The Will (Magdalene #1)(80)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I heard him disconnect and the instant he did, I stated, “Jake, we need to talk.”

“We’ll talk when we get you home, Josie.”

“I think we should talk now.”

His mobile hit the console; he grabbed my hand and pulled it so it was resting on his hard thigh.

He then repeated, but did it changing one word and doing it in a tender voice, “We’ll talk when we get you home, baby.”

I said nothing.

He held my hand tighter.

I blanked my mind.

We’d talk when I was home.

Home.

In silence, he drove us to Lavender House.

Jake collected his bag and then he collected me, even though I had my belt off, the door open and was nearly out of his truck by the time he made it to my side. He still lifted me down right before I was about to jump.

He walked us to the house, opened the door with his key and then he walked us in.

As in in.

After locking the door behind us, he walked us straight to my bedroom.

It was then a strange, wondrous, frightening, confusing night got more of all of that.

But mostly the wondrous part.

This was because after he turned on the bedside light, he dropped his bag, took my purse and let it fall to the floor and slid my coat off my arms to join them. He then hooked me about the waist and walked backwards to my bed, taking me with him. He fell and landed on his back, I landed on him and he immediately rolled so he was on top.

Only when he had us arranged did he declare, “Now you’re in a safe place, we’ll talk.”

I was in a safe place.

I was in the only safe place I had.

And Jake brought me here.

“We had sex,” I told him something he could not have forgotten.

“Yeah, we did,” he agreed, his eyes holding mine, his assessing, warm, but also guarded.

“In a locker room,” I went on.

“Yeah,” he again agreed.

All right, there wasn’t much more to explore with that except, well…everything and I didn’t have it in me to explore that everything just yet.

“You were angry with me before the fight,” I stated, though it was a question.

“No, babe, I was pissed,” he answered.

Oddly, I completely understood this distinction.

“Are you angry now?” I inquired.

He stared at me.

Then he inquired in return, “Do I look angry?”

“No,” I answered.

“Fuckin’ my woman who’s wearin’ the sexiest f**kin’ dress that’s ever been in that arena, doin’ that for the first time in the arena’s locker room, it bein’ hot as f**k, all that shit tends to make a man get over bein’ seriously f**kin’ pissed and it does it fast.”

I let most of that slide in order to get to the meat of the matter.

“What did I do?” I asked.

He blinked before he repeated, “What did you do?”

“Yes, Jake, what did I do?”

He stared at me a moment before he answered, “Slick, you’re mine and you made a date with another guy.”

“Yes, I’m yours, Jake, but not that way.”

He kept staring at me then he looked around the room, most specifically at the bed we were on, before he looked back at me.

“You’re not mine in that way?” he queried.

I saw his point.

Yet at the same time, I did not.

It was my turn to stare at him for a moment before the words came out of my mouth. And when they did, they came out soft, timid, hopeful and scared.

“Am I yours in that way?”

Understanding, sweet and beautiful, washed through his features. He dipped his face closer and lifted a hand to frame the side of mine.

“You are,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes to fully feel his words moving through me then opened them and pointed out (still timid, still hopeful), “I thought you liked big hair and big…other stuff.”

His head cocked slightly to the side. “What?”

“You said—”

He interrupted me.

“I know what I said, honey. I also know you didn’t like hearin’ it and I further know since you called me after you walked in Lydie’s bedroom, the way you were mine stopped bein’ the way and the way you are mine started.”

“I think I might have missed something,” I admitted.

He grinned a small, sweet grin, his finger beginning to stroke me at my temple as he said, “I was goin’ gentle, baby, but I also thought I was being obvious.”

“You weren’t,” I shared and his brows went up.

“You hold hands with many guys?”

I didn’t. Not with any.

“No.”

“Sit tight close to them at a football game?”

“Um…no.”

“Lounge on the couch with ‘em, your head on their chest?”

I was again seeing his point.

“Oh,” I whispered and his grin came back, bigger this time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Oh.”

This was all lovely, marvelous, the fact that Jake was telling me that when I had been pretending, it had been real.

I was still uncertain.

“But I don’t have big hair or big—”

I stopped talking when his face got very close and his finger stopped stroking so all of them could press in.

“Baby, you got everything.”

I stared into his eyes, not needing to close mine to fully feel the beauty of that washing through me, and whispered again my, “Oh.”

He studied my face, spending particular time at my mouth and I began to hold my breath in hopeful anticipation before his eyes came back to mine.

“You burn hot like that all the time?” he asked softly.

I knew precisely what he was referring to.

“Never,” I answered softly.

That got me another grin, this one lighting his eyes in a way I felt acutely and pleasantly in one particular part of my body.

His grin died and his lips commanded, “You gotta call Mick.”

My eyes slid to the side as I replied, “It would appear I do.”

“Babe,” he called.

My eyes slid back.

“You gotta call Mick,” he repeated.

“Okay, Jake,” I agreed.

“First, we’re takin’ a shower,” he announced.

Oh my.

He wasn’t quite finished.

“No, first you’re cuttin’ this tape off my hands. I got you na**d in a shower, I want more than my fingertips. Then, I’m eatin’ you. Been hungry for you since our dinner at The Eaves. Got my shot, not waitin’ any longer.”