Burn for You

His voice slurred and faint, he said, “A week after I got to New Orleans, Christian had his legs blown off by a roadside bomb in a hellhole halfway around the world. He was my real brother. The brother who accepted me for who I was. He was the only one who ever did, aside from Rayford. He was my only real friend.” A sweet smile drifted over his face. “And you.”

I was crying openly now, but silently, tears running down my face, my free hand in a fist in my mouth to stifle the sobs.

Jackson murmured, “Christian had no family, so he came to live with me. He was in so much pain all the time, as much physical pain as I was in emotional pain. He started to drink. He’d go down to a bar on Bourbon Street and drink during the day, and I’d go with him . . . nothing better to do, either of us. He met this girl. I knew . . . what she was, of course . . . I knew what she did. But at least it was honest. They both understood. Not like me . . .”

His voice was getting more and more faint, the pauses between his words growing longer. He licked his lips and turned his head with a sigh, and his face looked heartbreakingly vulnerable without its usual armor of scowls.

“She got pregnant. Had a paternity test. It was Christian’s. He died before Cody was born. Never got to meet his son. Trina signed over her parental rights to me and disappeared. I get a call every once in a while . . . bail money, rent money . . . everyone wanting money . . . all I was ever good for . . .”

Jackson fell asleep with his hand in mine. A lone tear leaked from his eye, tracking a zigzag path down his temple.

I leaned over him, hugged him as tightly as I could, and sobbed.

I cried for a long time, my ear pressed to his chest, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat. Finally when I had nothing left, I sat up, wiped my eyes, slipped off his shoes, and settled a blanket over him. I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I called Mama and told her how much I loved her, how lucky I was to have her, how she and Daddy were the greatest parents in the world.

Then I marched my booty downstairs to have a nice, long talk with Clemmy and Brig.

THIRTY-ONE

JACKSON

I knew I was dreaming because the warm, soft, unmistakable curve under my left palm was a woman’s hip.

Dream woman had an incredibly sexy hip.

She also smelled delicious and was warm as a little furnace against my chest.

All of that helped to distract from the odd fact that I had a headache and my mouth tasted like bourbon. This was a really vivid dream. At least I was lying down comfortably, my head resting on a nice, fluffy pillow, my legs curled up behind dream woman’s legs.

She sighed in sleepy pleasure when I pulled her tighter against me and nuzzled my face into her hair. When I slid my hand over her hip and gently cupped her ass, she sighed again, arching her back and rubbing against my crotch.

This was a fucking awesome dream.

She smelled like strawberry shampoo and sunshine. Like goodness. Like something I wanted to soak in . . . or taste. I found the nape of her neck with my lips and stroked my tongue over the delicate bump of her spine. She breathed the softest, sexiest moan, which was even sexier because it was my name.

My dream boner was Godzilla. King Kong. Attila the Hun leading his army of savages to plunder the riches of foreign lands. I pressed it against her, curling my hand around her hip to draw her close. She made an appealing sound, a kitten’s soft mew, which drew a growl from deep inside my chest.

I opened my mouth over the curve between her shoulder and neck. She tilted her head back, giving me better access to her throat. I trailed my lips up satin skin, gently bit down, felt her shiver. She made a restless noise and squirmed.

She put her hand over mine and dragged it slowly up her waist and over her rib cage, to her breast. It was full and heavy in my hand, the nipple peaked—and highly sensitive. When I pinched it, she jerked and moaned, this time louder. A thin layer of cotton separated her skin from mine, and I needed it gone. I needed her skin on my tongue. I needed that moan again.

I found the hem of her shirt and pushed it up impatiently. I cupped her bare breast and gently squeezed.

“Yes, Jax,” she breathed, arching.

I rolled her under me, pinned her down, and sucked her taut nipple into my mouth. Her groan sent a shockwave of pure lust singing through me.

I rocked my hips into hers. She fisted her hands into my hair, urging me closer, scratching my scalp and softly crying out when I tested that hard bud with my teeth. Her thighs were open around my hips, her sweet smell was in my nose, the sound of her ragged breathing was in my ears. I pushed her breasts together and went slowly back and forth from nipple to nipple, sucking and licking, gently biting the fullness of the globes, then stroking my tongue over where I’d bitten to chase away the sting.

“Please,” she panted. “Oh, please don’t stop. More.”

My cock was so hard it ached. I was in heaven. This was dream heaven, and I was never, ever leaving. “I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” I murmured. She answered with a shudder.

My eyes drifted open.

Bianca lay panting softly beneath me with her eyes closed and her head thrown back, her pink T-shirt bunched up under her chin. Her gorgeous breasts jutted out from the cage of my hands, her nipples slick and darkest rose.

It hit me like a bucket of cold water poured over my head.

I wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t heaven. This was real.

Fuck!

When I froze, Bianca opened her eyes. Then I was treated to the piercing anguish of watching her realize she wasn’t dreaming, either. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted on a choked gasp.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, disoriented and disgusted with myself. I’d mauled her in my sleep! I could probably be arrested for this! How was I even on the bed anyway―I was supposed to be on the couch! What a fucking disaster!

I made a move to pull away, rearing back on my elbows, but she threw her arms around my shoulders and yelped, “Wait!”

I froze again. We were eye to eye, nose to nose, staring at each other. The only sound in the room was our labored breathing.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth. My heart pounded so hard I was breathless.

She moistened her lips. Her hair was wild all around her face, a dark mass of curls, and she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

She said breathlessly, “So I had this idea yesterday. When you were prancing around showing off all your muscles.”

My arms shook. I didn’t dare speak. I just stared at her, waiting, burning up with naked lust.

“That maybe it would be a good idea if we . . .” Color rose in her cheeks. She hesitated for what felt like forever, until finally she worked up the courage to say, “If we got it out of our systems.”

My entire body was so tense I was in danger of shattering like fractured glass. “It?” I repeated, my voice raw.

Her lashes lowered. She managed to look demure even though her bare breasts were exposed. Her tone was crisp. “Don’t be intentionally obtuse, Jackson. You know exactly what I mean.”

When I continued to stare at her, trembling with disbelief, she made her meaning perfectly clear by biting her full lower lip and rocking her pelvis against mine.

On a groan, I dropped my forehead to her chest. She was murdering me. I was going to die in this bed, lying on top of her, my heart exploded in my chest like a grenade.

She turned her lips to my ear. “It doesn’t have to change anything. One time just so we can get past it and put it behind us. And since neither of us has gotten any in forever—”