Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

“Don’t.” He lunges toward me, startling me, and I try to take another step back. But there’s nowhere to go. I’d parked the Mustang close to the hangar, and now we’ve reached the metal exterior.

He slams me back against it. The impact reverberates through my body and I’m thrumming with energy. With need. But this isn’t about sex—not yet. It’s about communication. About getting through to him. Because I am afraid—so terribly afraid—that I am losing the man who fought so hard to get me back.

We’ve walked through fire, he and I, and I can’t stand the thought that in the end it will be Robert Cabot Reed who destroys us.

I’m breathing hard, and so is he. His arms are around me, caging me in place. And just then I’m thinking that this moment could go anywhere and that maybe I’ve made a mistake, because Jackson has a temper and sometimes he really does need to beat the shit out of something, and right now I’m a little scared that something might end up being me.

I watch his face as he forces himself to breathe. As he grabs on to control like a lifeline. “Don’t push me, Syl. Not today. Not now.”

“Screw that, Jackson. We had a deal. You want to run off and fight? Want to kick the shit out of something? You don’t run to the ring, remember? You run to me.”

“Not today.” His jaw is tight, his voice equally so. He’s trying to hold it together, but I am determined to break it. To force the explosion. To make him break through and lash out and to finally—finally—work through all the shit that has been building up inside him.

“Why not, Jackson? Why not today?”

“Because, goddammit, I’m not running toward a fight. I’m running away from you.”

His words are like a knife, and they slice through me, cold and unexpected. My eyes sting, and I look away, blinking furiously, not wanting him to see that he has hurt me. Because Jackson Steele is the one person in all the world who would never, ever hurt me. He’s my warrior. My knight. My goddamn protector.

And that’s when the truth hits me, as hard as the slap I’d laid upon his cheek. I get it. That’s what this is about.

I turn my head so that I am looking at him, though he will not meet my eyes. I lift my hand and cup his cheek. A muscle twitches beneath my palm, and I feel the tightness of his jaw. He’s doing everything he can to hold it together even as I’m doing the only thing I can think of to make him let go.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I say gently. “I made you leave me once before because I was trying to protect myself. I’m not letting you leave now because you think you’re doing the same thing.”

“I’m the idiot?” His voice is low, with a dangerous edge. “You’re wrapped up with a man who has a child. A man who might be going to jail. A man who is the reason the project you care most about in the world is going to fall apart, because you’re going to lose your architect to a goddamn prison.”

“You’re wrong. You’re what I care about most in the world.”

He winces, just a little, and I continue on.

“You’re scared,” I say. “Do you think I don’t get that? Hell, Jackson, I’m fucking terrified. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. And I hate the universe for even threatening to take you from me. And I sure as hell couldn’t survive you leaving.”

He looks at me now, his blue eyes boring straight into mine, and I can see everything, right to the heart of him. Frustration. Rage. Need. And, dammit, I can’t just stand there and wait for him to make his choice.

I lunge.

The kiss is wild and hard. A sensual battle that I am determined to win. Teasing him with my tongue. Tormenting him with my teeth. At first his lips are hard, resistant. But then everything shifts and he’s claiming, demanding. And the knowledge of this small victory spreads through me, lighting my body with a wild desire that I am determined to see satisfied.

I slide my hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer because I want the kiss deeper. Harder. I want him wild. I want to break him. To push him past this thing that has been keeping us apart. This cold barrier that I couldn’t get through.

But I’m getting through now, and that knowledge is the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

He pulls away, and I almost scream in protest. But then I see his face. The heat and power and ferocious need. There’s danger, too, and I welcome it.

“Jackson,” I whisper. And this time, that is all it takes.

He thrusts me back roughly, slamming me against the corrugated metal. “Is this what you want?” he growls. “You want to be fucked? Used? Because you’re here and I need it?”