Jackson James is taco night.
He stopped buttoning his shirt and placed his hands on his hips. “I’ll stay as long as you want,” he said, peering at me in an odd way, giving me the sense he was trying to read my mind.
So I said what I was thinking, what I wanted. “I want you to stay all night. Why don’t you—if you want, you could spend the night? We still have the chess game to finish. And then we could . . . go to sleep?”
Jackson’s eyelids flickered, his gaze dropping to my mouth. I held my breath, waiting for his answer. Please oh please oh please say yes. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stay in Green Valley for another day, but that didn’t mean he had to leave yet.
Eventually, he gathered a deep breath and nodded, the side of his mouth pulling upward. “Okay. I’ll stay. We’ll finish our game, and then—” He stole a quick kiss, holding my gaze as he retreated. “We’ll sleep.”
Jackson was asleep.
For a while, I listened to him breathe, reveled in the feel of his warm, strong chest and arms bracketing my body, his hand on my leg, his leg between both of mine. A voice in the back of my head announced that if I actually fell asleep, this would be the first time I’d ever slept with someone.
My flight left at 6:10 AM, which meant I needed to be up and out of here by 3:45 AM at the latest. So why sleep at all? I only had—I checked the clock on the nightstand—two hours left. Telling myself that staying awake made the most logical sense, I gently covered his hand and brought it to my chest, placing his palm over my heart.
He didn’t stir, and his breathing didn’t change. I felt a little drowsy, but based on how quickly he’d succumbed to sleep, he must’ve been exhausted. I wondered how he’d spent his day prior to our introduction. Had it been busy? What time had he gotten up this morning? Did he have work tomorrow? I wished I’d asked.
Wake him up. Ask him. This is your last chance.
Or . . . maybe it wasn’t my last chance. Technically, since we hadn’t had penis-meets-vagina sexual intercourse, perhaps keeping in touch with Jackson wouldn’t break my one-night-only rule. Maybe we could—
No.
I gave my head a subtle shake. We’d finished our game. He hadn’t taken either of my bishops. If he’d wanted more with me, I’d given him every opportunity. We’d made out again—on the couch, on the bed—and then he’d gone down on me, saying it was only fair since I’d taken his queen, but his pants had stayed on the whole time.
That’s right. He didn’t even take my queen—despite my flagrant attempts to put her in harm’s way—and neither of us had taken each other’s bishops. He didn’t give me an opportunity to swipe either of his priestly dudes, guarding them more diligently than even his king. Furthermore, he could’ve taken either one of my bishops several times. But he hadn’t.
Why didn’t he take a bishop?
I swallowed against a thickness in my throat, squeezing my eyes shut and sighing around an ache where his palm heated my skin. I was being silly, dumb. I didn’t even know this guy other than he was a sheriff’s deputy in a small town where his father was the sheriff, he looked good in a suit, and I would forever think of his tongue as the kraken. Also, he smelled fantastic and was easy to talk to and thought my lips were perfect and touched my body like it had been formed for his hands.
But other than that? Nada.
Stay . . .
Stirring, I huffed, pushing the ridiculous thought from my mind and opened my eyes. I glared at the clock and then reared back a scant inch. It was already 3:25 AM. My phone alarm would be going off in five minutes. How? How had that happened? I must’ve dozed off. My stomach twisted and a nauseous kind of discomfort climbed up my esophagus.
Shit.
Releasing a shaky breath, I removed his hand from my heart. Once more I debated waking him. Would he want me to say goodbye? Would he care? He’d been so cool with me. So undemanding and straightforward. He seemed to have a good time.
Worrying my lip, I disentangled myself from his body and skootched to the edge of the bed, turning to look at him over my shoulder after I flipped off my phone alarm, my heart pinging with a sudden and swift pain. Ugh.
I wanted to wake him. I decided I would. I would wake him and ask for his number, so we could keep in touch, if he wanted. And if he turned me down, so what? So. What. So I’d be . . . sad.
Pressing my lips together, I blinked back a rush of stinging moisture behind my eyes.
I’ll be sad.
I tore my gaze from his handsome face and rubbed my forehead. God, what was I doing? What was I thinking? A sheriff’s deputy? In a place named after a salad dressing? What? Hadn’t I been the one scoffing at Sienna’s choices yesterday during her lovely wedding? Yes. Yes, that judgy a-hole had been me. And nothing had changed.
Absolutely nothing.
So, no. I wouldn’t wake him. I would leave because that’s what we’d agreed. No strings. No problem. I’d forget him by tomorrow. Hell, I’d forget him by the time he woke up. He’ll forget me too.
Spurred by that thought, I jumped from the bed and rushed to pack, swallowing convulsively because I must’ve been thirsty. For water. Whatever, it didn’t matter. When he woke up, I would be long gone.
It didn’t take much for me to assemble my things. I’d brought only the bare essentials and they all fit in my backpack. I dressed quickly in the bathroom, careful to be quiet, and soon I stood by the door, gripping my bag, ready to go. Turning over my shoulder, telling myself I should do one last sweep of the room, my eyes immediately landed on the gorgeous man asleep in my bed.
I still liked his face. A lot.
Before I could question the instinct, I lowered my backpack to the floor and tiptoed to the bed. Once there, I placed a careful knee on the mattress and bent forward, bracing a hand next to his head. Staring down at him, memorizing the lines and angles of his handsome face—wishing I could see his eyes one last time—I lowered the remaining inches and brushed a soft kiss to his lips, inhaling deeply. And then I leaned back, waiting, telling myself that if he woke up, I would stay for another day. One more day won’t make a difference.
I waited. I counted to sixty. Then I counted to one hundred and twenty. And before my heart could react in some overly dramatic fashion—like plummeting in disappointment or twisting painfully—I straightened and turned, returning to the door. Blindly, I reached for the handle and gripped it, not allowing myself to feel torn.
Because I did need to go. There would be a car waiting for me by the entrance to the lodge. I had a flight to catch. I had a life in Los Angeles, a career I loved. We’d been on the same page from the start: No strings. No expectations. Just one night.
Just fooling around.
Chapter 1
*Jackson*
“Look your best—who said love is blind?”
Mae West
“Bad day, Jackson?”
“Not at all.” I nodded once at Genie Lee, unconcerned that my smile resembled a grimace. She probably couldn't see much of my mouth seeing as how I currently wore a lemon meringue pie on my face. I hadn’t taken the time to wipe much of it off, wanting to keep my hands as clean as possible should I have need to employ them. I figured I’d either wipe it off once I finally made it back to the truck or just take my shirt off at some point and use it as a towel.