“No. But I’m here to escort you inside so you can withdraw whatever amount you need.” His tone was all business, and when he lifted his gaze he focused it over my head again, like he didn’t want to look at me.
My heart sank. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No. I mean, I’m almost done. This is the last stop. I only need another $200.”
“Oh.” His attention flickered to me and then away. “Okay then.” He looked a little lost, or maybe I was misreading him and projecting my sense of lostness on him.
Unsure what to say—because what else was there to say?—I turned from all-business Deputy Dreamy and stepped up to the cash machine, pressing my lips into a line as I navigated through the screens on autopilot.
You are temptation, he’d said. That meant he wanted me, right? Or he was tempted at least. But something held him back?
I wish I knew what it was that held him back from giving into temptation.
If you knew him better . . . if you stayed for the summer.
A bitter kind of amusement had me shaking my head. Here I was again, considering an extension on my time in Green Valley, Tennessee, all for a man who didn’t want me enough to do something about it. I’d offered myself to him that night, so long ago. He hadn’t taken me up on the offer then, and clearly he wasn’t going to take me up on the offer now. So why stay?
The machine beeped at me, and the screen came into focus. I’d been lost in my thoughts and hadn’t realized it had already withdrawn the money. It sat there, spit out of the feeder, waiting for me to collect it and leave.
Sighing, I grabbed the bills and stuffed them into my back pocket. And then I turned to Jackson, giving him a closed smile, and said, “All done.”
His eyes were on me now, narrowed in a glare, his forehead creased with lines. “Rae. I want you.”
I straightened, my lips parting. “You do?”
“Yes.” He stalked over to me suddenly.
Surprised, I backed up a step as he advanced, but then I held my ground. Don’t back up! Stay right where you are. This is what you want.
His rough palms slid against my cheeks, cupping my jaw, and he tilted my head back. “I want you, Rae. Very, very badly. You’ve taken up a lot of space in my thoughts for a lot of years.”
Oh.
I opened my mouth to express some sentiment, probably happiness or curiosity about the location of the nearest hotel, but he wasn’t finished.
“But I’m trying to be a better man. I want to be a better man, a serious man. Reliable. Consistent. Trustworthy.” His tone brusque, his expression severe, I got the sense he needed me to understand this, that this was very important. But I also got the sense he was saying all this out loud to remind himself. “Someone people in this town and county take seriously. I’ve drawn lines in the sand, and I don’t cross them. Ever. Because what is the value of a man who doesn’t even keep his promises to himself?”
I swallowed thickly, my eyes darting between his.
“I don’t do no-strings, not anymore. That’s one of those lines. I’m all about the strings. So, no. I will not be spending the night with you, and this is goodbye.”
Ugh. Crushed. I felt crushed. But I began to nod, because I respected his reasons, and so be it, but I was crushed.
But then he stepped closer, lowering his mouth to just a hair’s breadth from mine. Gasping, I gripped his wrists.
“But there is something I want, something I’ve wanted from you for a long time.”
“What’s that?” I whispered, telling my hot and needy body not to arch and press against his despite all the instincts and reflexes and impulses demanding that I do.
He brushed his lips against mine, just the barest touch. My breath shuddered out of me.
“I want a kiss goodbye. I want to kiss you goodbye. Please.”
Oh God, I wanted that. I lifted my chin, holding my breath, my lips parted in offering. Yet he hesitated, like he was waiting for permission and needed more than physical cues.
So I said, “Kiss me.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than he was on me, around me, surrounding my body with his strong arms, turning and backing me into the ATM machine. His mouth on mine, a deep, tortured groan rumbled from his chest.
OHMYGOD!!!
His tongue. His blessed, miraculous kraken tongue. I’d missed it. So long and perfect, stroking the inside of my mouth with masterful skill, somehow both wild and controlled, starving and satiated, the hot slide of it turning my center to liquid fire. I felt the kiss in my toes and—I swear—in the tips of my hair. I loved how tightly he held me, his hands roaming from my torso to my backside, grasping, pulling me closer, and stepping between my legs.
He lifted me, and I automatically hooked my ankles behind his back. Jackson rolled his hips into the apex of my thighs, and I gasped. So good. Panicked he’d use the brief separation to end the kiss, my fingers grabbed the front of his uniform for purchase as I returned to refasten our lips. We fit perfectly, and this felt so good, and hot, and we were both so wet, and hot. And I never, ever wanted it to end.
But it will end.
He softened the kiss and, dammit, I whimpered. Unwilling to let him go, I twisted my fingers into his shirt, anchoring myself. And still he softened the kiss, retreating, his movements and strokes becoming languid, drugging, making me dizzy and breathless until his lips were just a tease. A soft, barely-there touch once more.
I could’ve cried, except I needed to catch my breath first.
He pulled away, his gaze on mine, and if I didn’t believe him before, I believed him now. He wanted me. Badly.
“I need a minute.” Jackson closed his eyes.
“Me too.” The crown of my head fell back against the alcove of the ATM, and I witnessed him struggle, his jaw tense, his breath sawing in and out.
I believed him about his reasoning for not spending the night with me. He wanted something real, not temporary. What I wanted was similar, something real with someone real. I understood, and I couldn’t fault him, but couldn’t he make just one tiny exception?
For me?
Oh please oh please oh please.
His eyes opened to slits, but they affixed to the ATM behind me as he stepped back, letting me go completely. My feet touched the ground. On unsteady legs, I cleared my throat and pushed away from the ATM alcove. Slowly, still breathing hard, Jackson paced to where I’d left the umbrella open on the ground by the double doors.
He picked it up, paused, his shoulders rising and falling, and then he brought it to me. “Here. Please keep it.”
I nodded, not about to turn the offer down. Maybe I was being silly and sentimental, or just strange, but I wasn’t going to turn down any part of himself he offered, even if it was just an umbrella. I’d keep this umbrella forever.
“Thank you,” I said, surprised to discover it was still raining, maybe even harder than before. As soon as he’d charged toward me, everything else had disappeared. But now the roar of the storm filled my ears, a crack then a flash of lightning creating a sudden and brief strobe effect.
“I’ll need my hat,” he said gruffly, glancing over at the Mustang and frowning. “Do you mind if I walk you to your car?”
“Not at all,” I said, wondering at him. He was so incredibly polite, all the time. What would it take to make the good deputy forget his manners?