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As he slid inside, they both groaned at the same time…only he felt certain their respective sounds were for different reasons. His moan was one of frustration, confusion, and desire. Who knew what she was feeling?

  She began riding him, working her hips in a frenetic rhythm. Her nails snaked under the neck of his t-shirt and dug into his skin. She lowered her lips to his.

  He hated the taste of tobacco, but he loved the woman on top of him. At least he loved the woman she’d been a day ago.

  She eased back and bit his lip.

  Before he could respond, she pressed her mouth to his and thrust her tongue inside. Even though he was balls deep inside her, it didn’t feel deep enough. His hips bucked as he thrust harder. Finally, he couldn’t help it. His orgasm shot inside her, and he let out the kind of roar an animal might make at climax.

  She collapsed against him, like a lead weight.

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t get to finish, did you?” he said.

  Her head rubbed back and forth against his chest.

  “Roll over and let me eat your sweet pussy.”

  At least I hope it’s still sweet. At this point, I’m not certain about anything.

  She rubbed her head back and forth in the negative again.

  “Come on, Blaire. Let me give you pleasure, too.” He wriggled his hands underneath her hoodie and stroked her sweaty back.

  She pushed up on her forearms and glared at him. “I said, no, Jackson. No means no.”

  She rolled from his body and stomped down the hall. A door opened and slammed.

  Jackson lay on the couch, stunned. A feeling of being used and cast aside shuddered through him.

  He threw his arm over his eyes and sank into utter despair. What the fuck is going on?

  Chapter 22

  Blaire’s sobbing wails drifted into the front room, where Jackson lay, still stunned, on the sofa. What happened? Did she have some sort of psychotic episode or something? His mind accessed memories of courses he’d taken in mental health. Stress could cause certain kinds of psychosis, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around her complete change in personality.

  And, suddenly starting to smoke? Where did that come from?

  As he lay there, he felt dirty, used, like a condom left to stick to the floor to be discovered sometime later. The feeling was familiar and unwelcome. He hadn’t felt this way in years.

  Still, he hadn’t gotten this far in his life and career by lying about, moping. No, he got this far by doing something. Reaching down, he tugged his pants up to his thighs and swung his legs from the couch. Rising, he grabbed his waistband and yanked his jeans in place, and then fastened the fly.

  He wiped his face with his palm to clear his thoughts. Then, he trudged down the hall toward the bathroom. Reaching for the doorknob, he assumed it would yield, but it was locked.

  “Open the door, Blaire.”

  “Go away,” she shouted.

  He jimmied the knob back and forth. “Open up, Blaire.”

  “I said, go away!” she called again.

  He pounded on the door with his fists. “And I said, open up the goddamned door and let’s deal with this as a couple. Or, are we no longer together? Is that what this is?”

  She grew quiet.

  He pressed his forehead against the wood grain door and slapped it with his palms. “Please, baby. I need to talk. We need to talk.”

  Sniffles met his ears.

  The house seemed so quiet he swore he could hear dust falling. He kept his forehead against the door so long it started to go numb.

  Finally, she said softly, “Go away.”

  “Not happening,” he said. “I’ll wait here until you’re ready to talk.”

  “You’re so stubborn,” she hissed.

  He sighed.

  “No, what I am is scared, Blaire. I stopped by Lola’s to see you. She said you weren’t scheduled to work. I was scared shitless when I came home and didn’t find you here,” he said. “I thought you left me. Another abandonment. Or, worse, that something happened to you. And, now that this new you is here. I can’t tell if I’ve already lost you, but if there’s any way to find our connection again…any way at all…I want to try.”

  Once more, that pin drop silence descended all around him.

  Finally, Blaire broke the quiet with a wail. “You don’t get it, Jackson.”

  “What don’t I get?”

  “I was his victim. From the moment he first met me, I was his prey. I let myself be caught in his web. And, I don’t ever want to feel like that again.” Sobs echoed from the bathroom. “When I got those flowers…with his fucking message…I was right back in the same position—as his victim again. He’s stalking me. He’s playing with me. I’m being manipulated and terrified, the same as all those women down in Venezuela. It’s payback time for me. Karmic retribution.” Her sobs grew louder. As she spoke, he could barely understand her through the door. “I refuse to play his victim. I won’t do it. I was his sweet plaything. Not anymore, Jackson. Not anymore.”

  Jackson let out a long sigh. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” she said.

  “What do you mean, what? I only said, okay.”

  “It’s the way you said it,” she said.

  Frustration jabbed at his insides. “How the fuck did I say okay that makes it a problem?”

  The silence resumed.

  “Can you please open the door so we can talk face to face?” he said. He made fists and pressed them against the door, stopping himself from pounding against the wood.

  “No.”

  He sighed again. Pivoting, he pressed his back against the door and slid to the floor, letting his legs stretch out before him. With the door between them, he could choose to view the situation in several ways. The door could be a wall. Or, it could provide a safe space. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know Blaire needed to feel safe. He refused to see the door as a barrier. If his thoughts veered in that direction, he feared he might lose it.

  He might lose her.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “I’m sitting with my back to the door.”

  Which you’d be able to see for yourself if you opened the fucking door.

  “Me, too,” she said, quietly.

  He relaxed against the door. With a stretch in his imagination, he swore he could feel her back pressed against his. “Keep talking. Tell me more.”

  She sniffled. “There’s nothing else to tell. I changed my look so he can’t recognize me. I even got contact lenses to change my eye color.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s that okay again,” she said.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. Something helpful.”

  Ouch. Jackson pulled his legs up to his chest and draped his arms over his knees. “I’m not sure what to say that might be deemed helpful.”

  “Tell me how you’re going to shoot Karlos in the balls if he comes to our door.”

  “Oh, I’d do that in a heartbeat,” Jackson said. In his mind, he pictured aiming, firing, and then watching Karlos crumple to the ground, screaming in agony.

  “Teach me how to shoot his balls off.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You want to learn how to shoot a gun?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Blaire? I asked if you want to learn how to shoot.”

  A noisy, snuffling sound like she blew her nose emerged. “I don’t like guns.”

  “You don’t have to like them. You only have to respect them.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “So, that’s a yes?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Do you want me to teach you?”

  “Maybe. It might be better if someone I didn’t know taught me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’d be telling me what to do and I’d probably rebel.”

  “That makes sense.” I guess.

  “Actually…no. I don’t want to l
earn how to shoot a gun.”

  He started to say “okay,” but bit it back since that seemed to be a trigger word for her to invite him into a fight. He squeezed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension out of his system. All I want is for her to be happy and us to get back to good.

  “Are you mad at me?” she said.

  “Not sure. I’m not sure what I am at this moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Jackson.”

  His heart seemed too numb to answer.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Of course I heard you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” He stretched his legs out long again and let his head fall back against the door. The only thing he could think about was how he would die if Blaire left him. Dramatic, but true. She’d become his lifeblood—at least the Blaire he knew yesterday.

  “Do you still love me?”

  “I think so,” he said.

  “You think so?” she said.

  “Blaire, I’m so confused, I don’t know what I feel. Just a second ago, I thought about how I’ll die if you leave me, and that thought makes me feel pathetic. Like I’m this needy son-of-a-bitch who can’t survive on my own. But life with you is ten thousand times better than it was without you. I do know that with certainty.”

  Again, the quietude mantled him, but this time it didn’t feel so weighted.

  “Jackson,” she said.

  He stared at the ceiling. “What?”

  “I’d die if you left me, too. There would be no reason left to breathe.”

  That thought wrapped around his heart like a warm blanket. His eyelids fell closed, and he simply focused on his breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. He imagined Blaire doing the same. Something about that thought gave him a measure of comfort.

  We’re going through a rough patch, that’s all. We’re going to get through this.

  “I’m unlocking the door now,” she said, breaking the stillness.

  He jerked away from the door.

  The door opened and Blaire, sitting on the floor, appeared in his line of sight. Eyelids red and swollen, her face mottled and blotchy from crying, she crawled on her hands and knees toward him.

  He held out his arms to her and she reached for him. Thank God she still wants me. Wordlessly, he fell back onto the wooden floor, holding her tightly.

  She pressed her face into his neck and took a breath. “I’m not going back to sweet, nice pathetic Blaire.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Are you going to be okay with that?” she said, her breath warming his skin.

  “I’m going to try,” he said. Even though the hard floor dug into his bones, he loved her soft warmth on top of him. “I’m doing everything I can to protect you, you know. I have calls into the FBI, calls into the local police. A lot of good it does, though. The police chief told me that unless there are threats to your life, there’s little they can do.”

  She stiffened in his arms.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what?” she said.

  “Don’t pull away from me. I need this. I need you.”

  She relaxed, and he hugged her tight.

  “I’m so scared, Jackson. Karlos is a monster.” Her hot, wet tears dripped down his neck.

  “I’ve got you, baby. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You don’t know what he’s capable of,” she said.

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he said.

  And that was the thought that scared him the most.

  Chapter 23

  Blaire huddled at the beach across the street from her home, smoking another one of those stupid cigarettes. She’d been hiding it from Jackson—sneaking smokes like a naughty teen—but, honestly, could she really hide the smell of cigarette smoke? The grimaces he made when he kissed her said, no.

  She couldn’t stop herself from reaching for her smokes the way she used to reach for Jackson, though. A bitter laugh left her lips. Equating Jackson to cigarettes hardly seemed fair or fitting. Jackson was her world. He was her hero, the light in her life that kept all the darkness at bay. At least he had been. Over the last two weeks, they’d lived in a zombie hell sort of stasis. They each moved like robots, dancing around the extremely large elephant in the room—her and her new behaviors.

  She went to work.

  He went to work.

  She looked over her shoulder at unseen dangers.

  He looked over his shoulder at her.

  They each took care of the dogs.

  They slept far apart on the bed as if oceans and mountains stretched between them.

  Her heart hurt like hell.

  She cast her gaze toward the sea. The waves before her were small. This section of ocean only rocked with standing waves when the weather was foul. The rest of the time, the curls of water were small, innocuous dances of liquid, like a kitten lapping at milk. She stared at them, her thoughts drifting to her first date with Jackson O’Halloran.

  When she’d met him, she’d been riding Bodacious, one of the horses owned by the Strait Shot Stables, a place where she’d gone for riding lessons. He’d caught her eye from a distance, standing there in his khaki-colored firefighting gear, wearing a yellow helmet. He and a couple other guys had fire hoses spread out in neat rows before them. They’d folded them in a concise pattern before lifting them onto the fire engine.

  She had barely noticed the other guys. Her eyes were drawn to him, and him alone.

  Something about the way he moved captivated her. His movements were precise, elegant. He moved with a kind of grace that came from strength and training.

  As she’d approached, his face mesmerized her. He had a strong, determined-looking face, like hard work and challenge were the kind of food he’d consumed to define his life. And when his eyes lifted toward her, time stopped. She’d gazed into the clearest, most soulful blue eyes she’d ever seen. It was like looking into a deep, pristine lake, seeing beyond the surface to depths she’d never known. And his smile—he’d smiled at her like his life had suddenly taken a turn for the better.

  Hers certainly had.

  She hadn’t dated since returning from Venezuela. She’d tried to convince herself that she would never date again, but with Jackson, it wasn’t even a question. With Jackson, she felt safe, seen and cherished, right from the start.

  He’d said he had to get back to the station. They’d exchanged numbers. For a week and a half, they’d texted innocuous thoughts, like getting the “getting to know you” stuff out of the way.

  Jackson: What’s your favorite drink?

  Blaire: Wine and martinis. Yours?

  Jackson: Beer and whiskey.

  Blaire: Tattoos?

  Jackson: A phoenix rising out of flames on my back. A firefighter insignia on my shoulder. You?

  Blaire: Nothing. I’d like to get one someday.

  Jackson: What’s your favorite movie?

  Blaire: Anything with a hunky hero.

  Jackson: So you like hunky heroes, huh? (winky face)

  Blaire: Absolutely. (tongue sticking out face)

  Jackson: Only in the movies?

  Blaire: I’d like to find out if they can exist in the real world.

  Jackson: Come on a date with me so we can see if we can find one.

  He’d picked her up in his big truck. They sat across the table from one another at Port View Grill, a classy restaurant overlooking the Strait. The restaurant had been packed, but the only one Blaire had been able to see was Jackson. Clad in butt hugging jeans and a soft Henley shirt, he looked so handsome she thought she might never be able to look away from him.

  After they’d dined, he took her home. She’d invited him in, not wanting the night to end.

  “So, what are your wishes for the future?” she’d asked him

  They had been sitting together on the sofa, close enough to touch. And
, God how she’d wanted to touch him. She rested her arm on the back of the sofa as an invitation.

  He did the same.

  Their fingers were millimeters apart.

  “Let’s see, my wishes for the future… Keep saving lives, fighting fires, get a dog. I like dogs.” He’d flashed his sunbeam smile.

  “You don’t want to find a good woman to be in a relationship with?” she’d blurted, chiding herself the second the words left her mouth.

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “I already found one.”

  He directed a gaze so hot in her direction, she thought she might burst into flames.

  “How can you be certain? She might be a serial killer or a lunatic escaped from an asylum.”

  “She’s not,” he’d said. “I can tell the good from the bad.” He’d extended his arm a little until their fingers touched on the back of the couch. She swore sparks erupted.

  “What are your wishes for the future?” he’d said.

  “I want to see your tattoo. And, then, we’ll see where it goes.”

  He’d shifted his position on the couch, withdrawing his touch from hers, and pushed up his short sleeve, revealing the firefighter insignia.

  “This one?” Mirth shone in his eyes.

  “Not that one.”

  “Oh,” he said, smirking. “You want to see the one on my back. If I show you before kissing you, you might think me easy.”

  She’d smiled. “I’d never think you easy.”

  “You might think I’m moving too fast.”

  “If you don’t show me after kissing me, I might think you’re not moving fast enough,” she’d said.

  “Impatient, are we?” He’d laughed. His laugh was deep and sonorous, warming her heart.

  “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we started texting,” she’d said.

  “The kiss or the tattoo?”

  “Both.”

  “I see. So this would be a reward for you waiting a week and a half.”

  “Exactly. I’ve been waiting patiently.”

  “Well, then…” Lips parted, he lowered his head toward her.

  She leaned in his direction, drawn by his magnetic offering. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  He hooked his warm palm around the back of her neck and drew her close.