Chasing The Sun (Angel Sands 7)

sp; “No, he really doesn’t.” Jackson shook his head. “A litter of baby Eddies is the last thing we need.”

She laughed. “Well, I guess he’ll have to sulk for a minute.”

“A minute?” Jackson frowned. “What do you take me for?”

She smiled coyly. “I was just checking.” And flirting. Damn, was she good at it. He’d never been one for banter before. Or for spending hours talking to a woman. But with her, it felt so natural.

He liked it almost as much as he liked touching her.

He walked over to where she was standing, until there was just a breath of air between them. She looked up, her green eyes dark, her lips parted.

He was already hard. From the closeness of her and the memory of her on the cliff, when she’d rode his fingers as he’d brought her to climax. “I should take your jacket,” he said. She nodded and he reached for the denim, lifting it from her shoulders. Her silky hair brushed against his hands as he took it from her, hanging it from the hook on the other side of the wall.

“Come here,” he said, his voice thick. She stepped away from the wall, her wide eyes still on his. Curling his palm around her neck, he caressed her skin with his fingers, making her swallow hard.

“Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t done this in a while.” She looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Just so you know.”

His expression turned serious. “Neither have I.”

“You haven’t?” Her voice rose up. “I thought you were Jackson, the ladies’ man. The player.”

His heart was hammering. He didn’t want her to see him that way. “I’m mostly Jackson, the overworked company owner nowadays,” he told her, threading his fingers into her hair. He massaged her scalp, and she let out a sigh.

“That sounds stressful,” she murmured, as he slid his hand down to the small of her back, gathering her into his arms.

“It is.” He lowered his face to hers. “So stressful…”

She was watching him intently. “You must need some relief.”

Reaching up, she cupped his jaw, her fingers splayed out across his cheek. His hands explored the hollows of her back, wanting to commit every dip and curve to memory. She pressed her body against his, making him ache and pulse against her.

“I’m not a player,” he said again. For some reason it was important for her to know that. To know him, the real him. Not the shield he put on for other people.

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering as he pressed his lips to hers, reclaiming her mouth as he crushed her to him.

She let out a gasp as he slid his hands over the smooth curve of her behind, hitching her into his arms, her legs wrapping around him. She curled her hands around his neck, her mouth warm, demanding, her fingers caressing his skin in teasing circles.

Need for her coursed through his veins, making him rock her against his body as they plundered each other’s mouths. She slid her hands down to his shoulders, her fingers dancing against his corded muscles. “This needs to come off,” she said against his lips. “Right now.”

Putting her down, he lifted the t-shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor. She made no attempt to hide the fact she was ogling him, her breath hitching as she took in his chest, his abdomen, and the thick v of his hips as they disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

“Upstairs?” he asked her.

“Yeah.” She breathed. “Upstairs.”

By the time they reached the bedroom, they were in a state of disarray. Jackson had slid Lydia’s dress from her shoulders when they’d started kissing on the stairs, unable to make it up three risers without touching each other again. The rapid thump of her pulse echoed in her ears as his mouth hungrily took hers. She slid her hands down the planes of his chest and the taut skin of his abdomen, before unbuckling his belt.

He closed his bedroom door and leaned against it as his eyes raked over her body. There was a hot ache inside her, coiling and dancing deep down, as she shucked her dress off and stepped out of it. She loved the way he was looking at her. As though she was everything he never knew he wanted.

“Turn around. Show me your other tattoo.”

She’d forgotten about teasing him. With a lazy grin, she turned around, pulling her panties down enough so he could see the butterfly on her behind. Its wings were unfurling, as though it had just escaped from the chrysalis.

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes caught his. They were dark. Needy.