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“Talk about my girl like that again and we're gonna have a problem.”
Whatever effect he has on me, he has the opposite on Paul.
The guy pales, shrinking as his shoulders slump. On the contrary, Jackson seems to grow, getting taller and taller until he’s towering over Paul. A firm hand on his shoulder stops any more escape attempts. “Apologize.”
“It was just a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Paul swallows.
A full minute passes before he looks my way, cowardly staring at a miscellaneous spot above my head and mumbling a weak apology.
Jackson's brows shoot up. “What was that?”
Pursing his lips, Paul readjusts his gaze to meet mine. “I'm sorry.”
“Good.” Jackson nods, clapping Paul on the shoulder before not-so-gently shoving him away. “Now, fuck off.”
Without waiting to see if he listens, Jackson ushers me into my office, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.
“You didn't have to do that,” I admonish without meaning it, pecking his cheek and taking the stuff from his hands. A small smile curves my lips as I sniff the pretty flowers, a welcome addition to this dreary hole, before setting them on the desk, dropping the takeout next to them. “You brought me lunch?”
The quiet snick of the door locking is his only reply.
* * *
Turning around slowly, I find Jackson still lingering by the door, an overwhelmingly tense expression on his face. “That him?”
I don't need to ask for further clarification. “Yes.”
A deep noise grumbles in his chest as he leans against the door, no distrust or anger in his tone when he asks, “Why was he in here?”
Just concern.
Okay, yeah, and maybe a little jealousy.
As much as I know the truth will piss him off, I know lying is much worse. “He was hitting on me.”
“By calling you a slut? Charming.”
Locking my hands together behind my back, my thumb goes to town on my ring. “I told him to leave.”
“I heard.” Slowly, Jackson advances until he’s close enough to touch me, a hand cradling one cheek while lips graze the other. “I can't believe you were fucking that tool.”
I huff. “Me neither.”
Two hands clamping down on my ass draws a surprised yelp out of me, closely followed by another one when I'm suddenly hoisted up and deposited on the desk. His hands coast up my thighs, dragging the tight, pencil skirt I chose to wear this morning up with him so he can part my legs and stand between them. His fingers splay across my skin, thumbs stroking my inner thighs. “I fucking hate that he got to have you for a little bit.”
“I'm-”
“Don't apologize.” Feather-light touches morph into a tight, possessive grip. “All mine now.”
Rolling my eyes, I shove at his chest gently, grumbling 'caveman' under my breath but I can't keep the grin off my face.Damn right.
He smiles back but it’s tense.He’stense. All rigid and wound up, and I do the only thing I can think of to calm him down; I lock my legs around his waist, fist his t-shirt between my fingers, and drag his mouth to mine.
It's instantaneous, the shift in his demeanor. He's still a solid wall of muscle beneath my palms but the stiffness recedes as he melts against me, pressing every inch of him against every inch of me. Somehow, it's still not enough. The clothes separating us is too much, but Jackson’s making fast work of solving that problem.
