True for You (8 page)

“What
of it? Seriously?” I growl. “You’re panting after
my
wife
,
damn it.”

Cameron
flushes. “You are completely wrong. Wasn’t I the one
telling you to get your ass back home to your
wife
?”

“What
you said then, and what you actually did behind my back, are two
completely different things,” I grind out.

“I
don’t sleep with my students,” Cameron says, his jaw
working.

“Who
said anything about sleeping?” Yeah, that helped this entire
conversation, but all I can think of is my friend’s easy
agreement to hang out with Bliss while I’m in New York. I’ve
turned unreasonably jealous, something I’ve never been before,
not even when Violet was with Cole.

Well,
it wasn’t the same type of jealousy. I wanted what I had, not
what I haven’t. Now all I want is Bliss, and I haven’t
even had her.
Yet.

Bliss’
gaze bounces between the two of us, but she scoots a little closer to
me, and not him.

I
smirk at Cameron.
That’s
right, asshole; she wants me, not you.

Cameron
curses under his breath. “If you want a fight, I’ll give
you one, but not over her and not where I work, or where your wife
will be going to school to learn how—”

“If
going here is going to cause problems between the two of you, I’d
rather learn online or something,” Bliss says.

I
open my mouth to agree with her, and then realize if she doesn’t
have something to do while I’m gone, then she’ll be all
alone. Or with Cameron.

Looks
like my trip to New York will be postponed.

“Not
a problem, baby doll. You’re all enrolled here. I’ll be
happy to drive you to class each day and pick you up when you’re
done.” Or buy her a car. She could drive herself. On second
thought, I could buy her a car… and
still
take her to class and pick her up afterwards.

Flashing a smile as
I snag my phone from my pocket, I text my publicist and Everett, and
then takes Bliss’ hand in mine, lacing our fingers together.
“Anywhere else she needs to see?”

Cameron
eyes me. Yeah, he’s not convinced at my sudden change in
attitude. “Not really.”

“Then
we’ll be heading to lunch.” I tug on Bliss’ arm,
and she follows. “I’d ask you to go, Cam, but I’m
sure you have a lot of work to do.”

As
we walk across campus, or rather, as I stride and Bliss jogs to keep
up with me, she says, “Why are you changing your plans?”

“Excuse
me?”

“Cameron
said you were going to New York at the end of the week.”

That
bastard. I’m going to kill him. “I said I might go.”

My
phone vibrates as I hold open the passenger-side door and wait for
Bliss to climb inside. Checking my screen, I’m more than a
little surprised when Everett agrees to the change.

Right
as I join Bliss in the car, the wind starts howling. “Shit,”
I mutter. The second storm is coming in faster than was predicted.
“Would you mind if we ate at home? The weather’s getting
worse again.”

“No,”
she says.

By
the time I come to the turn that leads to my bridge, I’m
driving at a snail’s pace. It’s raining so hard that I
can barely see a couple of feet from the hood. The radio is tuned in
to one of the local stations, as it gives a minute-by-minute weather
update.

“Thank
goodness,” Bliss whispers.

I
want to take her hand and say it’ll be okay, but with the rain
and the wind shoving my Range Rover around like a kid playing with a
matchbox car, I can’t. The vehicle is one that I keep at the
island just for weather like this, and to go four-wheeling on the
beach.

“Almost
home.” I turn down the drive, trying not to let my shock show
over how much the tide has risen on the Sound side when we drive over
the wooden bridge.

Maybe
it wasn’t the best idea to come back here
,
I think as the garage door opens, and I park inside. Maybe we should
have—there’s a loud crack and I look up into the rearview
just in time to see the bridge wash away.

“Is
there another way out of here?”

I
grimace. “There was, but my boat is in the shop to get it ready
for summer.”

“Oh.”

Bliss gets out of
the truck, shutting her door and trudging up the stairs. I do the
same, but race after her, catching her arm.

“Hey,
it’s going to be okay.”

She
tips up her chin, the lenses of her glasses a little foggy. Her lips
are so close that if I dip my head, I could kiss them. I want to kiss
them. I want to kiss her, to taste her again, and make sure that what
I felt before, what I tasted before, was real and just as sweet.

“I’m not
so sure about that.”

“I’m
not so bad,” I tease, fight to keep my head on straight. The
last thing I need to do is get involved with her physically. My brain
knows that, but it’s the other parts that are not in agreement.
They’re all for exploring Bliss and making her mine.

She
sighs one of her familiar sighs, and then says, “Maybe so, but
you make me want to be bad… with you.”

Chapter Eight

Bliss

In
any other circumstance, trapped on a secluded island with the man
who’s dominated your every waking thought and dreams seems like
the most perfect thing to ever happen during a spring storm.

But
these aren’t any other circumstance.

While
he was gone, I had time to think, and though I suspect Jackson thinks
Cameron influenced my decision to stick around, he didn’t. I
want to be here.

No
matter what Violet, what Everett, or what anyone else says about the
man I married, I think there’s more to Jackson Morgan, the man,
and not Jaxon Hunter, the performer.

Violet probably
glimpsed that part of him, and I think he still loves her, for what
she reminds him of—I think he equates her with happier times,
without his dad’s interference.

As for his dad, I
know for a fact Everett used Jackson as a shield, but why Jackson
went with it…? I have no clue. And as strong willed as Jackson
is, I never dreamed he’d be the fall guy for his dad’s
affairs with young girls, to let himself be accused of cheating on
Violet, the woman that not even last week he was trying to get back.

What
would that be like, to be wanted so fiercely that nothing would stand
in the way of us being together? Only Jackson had given her up, and
I’m pretty sure he helped Cole.

The
lights go out suddenly, and I jump, reaching for what, I’m not
sure.

One thing for sure:
I hate the dark—what I can’t see and not knowing what I’m
touching. The dark is when all sorts of things happen to girls on the
street. Honest to God, I don’t know how I wasn’t one of
those girls.

Dejar
angeles te cuide
.
My
mami
would
whisper that to me, right before she and my dad would kiss me good
night.

That’s
the worst thing about being homeless, the memories of a warm house, a
full belly, laughter, love, and the safety of my parents’
embrace.

Foster
care certainly hadn’t helped. Being shuffled from home to home
every couple of months because I wasn’t …
enough
has shot my self-worth all to pieces. But I’m not naïve
enough to think that I’ll find my worth in Jackson or any other
man.

Still,
to be wanted like that…

“Generators
will kick on after ten minutes,” he says as he strums a song on
his guitar. My eyes adjust to the firelight in the room.

I
nod. “That’s good.”

Jackson
starts singing one of his songs, a slow one talking about love lost
and then found in the person he never expected. I love listening to
him sing, especially this one. In the most secret part of my heart, I
wish it were me he was singing to, but I know it’ll never
happen.

Because
I’ll never be enough for him.

*** *** ***

Jackson

The
generators finally kick on, and with it, the few lamps I’d
turned on when we’d settled in the living room.

Bliss
jumps—again—then settles back down in the large club
chair in the corner.

I’ve
never seen her so anxious. Well, except for the time Violet caught us
on lying on the sofa with my hand down Bliss’ pants. Another
minute or two longer, and I’m pretty sure that beautiful girl
would have exploded in my arms.

But
we didn’t get that, and Bliss thought for sure she would be
fired. That hadn’t happened, and not only because of me taking
responsibility for my actions. Violet refused to let Bliss leave.

“Any
requests?” I ask Bliss.

She
licks her lips, and then shakes her head, curly hair falling out of
her loose bun. “No.”

“Do
you want me to stop?” I hadn’t thought to ask her if she
minded if I played. Having a guitar in my hand settles me, gives
strength to my soul, and grounds me in ways that I can’t get
from any other thing… or person. “There are a ton of
books to read in the cabinet under the television.”

“I’m
not a g—big reader.”

“Too
bad. My housekeeper and her daughters love to read romance, so I
usually order a bunch and have them delivered before they stay here
in August.” Yeah, the quieter Bliss becomes, the chattier I
get. Maybe I should start emulating her.

“Your
housekeeper lives here?” She glances around, like Donna will
appear at any moment with a mop and bucket.

“For
two weeks in August she does, before school starts for her youngest.
He’s five. I buy him new toys for the beach each year. David is
hell on buckets and shovels.”

Her
gaze fixes on me. “You buy books for her and her daughters? And
toys for her son?”

Jealousy
doesn’t exist in her tone or even on her pretty face. There’s
awe and wonderment. I duck my head, unable to hold her gaze, because
I don’t want her assigning qualities me to that I don’t
deserve.

Shrugging,
I pick out a new melody on my guitar. “Her husband died two
years ago, in Afghanistan, and they moved to Sweetland looking for
work. She cleans a bunch of houses year round, including mine, but I
thought it would be nice for her to actually stay in one of them.”

“You
hire someone else to clean up after her, don’t you? And you pay
her while she stays here,” she says, and I feel my cheeks grow
hot. I don’t want this to matter to her, and I don’t want
her digging deeper. She won’t find a buried treasure—all
she’ll find is me.

“Maybe.”
Cute feet, without toenail polish, appear in my vision. I look up.

Bliss
is looking down, a serious expression on her face. She kneels beside
me, sitting on her calves. Her hand covers mine where it rests on the
neck of my guitar. Her touch is soft, yet firm.

“I
never got to say thank you,” she says, and my brows crease
together.

“Why
would you say thank you?”

A
small smile graces her lips. “For saving me.”

I
saved her? “From what?” Or is it a who? Then I remember
her words, the morning after we married.
You
made a promise to me, but I guess holding you to something that you
don’t remember isn’t fair.

“Everything.”

Then
she leans in, pressing her lips to mine. I stop playing, my hand
going to her face and cupping the side. She doesn’t owe me
anything, and I sure as hell don’t want a pity kiss or screw.
But I can’t help but asking, “Are you sure?”

“It’s
just a kiss.”

With
a groan, I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to the back of her neck.
Her hair tickles the back of my hand. When I feel the first touch of
her tongue against mine, I completely lose it, practically throwing
my guitar to the side.

I
lower Bliss to the floor, settling between her thighs and resting my
arms on either side of her. Our lips fuse, and my brain screams at me
to stop. But then she rocks against me, where my cock is hard, and my
eyes water. Brain function ceases.

“Damn,
you taste good,” I murmur with my next breath.

“So
do you.”

“Kiss me,”
I beg, unable to comprehend how much I want Bliss. How much I want
this one simple kiss.

Her
fingers tangle in my hair and the kiss goes from simple to burning
need. Suddenly, I’m kissing her like my life depended on it,
like I’ll never kiss her again.

Tongue
gliding over tongue, small kisses to the corners of my mouth and my
chin. I turn my head to the side, biting on my own damn lip when she
licks me behind my ear. “Oh hell.”

“Should
I stop? Should we stop?” She asks each question after each
kiss. “Oh God, I don’t want to stop.”

When
the hell did she get so chatty? “Then don’t.”

Nodding,
she kisses me again, rubbing her body against mine and making me
harder than ever. I can’t stop my hands from touching her,
gliding over the side of her face and lower still to the most perfect
breasts ever created.