Savor the Danger (13 page)

“I was just… I forgot to bring a robe with me into the bathroom, so I didn't…”

Little by little, he pried her fingers loose. He imagined those soft, graceful fingers circling around his cock, holding him tight, and his stomach took a free fall while his muscles contracted.

Locking down his iron control, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Let's lose the towel, okay?” He put her hand on his upper arm and, going slow, unwrapped the towel, holding it out at her sides, drinking in the sight of her nudity. “Damn, woman, you make me salivate.”

She swayed toward him, but he stepped back, keeping enough space between them that he could look his fill.
“Not yet.” She wanted to protect her heart against him, she wanted “no strings.” Fine. He'd manage it. Somehow.

But it wouldn't be easy when he had the overwhelming urge to gather her close and promise insane things, when he wanted so much in return. Lust surged through his veins, but it wasn't at the forefront of what he felt.

Instead a mishmash of sensations threatened to lay him low.

She shivered, so he asked, “You cold?”

Face downcast, she shook her head.

“Your nipples are tight.” He wanted to feel them against his chest; he wanted them in his mouth so he could draw on her, tugging and sucking… He dropped the towel and put both hands on her breasts, closing his eyes a moment as he absorbed the silken feel of her, her shuddering response and his own.

He thumbed both puckered nipples, lightly pressed them between finger and thumb, gently pulled—and heard her gasp. Holding her like that, with her nipples caught, he murmured, “Still sore?”

Again she shook her head and, if anything, turned her face farther away.

He forced his attention up from her breasts to her averted face. “Alani?”

Her fingertips bit into his biceps. She said nothing.

Jackson cuddled her breasts one last time and released them. That caused her to gasp, too, and again she swayed.

The easy way she fired up could burn him alive.

Using the edge of his fist, he raised her face so she had no choice but to look at him, to let him see her thoughts and her reservations.

Her eyes were velvety soft, heavy. “I need to know, honey. Is it bad memories, or are you just feeling shy?”

“No bad memories. It's just that I'm not…” Her tongue slipped over her upper lip and she took several breaths. “I'm not used to being naked in front of anyone.”

“So shy, but not uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Good.” He smiled with determination. “You'll get used to me looking at you, because you're going to be naked in front of me a lot.” And because he felt bitter over her stipulation that they keep things impersonal, he added, “It's part of experimenting.”

She looked distressed for only a heartbeat.

“I'll push you.” Hell, he pushed himself with this insane sensual torture. “But I'll make certain that you love every second of it, and that's a promise I can keep.”

Nodding in acceptance of that, she pressed in close to him, her arms going around his bare back, those stiffened nipples teasing him. Knowing she couldn't see him or his over-the-top reaction to holding her like this, Jackson closed his eyes and folded his arms protectively around her.

Possessiveness rode him hard. He couldn't see the future, he didn't know how she'd deal with Arizona once he got around to telling her, but for now, for this moment, she was his and his alone.

“If at any point you get uncertain about things, I want you to tell me.” After what she'd been through, after living a nightmare, bad feelings and memories were bound to surface, triggered by God knew what. “This is for pleasure.
Your
pleasure, Alani. Understand?”

“Yes.” She kissed his chest. “But you're so different from those men, when I'm with you I don't even think of them.”

Jesus. He dropped his hands to her ass, stroked her,
lifted her to tiptoes while pressing his face to the top of her head.

Sure, he wanted to fuck her. He wasn't dead.

But he wanted to cherish her, too, to make love to her fast and hard. Slow and sweet. He wanted things raunchy, and he wanted things special.

Because she was special.

Separating the carnal from the emotional wasn't easy, but she'd laid the ground rules, so he pressed her back and forced a smile. “Wait for me in the bed.”

She looked at his chest, lower to his abdomen. Her breathing quickened, and she nodded.

Thinking of her there, between the sheets, naked and anxious, would be more incentive than he needed to rush through the shower. “Be right back.” He left before he changed his mind and didn't go at all. She needed to talk, and he needed to get a handle on things.

That meant getting a handle on himself, first and foremost.

No matter what it took, he would make this good for her.

H
UDDLED UNDER THE QUILT,
her back propped against a pillow on the headboard, Alani felt her anticipation expand with every second that passed. How Jackson had bared her, looked at her and touched her, both detached and hungry, left her thoughts and her feelings in turmoil.

Last night, everything had unfolded naturally, stemming from his claims of wanting her, needing her. Today, he was so different, like another man.

But he was still undeniably sexy.

Unable to help herself, she listened to every sound he made. She was so familiar with her house, with living alone, that she could track his every movement by sound alone.

Water running, water shutting off, the silence while he toweled dry, the opening of the bathroom door, footsteps in the hall leading to her bedroom…

Her heart threatened to explode with urgency, need, uncertainty.

That he was so different heightened everything; it'd almost be like making love for the first time.

How would it be, now that Jackson was back to normal? Last night, he'd been overflowing with words of love, caring, commitment.

Today, he'd accepted her offer to keep things noncommittal.

Her thoughts scattered when he stepped through the doorway. Naked. Already erect.

She couldn't swallow, could barely breathe. She refused to look away.

He had the most amazing body she'd ever seen, with the attitude and capability to go along with it.

“Relax, babe.” He strode to the nightstand, a man uncaring of his nudity, without a shred of modesty—not that he needed it.

She suffered insecurities. But with good reason, he did not.

“All things considered,” she whispered, “relaxing isn't easy.”

His mouth quirked. He put the black Beretta on the nightstand with that awesomely lethal-looking knife, his belt and the holster. “You wanted to talk, right? So we'll talk.”

What in the world had she been thinking?
She looked him over, wondering if she could wait, if she could prioritize the way she knew she should.

He planted his big feet apart. “You want me to stand here a little longer? I don't mind you looking, you know. Hell, I like it.”

Did she want him to? She could spend all day soaking up the sight of him, but just looking wouldn't be enough.

“Before you make up your mind, you should know that your wide-eyed, fascinated gaze makes me edgy, so the longer we do this, the shorter our conversation is going to be.”

She still said nothing. How could he blather on with so much nonsense when she could barely blink?

“Cat got your tongue? I guess I better take control of things, huh?” He lifted the quilt and slid into the
bed beside her, facing her propped on a forearm. “First thing we need to do…” He tugged the quilt from her fisted hands and drew it down below her breasts. “That's better.”

For what felt like the longest time, he studied her, his gaze burning, his jaw twitching.

She didn't know where to put her hands, what to do, what to say. Last night, he'd swept her away with romance.

Today, he scorched her with his raw sexual hunger.

It was a toss-up which she liked more.

“First question, woman.” Body relaxed, voice more so, Jackson said, “I'm doing my best, but this isn't easy on me. So make it quick before my control snaps and I jump on you.”

Her gaze skittered over to the weapons and back again. Mouth dry, stomach taut, she gathered herself. “The way you handled things with Marc, how easy it was for you to level him…”

“That was nothing. He's a sissy.”

Yeah, right. Maybe to Jackson, but to the average man, Marc was fit, capable and arrogant enough to give pause. His wealth made him powerful, yet Jackson had treated him like nothing more than a playground bully. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

“What do you need to know?”

Odd, that he'd put it that way: what she
needed
to know, versus what she
wanted
to know. Was that how he saw it? Did he see her questions as a requirement he had to fulfill? Would he tell her only enough to appease her curiosity?

He was as private as her brother and Dare, and God knew, those two sidestepped even the most mundane queries. “I don't mean to push—”

“'S okay.” His legs shifted, and one hairy thigh slid over her knee, pinning her leg. “I have some questions for you, too.”

He did? Well then… “I want to know all about your background. Your life.” With him staring so intently at her breasts, her nipples ached. “I want to know what influences in life made you the type of person who can do what you do.”

“Meaning?”

“You face off with danger as if it's a joke. In a group of Alphas, you'd take charge and no one would question it. You can be deadly, but you're so laid-back that many people might be deceived.”

He shrugged, and with the quilt only to his waist, she got an up close view of how any movement at all sent muscles flexing over his shoulders and chest.

“I've been on my own a long time, that's all. I either had to take charge or get left behind.” His hand settled on her midriff, below her breasts, over the quilt, but still
there,
sending her nerve endings into overdrive. “I'm not the type who likes to follow others.”

Because most weren't as capable as him. But he worked fine with Dare and Trace, and he had their respect. “I want to know what carved that personality. You said you don't have any brothers or sisters, right? But what about your parents? Are they supportive? Do they approve of what you do? Do you see them often?”

He went still, so still that he didn't even seem to be breathing.

“Jackson?”

“That was a shit-ton of questions.”

She frowned. “So pick a few to answer.”

As if it didn't matter, he shrugged again. “No siblings, thank God. I had a drunk for a dad, and Mom split when I
was a teenager, so it's better that there weren't other kids caught in their web.”

Sympathy squeezed her heart. He said that so dispassionately, but he couldn't possibly be that removed. “What do you mean, she split?”

“She had a boyfriend, several boyfriends, in fact. She hated how Dad drank, and she hated being saddled with me. So she took off.” He lowered the quilt more so that he could touch her bare skin.

Alani drank in a deep breath and covered his hand with her own. “That had to be awful.”

“Guess so. I never really looked like my dad, so I always wondered if Mom had been cheating even when she got pregnant with me.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Dad always wondered the same.”

Anger replaced some of her pity. “He actually told you that?”

On a humorless laugh, he said, “Many times. Not that it matters that much. There was no love lost between us, believe me.”

How sad. “He was the only father you knew?”

“Yeah.” Jackson leaned over her and kissed her belly. “Damn, woman, you smell good.”

Her heart broke for the little boy he'd once been. She put her hand in his damp hair, understanding his need to dilute the conversation. She often did the same when talking about her kidnapping. “Is he still alive?”

“Nope. He came home drunk one night, passed out in the driveway and must have hit his head. He'd been out there in the rain all night.” Jackson's mouth curled with disdain. “After he died, I wasn't anxious to go find another dad, ya know? If he hadn't fathered me, oh well. I was better off without parents.”

Such an ugly, hurtful story. She stroked his hair, her
voice softening. “What about your mom? Have you had any contact with her at all?”

“No. I've never had a burning desire to look her up, either.” He wrapped an arm around her hip and looked up at her, his attention wavering between her breasts and her face. “Is that enough?”

Dare had told her it'd be good for her to talk, so wouldn't the same be true for Jackson? Had he ever told anyone the whole story? Probably Trace and Dare knew, because they wouldn't work with him without having every detail. But that wouldn't be the same as a sympathetic, caring ear.

“You don't ever think of them?”

He dropped his head forward with a laugh. “Why would I? Long ago I decided I'd be different from them, and then I closed that door for good.”

“Different how?”

He gave her a long-suffering smile, but cynicism narrowed his eyes. “No drinking, no whining and no miserable marriage.” He half hugged her. “Your criteria of staying commitment-free fits right in.”

But she'd never meant that, and she hated that he'd taken her comments that way. “What if you fall in love?”

His expression said loud and clear that he didn't consider it likely. “You know, Dad claimed he drank because Mom never loved him. And during arguments, Mom told him she cheated because he never loved her.” He shook his head. “Neither one of them seemed much capable of love, if you ask me. But either way, their excuses were pretty damned thin. A drunk is a drunk because he has no willpower, and he wallows in his own weakness. A cheater cheats because she lacks morals and cares more about herself than anyone else.”

Such an awful way to view human error. “How old were you when your mom left?”

“I don't know. Fourteen, fifteen maybe.”

Caught between being a boy and a man. “It must have been really tough coping.”

“I slept around a lot.” He dragged the quilt a little lower and tried to kiss her again, this time on her hip bone.

Alani's hand clenched in his hair.

“Ow, damn.”

She loosened her hold and gave him an apologetic caress. “What do you mean, you slept around a lot?”

Laughing, he bent to lightly bite her waist and then pushed the quilt completely off her.

Being suddenly exposed curled her toes, especially with the appreciative way he sat up to study her body.

“I learned early that great sex makes everything easier. And just so we can wrap this up, let me tell you the condensed version of the rest.” He wedged a hand between her legs, cupping his palm over her sex. His fingers were still, firm against her, and it left her breathless.

Jackson stared into her eyes as he finished the telling. “I blew off the idea of college. The school atmosphere isn't for me and I wanted to get on with my life. So I got a job working for a concrete company.”

Alani wanted to ask him about that, but coherent questions weren't easy, not with his hand there, possessive, just holding her.

“I did the heavier labor, and loved it. I really got into feeling stronger, more fit.”

“A man, instead of a kid.”

“Yeah. I enjoyed the physical stuff enough that I took some training, to get stronger, faster, to fight better—not that I wanted to fight professionally or anything. I just
enjoyed it. And I have a knack for it, too.” He grinned at her. “I'm a natural.”

That intrigued her enough that she managed to ask, “But that's not what you wanted to do?”

He shook his head. “I always figured one day I'd open up my own construction company.”

She believed he would have, if that's what he wanted. Jackson was a man who would make things happen.

“Instead I got in with Trace and Dare.”

“How—”

Watching her, he shifted his hand, and his middle finger searched, prodded, sank into her.

Her whole body stiffened; she felt herself getting wetter and didn't know if she should be embarrassed or not. She caught his wrist; their gazes clashed. “How did you meet them?”

Again his eyes narrowed, this time with satisfaction. “It was a dark night. Raining like crazy. My truck broke down, so I had to walk the last few miles to a gas station.”

Alani watched him look off at nothing in particular, as if remembering something unpleasant. She was acutely aware of many things: his awesomely nude, buff body; the tension in the air and in his shoulders; the feel of his finger pressed inside her, motionless, big, intimate.

Her lungs labored for breath, and she had to struggle to concentrate instead of sinking under the spell of sensuality. Hard as she tried, she couldn't stop her muscles from tightening around his finger.

Jackson, damn him, seemed unaffected.

“On my way back to my truck, I had to cross over a bridge, and there were three guys there, trying to throw something over.”

Oh, God. Instinctively, Alani knew what that something was. “A woman?” she whispered.

“An eighteen-year-old girl, though I didn't realize it at the time. I just knew something was wrong, and I reacted.”

As Dare and Trace always did. “What happened?”

“They didn't notice me when I crept up on them. Their car was idling, making some noise, and it was storming hard. When they tossed their bundle, I heard a scream, and then… I knew.” A deep breath expanded his chest, tightened his jaw. “I think I snapped, but in a cold way. Not panicked. I'd fought before, plenty of times. But never like that. Never with a life in the balance.”

“You knew you had to take them down so you could get to her.”

“That's about it. So I leveled them.”

“All three of them?” She pictured it in her mind.

“No choice. I didn't exactly fight fair. I figured if they died, who gave a shit? In less than… I dunno, a minute maybe, two of them were out and the third was disabled. So I dove in after the girl.”

Awe, respect, affection and…gratitude all swamped Alani, making her voice rough. “In a storm, off a bridge?”

“Yeah, hell of a thing, huh? They had tied her hands, so the odds of her surviving were zilch if I didn't get to her, and quick. Luckily, she was kicking like crazy, just managing to keep her head above water, and I could hear her splashing. I got her, and she fought me like a wildcat.” He smiled, gave a short, soft laugh. “I got more bruises from her than I did from the bozos on the bridge.”