Page 73 of Worth the Wait

"Really, it's fine," I insist, quickening my step toward his building entrance.

He catches my arm gently, turning me to face him. "You've been off since you arrived at the bar. And don't say it's nothing—I know you too well."

"It's stupid," I mutter, heat rising to my cheeks.

"Try me."

"It's fine, Jackson," I repeat, embarrassment making my tone sharper than intended.

His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel transparent. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softens into something like realization.

"I don't want it to be fine," he says quietly, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "I want it to bother you that other women were talking to me."

The words hit. I stare up at him, caught between indignation and the raw truth of his observation.

"Fine!" I burst out. "Yes, it bothered me! Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes, I hated seeing her touch you, hated how she looked at you, hated imagining what she was thinking. Happy now?"

Instead of the triumph I expect, his expression melts into something tender. "Ecstatic," he murmurs, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're jealous."

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," I grumble.

He steps closer, his fingers tracing the edge of my jaw in a touch so light it makes me shiver. "I like you jealous. It's incredibly sexy."

"Shut up," I mutter, though heat pools low in my belly at his words.

"For the record," he says, "those women literally just stopped. One of them dropped their debit card and Scott picked it up to hand back to them."

"I don't care," I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "I didn't like it."

"Good." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the simple touch sending electricity racing through my veins. "Because I'm yours, Tarryn. Only yours. Always have been."

The possessive claim breaks something open inside me. I grab his tie, pulling him down until our lips meet in a kiss that obliterates any remaining pretense of indifference. His arms wrap around me instantly, crushing me against the solid wall of his chest as his mouth devours mine with equal hunger.

"And you're mine," I gasp when we break apart, both breathing hard. "No one else's."

"Let's go upstairs," he growls, taking my hand and pulling me toward the entrance to his building.

The elevator ride is exquisite torture. Jackson backs me against the wall the moment the doors close, his body pressing into mine with delicious weight. His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin as his hands slide beneath my blazer to trace the curve of my waist.

"I can feel your heart racing," he murmurs against my throat, one hand splaying across my ribs just beneath my breast.

"Your fault," I breathe, head falling back against the wall as heat spirals outward from every point of contact between us.

The elevator chimes, doors sliding open to reveal his floor. We stumble out, still tangled together, barely breaking apart long enough for Jackson to unlock his apartment door. The moment it closes behind us, we collide again.

Clothing falls to the floor in a desperate trail leading to his bedroom. His hands are everywhere at once, leaving trails of fire across my skin, claiming every inch as his own.

The last coherent thought I have before surrendering completely to sensation is that no man will ever make my body tremble the way Jackson Hayes can with just a single touch.

Chapter 18

Jackson

The early morning light filters through half-drawn blinds, painting golden stripes across Tarryn's bare back as she sleeps beside me. I've been awake for nearly an hour, content to simply watch her—this rare, unguarded version of the woman who has reclaimed territory in my heart with terrifying efficiency.

Her chestnut hair fans across my pillow in wild disarray. One arm is tucked beneath her cheek, the other draped possessively across my chest even in sleep. The sheet has slipped to her waist, revealing the elegant curve of her spine, the soft swell of her breast pressed against my side, the constellation of freckles across her shoulder that I rediscovered last night with reverent attention.

In sleep, all her careful defenses have dissolved. Last night changed us. Her jealousy, so raw and unexpected, tore through the last of our pretenses. The memory of her eyes flashing with possessiveness, her body responding to mine with uninhibited hunger, the way she claimed me as fiercely as I claimed her—it all replays in my mind, sending renewed heat through my veins despite our exhaustive night.

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