in snatched kisses as his hips drove her into the mattress with powerful strokes. She encouraged him, begged him. Wrapped her legs around him. Met him push for push. This was everything. The primal urge to be claimed and kept rose in Leah’s breast.
He was shaking now. His jaw clenched, his movements less coordinated. Leah ached for his completion as much as her own. His pleasure only lifted hers higher, inextricably linked. His thirstmatched hers. She fought off the orgasm for as long as she could, thrilling at the broken words Jackson bit out through his teeth.
“I’ve never . . . You are . . . I can’t. Fuck, Leah!”
