The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

I’m content for the first time in a very long while.

She rouses later as dusk sets in. The phone on my nightstand has vibrated several times. I glanced at the screen once or twice to read the onslaught of crude texts and pictures that the assholes think are going to get me out of bed and into Flannery’s. I’ll go if she wants, but I’d be fine lying here all night and for the rest of my leave.

“Should we go?” she asks sleepily, turning onto her back. She stretches her arms above her head, and the sheet drops down to reveal the tops of her breasts. I nudge the navy blue fabric down further to cup her fullness and tweak a quickly hardening nipple. “Again?” she asks, looking amused.

I dip my head and take the other nipple into my mouth so it doesn’t feel ignored. Having a mouth full of tit makes it hard to answer. I just nod.

“My spirit is willing, but my body has to use the bathroom.” She taps my shoulder and, when I don’t immediately release her, thumps me with a closed fist. Regretfully I release my prizes but am gratified to see her buds are tight and dark from my attentions. The sight of them makes me dive toward her, but she eludes me and scampers into the bathroom down the hall.

Tucking my hands behind my head, I wait impatiently for her return. She spends a long time in the bathroom, and then when the door opens, she doesn’t immediately return. The sounds from the living room indicate she is moving around. The remote is picked up and placed back down. The refrigerator door opens, and my empty stomach grumbles in response.

Her footsteps become louder as she approaches.

“Why is your place so soulless?”

I rise to my elbows. She’s wearing a T-shirt that she must have found in the bathroom. I probably discarded it this morning when I was dressing. Her bare legs stick out from underneath and it hides every curve, but I still love seeing her in it.

“Because you aren’t here.”

She snorts. “No really. You have no pictures up. The walls are white. The only decent pieces of furniture are your bed and your big television. I can’t imagine Aunt Grace didn’t want to decorate in here.”

Charlotte trails a hand along the barren wall as she moves around the room.

I squirm uncomfortably on the bed, recalling the fights I had with Mom about this place. “She’s never been here,” I confess.

“What?” Her head whips around.

“When my family comes they stay at a hotel. I go spend time with them. I fly back to Chicago. We stay at the North Shore house.” She continues to look confused. Throwing back the sheet, I push out of bed and in a stride pull her into my arms. “This isn’t my home, Charlotte. It’s just a place I sleep in between missions, training exercises, and when I’m not with my family.”

She shakes her head and laughs softly, although there’s no real humor in the sound. “God, Nate, you’re making me feel sorry for you.”

I try to lighten the mood. “You should feel sorry for me.” I bend down for her to kiss me. “So sorry that you’ll have to kiss me all over to make me feel better.”

She ducks away and avoids my mouth.

“Why did you punish yourself like this?” Her eyes spear mine, and I’m caught off guard.

I start to mouth an immediate denial but then shut up. I haven’t thought of it as punishment, but as she says the word, I can’t deny it. At least in part, I have refused to allow myself to be comfortable and happy. I have only existed. But in another sense, I couldn’t see myself having a future without Charlotte, so it didn’t make sense to do anything with the place where I feed myself and rest my body. Since leaving her, my life has always been off kilter. It was empty, so I put no effort into creating something that would just be a mockery of the real thing I could have but shunned.

“Well you can’t live like this,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.

I press her body into mine with a hard arm wrapped around her shoulders and a firm hand at the small of her back. “When can you move to San Diego? We’ll buy a new place together.”

She stiffens under my grip. “Move to San Diego? My business is in Dallas.” She steps away from my embrace, frowns and pushes her hair out of her face. “How long do you plan to be a SEAL?”

Her question catches me flat footed. I drop to the side of the bed. “I don’t know. I’ve never given it any thought.”

“My business is just starting up. This is my third year. It’s a crucial time for me. I’m expanding my territories, hiring new employees. I fly all over the U.S. I’ve even got athletes overseas interested in my services, along with major teams wanting to hire me to handle this transition work for them.” She thrusts her hand through her hair and begins to pace agitatedly.