“Why didn’t you go to college?”
Running the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, Lydia reached out to trace the swell of his bicep. “On my eighteenth birthday I got a letter from my mom. She’d written it for me before she died, and he’d kept it for all that time.”
“What did it say?” Jackson asked, his voice thick with curiosity.
“She told me not to conform to what people wanted from me. That I was a free spirit and should follow my heart.” Her lips curled at the memory. “And I realized that I’d never make my dad happy, but maybe my choices would have pleased my mom. So I booked a ticket to Paris the next day, using some of the money she’d left me in a trust. Dad was apoplectic.”
“But you went anyway?”
“Yeah. And that was the start of a beautiful love story. Me and traveling,” she said, her eyes dancing. “The perfect relationship.”
“But your dad doesn’t see it that way?”
“He thinks I’m flaky. For a while he blamed me for Autumn buying the pier and moving here. Thought I was a bad influence. But that was all her, nothing to do with me at all.” She pressed her lips to Jackson’s warm shoulder. “Though I still admire her for it.”
“So now neither of you make your dad happy?”
“I think he’s come to terms with Autumn’s choices. She’s still a business owner, and now she has a family. It might not be in New York, but at least she’s still following a straight path. Mine zig zags everywhere.”
“You own your own business, too.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”
“And you’re good at it. Look at how in demand your services are. You’re successful and doing exactly what you want. You’re living the dream.”
Her smile wavered. “Am I?” she asked. She wanted to tell him that’s what she’d thought. What she was still trying to believe in. But lying here in his arms, she was wondering if she was missing something, too.
Missing somebody to share it all with. Yeah, she had friends all over the world. She loved spending time with them. But when she went home, she went alone.
And maybe that wasn’t what she wanted for the rest of her life.
“Yeah,” he said, his expression serious. “You are. And you know something else?”
“What?” she breathed.
“You impress me. Every part of me.” He kissed her with hot lips, his mouth demanding. Curling into him, she felt him harden against her hip.
“I thought we needed to sleep,” she murmured, as he kissed his way down her throat. “We aren’t supposed to yawn tomorrow, remember?”
He cupped her breasts. “You look beautiful when you yawn.”
She chuckled, and kissed him again, all thoughts of tomorrow forgotten.
They had tonight. And right now, that was all she cared about.
17
It was just before six in the morning. Any minute now, Eddie would be scratching at the kitchen door, ready for his morning bathroom run out in the yard followed by a bowlful of kibble and raw chicken. But for now, the house was silent, save for Lydia’s soft rhythmic breath as she lay in the bed next to him, her naked body curled up beneath his crisp white sheets.
Griff had been uncharacteristically silent when Jackson had picked Lydia up to stay for a second night. Jackson had expected a few sarcastic grunts, at least, but there’d been nothing. Instead he’d walked into the kitchen, grabbed himself a beer, and gone out to sit on the deck.
There was something wrong with him. It wasn’t just the grumpiness that had manifested itself when Griff discovered Jackson and Lydia were a thing. That was understandable. Lydia was Autumn’s little sister, and Griff cared about her a lot. She was a strange combination of completely independent and sweetly vulnerable. Jackson felt the same way about her – he wanted to protect her, but he also knew you couldn’t keep something so untamed safe for long.
He glanced at the clock again. Only two minutes had passed since the last time. He wished he could curl up next to her, pull her into his arms, and hold her tight. But once Eddie was awake he’d need a walk. And then Lisa was picking him up for the day, because it was Skyler’s naming day, and they were due at the pier at twelve for the ceremony.
Lydia murmured in her sleep, turning onto her side so he could see the rippled line of her spine. He’d kissed his way down it last night, until he’d ended up at her butterfly tattoo. In fact, he’d devoured every inch he could find of her, determined to memorize every rise and dip, loving the way his touch sent her crazy.
Soon she’d be gone. He blew out a mouthful of air at the thought. It was for the best, really. He was shit at relationships, and Lydia was serious about her job. There was no point in trying to think about the future.