Page 34 of Shield
The question hung in the air, fraught with implications and possibilities. I looked at him,reallylooked, seeing not simply the detective or the casual acquaintance from the rink, but the man who’d walked into my kitchen and somehow, unexpectedly, into my heart.
“Yes,” I said, the word a testament to everything I felt, everything I hoped for. “I want more with you.”
Jackson’s smile was like a promise, one I felt down to my bones. We kissed briefly, and it was enough to seal the deal.
He didn’t stay—I was alone with my girls, and I needed space.
I think he needed space.
Only, he had a hard time leaving—or I had a hard time letting him go. I found myself pinned against the cool wall, the texture of the paint barely registering against my back as Jackson’s body pressed close to mine. His hands were firm on my waist, drawing me in, eliminating any space that remained between us. The urgency of this goodbye kiss caught me off guard and it was as if the world outside this bubble we’d created had ceased to exist.
Jackson’s mouth moved against mine and the kiss deepened, but slowed, and I found myself responding with equal passion, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as if I could somehow merge us into one. His scent enveloped me, a mix of the crispness from the outside air and something uniquely him, intoxicating and grounding all at once.
Time seemed to warp, moments stretching out as I sunk into the kisses.
We finally parted, foreheads resting together as we caught our breath. His beautiful green eyes, when they met mine, were a storm of emotions, and he pressed himself against me, our cocks hard.
“What you do to me,” he whispered, then brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Oliver,” he whispered, my name on his lips sounding like a vow. He moved a little. I leaned back, and all too soon, we were kissing and grinding slow and steady against each other. I laced my hands behind his neck and held him there, the kisses becoming nothing more than exchanging tender words in the darkness of the hallway.
“Fuck,” I muttered, closing my eyes, so closejustfrom this.
“Open your eyes, Oliver,” he ordered in the softest tone, and I opened them as he captured one last kiss. And then, we were coming where we stood, arching into each other, losing our heads completely.
We stood for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, but then it was time for him to leave, and I had to let him go.
“Eww,” I joked.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. “At least you don’t have to drive home in it,” he deadpanned.
One more kiss.
Then another.
And finally, he left.
ChapterFourteen
Jackson
That night,for the first time in weeks—hell, maybe months—I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. No weird dreams from the nicotine patches, no rolling around like a rotisserie chicken while slapping the shit out of my pillow, no getting up to sit on my bare patio with a dead plant and a bottle of Wild Turkey. I slept like a baby.
For three hours.
The buzzing of an incoming call crept into my rest bit by bit. I came to consciousness slowly, moaning as I woke, my face buried in the pillow.
“Why, Lord?” I mumbled as I peeled one eye open to find my alarm clock. Ten minutes after three. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I rolled from the bed, eyes bleary, nothing to cover my naked ass, and began the search for my phone. I found it in the bathroom in the medicine cabinet. Why there? Not a fucking clue. I grabbed it, slammed the cabinet door shut, then grimaced at my reflection. Shit, I looked like hell warmed over and topped with crap. A crap pancake. What the hell did Oliver see in this exhausted mug?
The phone continued buzzing like a demented bee. I tapped the green button and placed it to my ear. My hair was a mess, my face pale, and my eyes were like two piss holes in the snow.
“Unless someone is dead…” I growled to my partner.
“As a matter of fact,” Mack replied around a yawn. Some of the lethargy left me. A tiny bit. “Some coked-up stripper just found our clinic gunman stuffed behind a dumpster behind the Pickle Palace.”
“Did you say Pickle Palace?”
“What? No, what? Pickle Palace? Were you out drinking tonight? I said Purple Palace. It’s that ratty strip club over on?—”
