Page 95 of And Now, Back to You

“It’s just us here,” I whisper. “Tell me.”

He scoops me closer. I make an embarrassing breathy sound when my chest presses to his.

“I thought about kissing you in that snowbank,” he breathes. Jackson’s expression is tortured. Like he’s between two impossible things and doesn’t know which to reach for. “I thought about doing more than kissing you.”

“Like what?”

“Delilah.”

“I want to know.”

He shakes his head, dipping his face closer to mine, almost like he can’t help himself. Whatever gravitational pull is always dragging me into his orbit works both ways, I guess. His nose brushes my forehead and my eyes slip shut.

“I thought about bringing you back here.” His hand drifts up and then down my back. Lower, over my hip to the curve of my ass. A delicious tease, his pinky edging beneath the thick elastic at the top of my pants. “I thought about pulling these ridiculous pants of yours down to your thighs. Making you keep them there while I put my mouth on you. I thought—Delilah,” he sighs. “I thought that you probably look so pretty when you come. I’ve been thinking that.”

A breath rattles out of me, everything beneath my belly button pulling taut. Like a ribbon, tied in a pretty little bow. I want Jackson to tug on the end of it. To unravel me until I’m a puddle of silk beneath him.

He grunts in frustration and buries his face against my shoulder. “I’m trying to give you space and respect your decision, but it’s so fucking hard when you—”

“When I what?”

“When you’re you,” he laughs, a little pained. “You drive me fucking crazy, do you know that?”

“I do, actually.” I evaluate the two paths in front of me. I could hold firm to the physical boundary in the name of professionalism, or I could—

I could trust Jackson. I could trust myself.

Jackson’s right. There are no rules against it.

“I think—” I lick my lips and gather my thoughts. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

He lets go of me immediately.

“No.” I grab his wrists and drag his hands back to me. “I don’t want you to give me space, Jackson.”

He peers at me through his glasses. “No?”

I shake my head. For a lot of reasons, saying the things I don’t want feels immeasurably easier than explaining the things I do. “I don’t want space,” I repeat. “But I also don’t want to be used.”

Jackson moves closer. “It wouldn’t be like that. You set the pace, Delilah. I’m following you.”

My heart turns over in my chest. “All of Baltimore is talking about the nature of our relationship.”

“I don’t care about all of Baltimore.” He cups my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.

It’s easy for him to say that now, when we’re out here in our mountain hideaway. What happens when we get back and he changes his mind? Where will that leave me?

“Can this just be for us?” I whisper. “Not because I’m embarrassed. I just want it to be—”

“Me and you. I get it.” He ducks his head down and the corners of our mouths brush and then drift away. I grip the sides of his sweater beneath his jacket, my hands fisted in frustration. Jackson smiles. “That’s what I want too.”

“Only while we’re here,” I whisper. “Just for now. I don’t want expectations.”

I don’t want to get my hopes up.

Jackson makes a hum that sounds like a question, low in the back of his throat.

“What?” I ask. “What does that mean?”