The boards creaked again a few minutes later. Jackson.
I didn’t look at him. “If you came out here to defend what happened tonight, don’t bother. I’m still pissed.”
“I know.” His voice was rough, ragged, the temper gone but the strain still in it. “I know, Holly. I just—fuck.” He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t. But you drive me out of my mind.”
“Not my problem,” I shot back, arms folded tight.
He turned, eyes fierce. “No, it is. It is, because I can’t fucking breathe when I think about losing you, and I’m not even yours. You laugh with Dalton, and it’s like I’m already—” He cut himself off, shaking his head hard. “Christ, I sound insane.”
“You do,” I said. But the way his voice cracked, the way he couldn’t stop pacing, it knocked something loose in me.
He kept going, words tumbling. “I’m not making excuses. I’m just—fuck, Holly, I can’t think straight around you. I’ve been in fights that should’ve killed me, and none of it scares me half as much as you do.”
It threw me. The honesty. The rawness. Jackson Morgan, the one who swaggered and smirked like the world couldn’t touch him, rambling like a fool over me.
So I kissed him.
Quick. Just a press of my mouth to his, stealing the words right out of him.
He went rigid. Frozen.
Panic snapped through me, and I spun, ready to bolt. Like I always did. But this time, his hand was faster, snapping around my waist and yanking me back like I was already his.
This kiss wasn’t quick. It was searing. Hungry. His mouth claimed mine, his hands anchoring me like he was terrified I’d vanish. My fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer, closer, until the world blurred out. I forgot how to breathe. Forgot everything but him. Against my better judgement, my hand found its way to the back of his head. I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling on him like it was possible for us to get any closer. He groaned, his grip on my hips tightening as hedeepened the kiss. When his tongue pressed against my lips, I didn’t hesitate before opening to him and the moan that came from me was a foreign sound.
When we finally broke apart, I was gasping, forehead pressed against his chest. I closed my eyes, my brain working overtime to memorize the taste and smell of him. Heat and smoke, pine and musk. His heart slammed against my skin, wild and uneven, matching mine.
I glanced up, dizzy and dazed, and caught sight of movement in the window.
Two silhouettes ducked back like guilty teenagers caught peeping. Pearls and apron.
My jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”
Jackson followed my gaze, and when he realized what I’d seen, his shoulders started to shake. A laugh broke out of him, low and unsteady.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, pressing my hands to my face. “My mother and Hannah Mills. Peeping Toms.”
Jackson grinned, brushing his thumb across my cheek like he couldn’t stop touching me. “Guess we put on a good show.”
I groaned into my palms. But when he leaned down, lips brushing mine again, I didn’t stop him. Instead I tucked my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and let the feel of him anchor me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
? Jackson ?
I didn’t see it coming. One second she was fire and fury, telling me she didn’t belong to me, and the next she was kissing me like I was the only man alive.
It wrecked me. Because Holly McCarthy wasn’t mine—not really—but the taste of her said otherwise. And I knew if I screwed this up again, she’d walk, and I wouldn’t get a second chance.
So, I stopped talking and started showing. No big announcements, no declarations in the middle of the clubhouse. Just…staying close. A palm at the small of her back when she squeezed past me at the bar. Fingers brushing hers when I passed the drink she wanted before she even reached for it. My knuckles grazing her thigh when I sat beside her, the room loud enough to hide the way her breath stuttered.
I quit pretending I wasn’t looking. She’d catch me sometimes, eyes snapping up like she could feel it burning. I never looked away. Just held it, slow and lazy, like we were in on some joke no one else knew.
Couple of idiots tried their luck when my back was turned.
Probies, mostly. Too-wide grins, lines so bad even Hallmark would’ve told them to quit. They didn’t get far. Holly didn’t do “polite.” She cut them down where they stood, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. One poor bastard tried to call her “sweetheart,” and she filleted him so clean the whole roomwinced. I swear I saw the guy shrink two inches before he slunk off.
She didn’t need my help. Hell, half the time I wanted to sit back with popcorn and watch the massacre.
