“You needed to get your friend to safety,” he finishes for me. “It’s the same for me too, you know. Every time you push me away, I get this sick feeling that maybe it’s one-sided and I don’t affect you the way you do to me. When you said ‘Not now’ I finally got it – you didn’t mean you didn’t want me, you literally meant not now…you needed to take care of the most urgent issue before you could address us. But then you hit me –”
“I didn’t think you were getting it and I needed space to breathe and collect my thoughts,” I sob once more, aware that by now my make-up must be staining his sexy, crumpled shirt.
“I just always seem to lose you and it never ever gets easier to deal with. So when you hit me I nearly lost it.”
“Were you going to hit me back?”
“What? No, never. You could punch me in the face all day and I still wouldn’t hit you. Was I furious? You fucking bet, but I’d never hurt you like that.”
“Guess it’s just me who’s the awful, pain-inflicting bitch then.”
“I don’t tolerate self-pity, Emilia, so stop it. Maturity is a difficult time in a Supernaturals life, so I get it, especially given the shock of what you were presented with,” he says, not unkindly.
“But you looked so mad?”
“I was, but only because I’m dog tired of being obsessed with someone who doesn’t appear to feel the same, certainly when she’s hitting me. I was a second away from dragging you into a private room and fucking you into submission until you admitted how you really felt for me.”
It’s shocking to me how much I wish he had done that.
“That’s why I came here; to get the truth out of you and make you tell me how much you want me in any way I could. But then I found my sweater, soaked in your scent and I knew the only way for that would be for you to still be wearing it frequently…to still be thinking of me frequently. And then you walked in, your beautiful face scrunched into a frown, and I didn’t need to force you to admit anything; you did that last thing I ever expected you to…you ran to me.”
“Makes a nice change, huh?” I sniff.
“You have no idea,” he strokes my hair out of my damp face. “Why do you still have it?” he nods at the sweater.
“I wear it when I can’t sleep,” I admit shyly.
“You’re still having nightmares?” The concern in his voice makes my chest ache.
“Sometimes…but sometimes my mind is just blank, which is just as distracting. Other times I’m dreaming of you. Either way, wearing your sweater calms me enough to fall asleep.”
Jackson tightens his arms around me and leans his cheek into the top of my head. I could stand here with him all night if he let me and we do for a while until he tugs me towards the bed. He sits me on the mattress and picks up a pack of make-up remover wipes from my dresser and kneels in front of me, gently brushing the cloth across the blotchy remnants of my makeup.
“That’s the worst of it,” he says as he stands and discards the cloth and then makes light work of removing his jeans and now-smudged shirt. The sight of his taut muscles rippling under his smooth, tanned skin ignites the blood in my veins…I can’t help but want this man instantly. It’s like there is something fundamental in my DNA that fires up when it sees him, but I’m too raw to act on it.
Jackson reaches down next to me and picks up his sweater and pulls it over my head dislodging the comb in my hair. I push my arms through the sleeves as he removes all of the pins and runs his fingers through my hair, undoing the style so that it now tumbles over both my shoulders. I’m grateful that he’s taking care of me and seems to understand the sexual boundaries I need for the moment.
“Are those shorts comfortable to sleep in?” I shake my head and he pulls me effortlessly to my feet. As I undo the button and shuffle out of them, leaving me in my lacy boy shorts, Jackson pulls my quilt back and climbs into my bed and sits waiting for me to join him.
“Your top can’t be much more comfortable either, let me help you.” He reaches for me as I climb in next to him, his deft fingers tugging the tie apart around my neck and then moving his cool hands around my waist under the sweater, sending pleasant shivers up my spine as he undoes the tie around my back. The halter falls loosely and he pulls it by the hem out from under the baggy sweater and discards it on the floor. The feeling of the sweater fabric on my bare chest does strange things to my breathing.
“Lay down, Angel,” he pulls me back into his arms and lies down with me so that my head is cradled against his chest…he smells amazing.
“So, you’re obsessed with me?” I murmur against his flawless skin, remembering the words he said to me.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever been bothered enough about to pay attention to, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together – at least not that I remember – and the only thing I know for sure is how badly my decisions regarding you have made me feel.”
“That’s because you run and it’s not just me that you hurt when you do that. I suppose at least I now know that it does hurt you too. So my recommendation going forward would be for us to avoid doing anything that hurts the other and by extension ourselves. If that isn’t clear enough; stop running, I’m obsessed with you.” A slow, sexy smile pulls at his lips and I mirror it, feeling warmer and more settled than I’ve been all evening.
“Well, I still wear your sweater, so I think you know where I sit on the obsessive scale; hell, I put myself between you and a gun and had a screaming match with my now ex-friend, the bodyguard.”
“Angel, if you ever put yourself downrange of a gun again on purpose, we will have a screaming match.”
“Hmm…a screaming match followed by epic make up sex? I think I could live with that,” I smirk.
“Put yourself in harm’s way deliberately, Angel and I will withhold the epic sex on purpose as punishment.”
“You wouldn’t,” I gasp in mock horror.
“To prove a vital point about your safety…watch me. Just because I didn’t show much self-restraint with you before – and I really should have – doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it.”
Jackson splays his hand across the small of my back and my muscles clench and incinerate beneath his touch, my breath hitching in my throat. He chuckles low and sensually, his point well proved; I respond so completely to him that I wouldn’t survive him depriving me sexually.
I try to distract myself from his touch.
“Why should you have shown restraint with me?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have run if I had. You had a lot of information to process and I shouldn’t have overwhelmed you any more than you already were,” his voice is hushed, almost pained.
“I’m pretty sure I recall making it very difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself. You gave me what I wanted and that wasn’t why I ran; I could handle the revelations about you, but I had difficulty with the ones about me. That’s when the physical contact became too much and I asked to go home.”
“So why did you run the next day?”