Beloved (17 page)

He lets out a chuckle while carrying me over to a bench near the starting line. His voice is happy. “Nope. You need to sit and see how it’s really done. Time to watch the master.” He plops me down and hands me his watch. I stare up at him as I realize I get to watch him run it now.

“Master? What if my time is better?”

He laughs and quickly recovers. “Should we bet?”

“Are you sure you want to chance it?” I smile, goading him.

Jackson has a huge grin on his face as he stands in front of me, blocking the sun with his muscular body. “If I win, you have to have dinner with me in New York.”

“But if I win, you owe me a spa day and a new pair of jeans.”

Jackson smirks as if this is the easiest bet he’s ever made. “Deal. This is going to be a walk in the park.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

He chuckles and grabs my hand holding the watch. “Okay, that button on the right is the timer. When I say go, you press it. Got it?” He smiles as I nod in agreement. Good thing he missed my finger twitch when I pressed it a moment ago.

“Oh, Jackson?” I ask innocently.

“Yes?”

I casually lift my shoulders and press my chest out to stretch my back, taking an agonizingly slow time with each movement. His jaw tics as he watches me roll my neck. I let out a gentle breath and drop my voice to a seductive whisper. “Did you enjoy the show?” My teeth bite on my bottom lip and I watch every moment, taking great pleasure in the way his eyes drop to my mouth and his Adam’s apple bobs.

He takes a deep breath and rips his shirt off, stopping whatever game I was attempting to play. Holy fucking shit. He’s standing completely still, allowing me to take him in. Each muscle in his solid body is toned and perfect. My mouth goes completely dry as I stare at his taut chest and the large tattoo covering the left side of it. It’s a tribal sun that takes up the entire space over his heart. Greedily, my eyes graze lower to his rippled abs, all the way down to my favorite part of a man—the deep V. I find my way back up to his blazing eyes—the look he gives me cements me to my seat.

He takes three long strides and places his hands on the back of the bench on each side of me, staring intently into my eyes. I feel naked, the intensity of his gaze stripping me and baring my soul. I’ve never felt so vulnerable yet so desired at the same time. His breathing is labored and I’m completely still. Neither of us moves as my eyes start to drift, and then he makes a deep noise in his throat. My gaze quickly reverts to his turquoise eyes as they probe for something. Between the running, adrenaline, and the intensity that is Jackson I start to get dizzy.

He leans in and drops his head to the side of my neck, taking two deep breaths. I can feel the tension, the turmoil rolling through his body. I don’t know what he’s fighting. He runs his nose up my throat and my eyes roll back as I moan. “Keep making those noises and I’m going to get the wrong idea.”

Abruptly, he’s gone. He’s at the start line looking back at me. “Ready for
your
show, Catherine?”

So damn sure of himself, isn’t he? Leaning back, he lifts his arms over his head, which causes his shorts to drop a tiny bit. My eyes follow the indentation of his hips down to the tiny trail that leads to all things happy. My lips part and my breathing becomes erratic. I’m incredibly turned on right now. He gets in the ready position, waiting for me to tell him to go. I smile inwardly knowing that he’s added about three minutes on to his time with his little seduction game. I lift the watch and yell, “Go!”

Nothing could have prepared me for watching Jackson run the course. Not only does he have a large tattoo on his front, he has one on his shoulder as well. It’s black and looks like the skeleton of a frog. His body moves as if he was made for this—each leap graceful and precise, every step calculated. His body moves, his muscles tighten, and my mouth waters at the sight of him. There’s no time for me to return the favor of climbing to the top of the ginormous building, so I decide to rush over to the bottom of the steps. Jackson still has a little time before he makes it over there, although with the way he’s moving, it may be a lot faster than I’m anticipating. I get there before him and try to climb a couple flights, but the five-alarm fire burning in my legs prevents me from getting too far. I sit on the steps instead, trying to appear casual as Jackson starts to climb.

I lie across the step and rest my hand on my propped-up knee. He gets to my step and stops briefly, letting out a throaty laugh. “Nice try, babe.” He leaps over me and laughs the rest of the way up.

I turn and yell in his direction, “Hey! Not fair!”

I look up and see him descending a rope faster than I thought humanly possible. Somehow when he reaches the bottom, he’s not even winded. He sprints to the end, finishing without breaking a sweat. Jesus!

He yells back, “Done! Press stop!” as I gingerly walk to him, trying to lessen the throbbing in my muscles. Jackson heads toward me with a huge smile on his face as I press the button.

I place the watch in my back pocket. He’s not getting it until I know my time. “So, Jackson, you tell me my time and I’ll tell you yours. Then we can see who the winner is.” I raise my eyebrow, smiling coyly.

He reaches forward and pulls me against him. “First, dinner. I’ll tell you then.”

“What?” I huff. “No! I want to know now.” I purse my lips and push back from him.

“Too bad. If you want it, you have to have dinner with me. Besides, you owe me anyway.”

“Ugh! You don’t fight fair.” He drives me insane. On the other hand, I haven’t had this much fun since … I can’t even remember. He makes me laugh and feel special. There are worse ways to spend my evening than dinner with an extremely sexy and agile and funny and powerful and … Oh man. This is bad. He’s all of those things, but he’s also my client. Still, he doesn’t seem to be concerned with that little fact.

His low voice halts my mental debate. “Stop overthinking. It’s dinner—we can even talk business. Plus, don’t you want to know how bad you lost and if you get your spa day?”

I grab the watch, taking a picture of his final time with my phone. I clear the display and then hand it back to him. His time was outrageously long—that makes me smile. And now that I have the proof in my phone, there’s no way he can deny it. “Fine. Dinner, but we talk about work. Then I’ll show you just how bad you lost.” I grin, walking toward the car.

I climb into the cab of the truck, laughing as I imagine his reaction when he finally sees his ridiculous time.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing. You’ll see later tonight. Unless of course you’re ready to share my time now?” I smile and bat my eyelashes.

He returns my smile and throws the truck in reverse. “Nice try, babe. But if I give you the time now, I’ll have nothing to ensure you show up tonight.”

“It’s not like I can go very far.” I really want him to tell me so I can watch his face fall when he sees how bad he lost. There’s no way he beat me. Well, there is, just not with the amount of lead-time I added in. If he still beat me, even with the extra time, I’m not only signing up for a gym, I’m getting a personal trainer.

“No, I think I have you right where I want you.” He winks and his cheek rises.

We start driving back toward the hotel, but it’s a different way than how we came. When I look off to the right the shoreline is close. It’s beautiful. The homes lining the street are all quaint little beach cottages with white picket fences and trees that cast shade over the road.

“This area is adorable,” I muse.

Jackson looks over, smiling. “I lived on this side when I was stationed here. It’s the locals’ beach on this side of the bay. You get to enjoy the ocean without the crowds.”

“So if you still have your headquarters down here, do you stay in a hotel every time or do you have a home here?”

I wondered this before but wasn’t sure how or if I should ask. Since he thought it would be entertaining to make me run an obstacle course, I think it’s fair game. If it weren’t for him, my legs wouldn’t be throbbing and my arms wouldn’t be numb.

“No, I sold my house when I moved up to New York. I kept the office here because it made more sense being close to the base. Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back to the beach and see friends.” His hand grips the steering wheel and he puts his blinker on.

“Where are we going?” I ask, confused. The hotel isn’t here, not that I know where here is. But still, there isn’t anything here but trees. I look at the sign as we turn—another military base. No. No. No. I’m
not
doing this again. He’s trying to kill me. “Ummm …”

Jackson laughs but doesn’t answer. He gives his ID to the guard at the gate and keeps driving forward. “Relax, this will be fun.”

My hands are clenching the seat as I try to get a grip. Jackson reaches over and grabs my hand, pulling it onto the middle console as his fingers intertwine with mine. If he keeps pushing against that wall, soon enough it’s going to crumble. Distance. I need distance. I try to pull away but he tightens his grip, continuing to look forward.

“I don’t believe you. You said the same thing about the last base we went to.”

“I had fun. Didn’t you?” he asks.

“Fun? Sure, if you call aching joints, atrocious hair, and a dirt mark on my butt from falling fun. I would call it something else, but we can go with that.” I smile even though I was going for sarcasm.

Jackson’s loud laughter fills the truck as he parks. A little nervous and afraid to see where he’s brought me, I decide to stare at him—the view is beautiful either way.

“You still look perfect even with messy hair and dirt on your ass—which I happen to be fond of.” Jackson’s brow raises and he shifts forward, coming so close our lips could brush. “I want to show you my favorite place in Virginia Beach, or would you rather go back?”

With his breath heating my face, I’m cognitively misfiring. He could ask me to strip and run the course again and right now, I would. “Here is fine.”

His smile is brighter than the sun. “Good, let’s go.”

I climb, or more like hobble, out of the truck. The sea air assaults my nose and seagulls fly overhead. I look around and it’s truly remarkable. The sand is a little whiter than by the hotel. There are no waves. It’s calm and peaceful. But what causes my breath to catch is the huge brick lighthouse. It’s very old but still perfect. The red is muted from years of wind, rain, and storms, but there she stands—steadfast and strong to guide the ships home.

I look at Jackson leaning on the hood of the truck, watching me take in the sights. He walks around and extends his hand. Instead of wavering, I eagerly give him what he wants, reveling in the way his hand engulfs mine.

“I used to come here a lot. Have you ever been to a lighthouse?” Jackson asks in a hushed tone.

“In Jersey there are tons of lighthouses. My uncle had a boat, and when I was young we used to fish right by one. I always thought they were magic.” I smile and Jackson pulls me closer to him as we walk.

“Magic, huh?”

I shrug, not wanting to share too much of my heart with him. I loved the stories my uncle would tell me about sailors and the women waiting for them to return. He was a silly old man but he always made it seem so romantic, talking about how men would be lost for days until the lighthouse guided them home. And how the lighthouse keeper would ensure it was lit, helping sailors find their beacon. He used to call my aunt his light-keeper and say she was the light he’d always find his way back to. All my life I’ve dreamed of sharing a love like that.

We stop in front of the steps that lead inside. The wind whips my hair forward and I realize I have to climb my way to the top. I’m not going to be able to walk for a week. Maybe we can go back to the hotel where there’s an elevator?

Jackson notices my body tense and rubs his thumb in small circles on the back of my hand.

I have two choices: either I suck it up and climb to the top to see the view, or I pout and go back to the car. Option two sounds like a better idea for my feet, but there’s no way I want to miss this. Even back home I couldn’t ever go inside the lighthouse.

I nudge Jackson as we enter the small building. “Just in case you’re curious, no matter who wins the bet, you owe me a massage. And a new pair of jeans.”

“Are you saying you want me to rub you down?”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Let’s go, Muffin. We have about four hundred stairs to climb.” If he only knew how bad I want his hands all over me, I’d be in big trouble.

I hear him sigh deeply as I giggle to myself.

The inside is cramped and the spiral metal stairs are terrifying. I’m sure I’ll have blisters all over my hands from gripping the railing so tight. My legs are quivering—not sure if it’s from the previous workout or from fear of falling to my death. The only thing giving me any comfort is Jackson insisting on going behind me in case I lose my footing.

“How much farther does this go?” I ask.

Next thing I know I’m being hoisted over Jackson’s shoulder.

“Stop wiggling or I’ll drop you,” he says with a short laugh, seeming unconcerned as he carries me up the steps.