Page 63 of Rogue
I stare at him. Yeah, when it comes to heavy foreplay, raging orgasms, fucking, Jaxson is a professional.
“Kylie.” He steps forward and takes my by the arms. “You want the truth? I’m married to the job. I signed up willingly and am contractually bound to execute his wishes. Whatever he demands. With no further thought to my own dreams, my house with the white picket fence. Hayden says report in, you do it. He says seduce a target’s mistress, that’s what you do. He says terminate some asshole, you kill the man without questioning why. That’s what you sign up for. That’s what happens when you work for TORC. Damn it, leaving us behind is the best thing for you.”
Jaxson runs his fingers across his jaw as I process his words.
“So what’s going on with you?” he prompts.
“I really don’t want to discuss it,” I murmur. I’m still processing what he’s told me.
“You can trust me.”
“I know.” And that’s the truth. He didn’t have to share what he just did with me. Or wait for me to show up at the compound to check in on me.
“And there’s nothing you can do to help my situation. Nothing, Jaxson. Hell, I’m not sure there’s much more I can do. Except I can’t give up. I’ll do just about anything—”
“For someone you love.”
Our eyes connect and hold. Butterflies flutter inside my stomach, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s about to clarify what this thing between us actually means to him. Instead he says, “Tell me what has a woman like you—who ran miles alongside trained men without a whimper, scaled walls, and crawled through rivers and fields with a smile on her face—in tears?”
“I cried going over that wall. You just didn’t see me.” I sigh. “You’re relentless, you know that?” I say, then swallow hard. “I have a younger sister, Madelyn. The sweetest human being to ever grace this earth. She deserves to be happy. To go off college and beat it out of Shelby. I worry about her, and . . .”
“You’ll do anything and everything to protect her.”
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “My mother has cancer. I found out yesterday we’ll be needing to switch her treatments. I’m scared shitless. There you have it.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say, “I’ll make it better” or “Everything will be okay.” He stays quiet, like he waiting for me to confide in him some more. In that instant, Jaxson proves he isn’t a man of shallow promises. There’s nothing anyone can do—except perhaps those tightfisted doctors at Johns Hopkins who are so damn picky about who receives their miracle drug.
“Come here,” he says, a softness in his tone that wasn’t there a second ago.
Is he going to hug me? I’m not sure what to think after his admission. Yeah, I want his arms around me. Find comfort in a hug, find release in whatever he’s offering. Knowing what he is doesn’t change this thing between us. He’s what I want. I step forward. “Yes?”
His fingers trail across my cheek. “You’ve got patches of dirt caked on your cheeks instead of a light dusting. Where you crying on the ride over here?”
I nod. No need to do otherwise. I can feel his concern. I see the pity within the blue depths of his eyes. And it sucks. A pity party isn’t why I’m here. Comfort. Companionship. Just being close to him, that’s why. My throat feels dry and I lick my lips—not that it helps. But in a way, it does. Because the movements caught his interest, and a sizzle of energy charges the air between us. Desire. Sweet blissful desire. He’s leaning back, perched on the dining-room table, and I shuffle closer to stand between his legs.
He straightens slightly, then says, “This is a bad idea.”
Bad idea? Jesus, I misread the situation. He doesn’t want me. Why would he? I’m covered in dirt, an emotional mess, and a survivor of Hayden’s reality check warning us to not get involved. And despite it all, what do I feel like doing? Kissing him.
“You okay?”
No. I’m hanging on an emotional thread right now. I should be home with my head buried beneath my pillow and with a stockpile of chocolate easily within reach. Take comfort and cope the best way I know how. He’s right. Climbing on the back of his bike, being here with him, right now . . . bad idea. “I’ll be fine. I appreciate you chasing after me and offering an ear.”
He’s watching me closely. In a short time, he’s gotten to know me so well. Except he doesn’t understanding this thing between us like I do. Women want him all the time. Sex is second nature to him. Mix more into the picture—it’s impossible for him to do it. Yet he tracked me down. Tackled me. Took me here.
“Kylie,” he says softly. “I want to help you. Not hurt you more.”
There’s this expression: “Go big or go home.” Right now, going big would destroy me. Digging deeper into our thing—an emotional overload. Sometimes a little slice of heaven is all you can bear.
He exhales. The sound echoes across the hardwood flooring until it fades into nothingness.
“Kylie,” he murmurs, his hands finding my hips. “I’m sorry—”
“Me too.”
“I can’t help myself. We didn’t get to say good-bye.”
He cocks his head, leans in, and, pulling me into him, kisses me.
