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His lips are soft as they brush over mine. He takes my face in both hands this time and kisses me, tilting my head to the side so our mouths match up, and I feel his lips more fully. Then I stop thinking and wondering what we’re doing, and time stops moving.
My hands hang limp at my sides because I’m in a hypnotic state. I think my lips part because I feel Jackson’s tongue work over mine, delicately at first. Then, with abandon, plundering and taking what he wants. I’m doing the same, drinking in the taste of him and finally letting my hands roam up his muscular chest.
I’m losing track of my senses, idle messages pressing through my brain.
What if you lose your job?
This feels too good to stop.
Just quit thinking for once and enjoy this.
You’ve worked too hard to throw it all away over a guy.
It’s the record scratch that sends sensibility careening back. So I break the kiss.
Jackson blinks a couple times, as if willing himself to reenter reality. He takes a deep breath and half a step back, which allows me to focus on his face.
He has a dreamy look that mirrors how I feel, but that’s not good. We need to stop. “That…we should probably stop,” I say, wriggling from between him and the wall.
“If that’s what you really want.”
Standing in the dark hallway, I feel around on the wall for a light switch, but I can’t find one. So I glare at him in the dark. “I don’t want to be your booty call.”
I can’t escape the truth. I need this job—both jobs. And as much as I want him, I want my career more, and I have responsibilities. I can’t throw it away over a guy.
He takes a step closer to me. “Yeah?” His voice is gruff, sexy, dripping with everything that makes my skin heat. And I think he knows it. “That’s what you think this is?”
“Um, yeah. Isn’t it?”
Jackson growls out a harsh “Fuck,” and looks off to the side like he’s replaying previous moments between us in his head. He shakes his head.
Despite the growl, his expression is soft and loving as he takes in my confusion. His thumb reaches up, smoothing away the worried frown from my forehead and tipping his head against mine. His nose sweeps along mine, eyes closed in a silent reprimand. “Fuck, no. That’s not what this is.”
When he looks back at me, his eyes are ablaze again, but I can’t let myself fall for him. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
I make my way down the hallway toward the light. If I can get some distance between us, we can both come to our senses. But Jackson follows, hot on my heels.
“Ruby…” His voice comes with an ache I haven’t heard before, so I turn. He reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. Then he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, but he doesn’t let go. Holding my hand against his lips, he feathers my skin with the barest breath of a kiss, and all the air leaves my lungs. “I promise you I’m thinking clearly.”
“Prove it.” I can barely form words.
“How?”
I shrug. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” He pulls me closer, wedging our hands between our chests. In my bare feet, he towers over me, tipping his head down to study my face.
“I just…this doesn’t make sense.”
Slowly, he nods. “Watching you leave every day when I want you here…that makes no sense. I can’t sleep, Ginger. All I do is think about you. I tried to stop, but I can’t. I can’t fucking stop.”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper. I feel like I’m in a dream.
His lips are on mine, and this time, there’s no gentle prelude. His kiss is demanding and rough, taking what he wants from me, but I’m just as demanding because my body wants this, even if it’s fatal.
Never breaking the kiss, he walks us down the hallway toward his room, at the opposite end from where Fiona sleeps. When we reach the doorway, he scoops me up and carries me to his bed. My arms wrap around his neck and hold on while he lowers me to a soft blue quilt.
“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about doing this.” He holds himself above me and lets his eyes roam my face, my body. “I can’t fucking think about anything else. I try, but all I do is think about you.”
