Broken Shadows (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The speakeasy was still dead, and after an hour or so, Malik told me I could take off. I wandered to the back to check on Jackson before I left. When I found him, he was standing in the middle of the stockroom, staring at the wall of rough wooden shelves. He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“How much would you say that weighs?” he said. He’d taken off his dress shirt; it was draped over the back of Simon’s desk chair. It was probably the closest that chair had been to a dress shirt since Simon had bought it.

“I have no idea.” I went to stand next to him.

He reached a hand out, palm flat as though he were telling someone to stop. He closed his eyes. There was a creaking noise of complaining steel, and the whole shelf rose three inches off the concrete floor.

“Holy shit,” I said.

Jackson let the shelf down hard, and the bottles clashed and sang. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

“Are you okay?” I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t dare. He was breathing hard.

“I think so.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Those pills—I think they might really work.” He collapsed into Simon’s armchair. “That’s the tenth time I’ve done that.”

I had to sit down. “I’m guessing you couldn’t lift something like that normally.”

He shook his head. “Those kids we’ve been going after...they’re jacked up on these—whatever they are. Enhancers.”

“And you just had a little dust.”

He templed his fingers and stared into the distance.

“No wonder that guy overpowered your dad. You think this is what that guy OD’ed on?”

“Hard to know.”

“Well, I’m taking off, so...I guess I’ll see you later.”

He picked up his shirt. “I can take you home.”

Did he mean his condo, or Bridget’s sister’s place? I wasn’t sure. “It’s no big deal. I’ll take the bus.”

“It’s no trouble.” He followed me up the back stairs to the alley. “So. You, uh, moved in to Megan’s place.”

“Yeah. I mean, it was ready, so...”
Lame. Lame lame lame.

“You like it?”

“It’s nice.” What was I going to say? No?

We made it to the street. It was cold out, and hazy, and I was still feeling shaky from what had happened in the prison, but I didn’t want to spend twenty awkward minutes in Jackson’s Audi. Better to take the bus. I stopped on the street a block from the station. His car was in the opposite direction.

“Well, I guess I’ll get going,” I said. “Thanks again for...” it seemed like too many things to list, “...everything.”

“Don’t you want a ride?”

“Oh. No. I mean, I’ll take the bus. I mean, thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Why was I so fucking nervous around him? Christ.

“Mina.” He took a step closer to me. “You said forget it. I’m forgetting it.” He paused for a moment.
I’ll forget when I’m dead,
I thought. “Let me give you a ride.” He clicked the remote for his car, and it chirped and flashed its lights. “It’s no trouble, and it’s almost 1 a.m. You shouldn’t be taking the bus alone.”

Great. Now, if I said no, I was the one making it into a big deal. “Okay.” We walked to his car and he opened the passenger door for me. “Thanks.” Not a big deal at all. I buckled my seatbelt and wrapped my arms around myself while he walked around to the driver’s side. He pulled out of the spot and onto the street, driving a little faster than the speed limit. Fine with me. No reason to prolong the pleasantries. I spent the first six blocks trying to come up with something safe to say, but he saved me the trouble.

“My father wants me to ask you to help out with another job,” he said.

“Your
father
wants you...?”

“You know how I feel about it.”

“So why are you asking me?”

He looked over at me, and for a moment, the streetlights caught his profile from behind and made it glow—his strong nose, his cheekbones, the fall of his hair over his forehead. His mouth was slightly open, as though he couldn’t decide which words to form, and after a moment a horn sounded behind us.

“Shit.” The car squealed forward. “Look,” he said once we were through the light, “it’s not my decision. Right?”

“Well, yeah. Right.”

“So I’m just the messenger.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“One of Greg’s friends. We think he may know something about those pills, but every time I try to talk to him, he runs.”

“Why would he do that?”

Jackson shrugged. “Probably because he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing.” He turned up Sanchez toward my new place, the car barely bouncing over the streetcar tracks. “And he might think I’m still upset about this.” He tapped his forearm.

“He’s the one who cut you?”

“Yep.”

“Then I’m definitely helping. Do you think this guy might be connected to Conner at all?”

“It’s possible. Don’t tell Bridget, but...”

“He’s mixed up in all this, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid he might be.”

“I think she already suspects.” I tried to imagine what it would feel like, to have my own brother caught up in a drug ring, missing or dead. If there was a way to help find Conner, I was going to do everything I could to make it happen.

We’d come to the apartment, and I made to get out of the car, but Jackson killed the engine before I could even get my seatbelt off.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“No one’s going to attack me between here and the front door.”

“Humor me.”

Was he trying to make this as awkward as possible?
I get it,
I wanted to say as I unlocked the security gate.
You aren’t gonna be weird about a simple kiss; you aren’t gonna make me walk to my apartment alone.
But all I could think about was opening the door to his apartment the night before, arms and lips tangling together, the way he’d pushed me up against the wall. My whole body felt warm, hypersensitive. Waiting. I remembered he could hear me and shut my thoughts down.

“You know,” Jackson said. “It’s really hard for me not to hear what you’re thinking right now.”

My face heated. “You said you didn’t snoop without permission.” I wanted it to sound sharper, but it came off teasing.

“I’m trying. I really am. Those pills are making it...difficult.”

“Uh...”

“So I’m...shit.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, messing it up utterly. “I’m just going to come out and say this.”

I focused on the street behind him. It seemed safer than looking at him.

“I like you.”

That made me meet his eyes.

“You’re brave, and fascinating, and beautiful. I like you, and I want to get to know you better.”

I was stunned. “You like me.”

“Traditionally, one responds by reversing those pronouns.”

He waited. His newly mussed hair was escaping from the product he’d used to tame it, falling over his forehead in thick, dark slashes. I remembered how he’d slammed Greg against the wall, how he’d banged the hell out of his piano. I couldn’t concentrate with him staring at me like that. It brought back the feel of his mouth on mine, of his gripping my hip in the elevator. I blushed, knowing he’d seen it in my head.
Shit shit shit.
He smiled and took a step toward me.

“Mina.” He was standing over me now; he had to look down to meet my eyes. Christ, did he have to be so
tall?
All I could see was the wall of his chest and shoulders, the tan column of his throat above the undone buttons of his white shirt. He braced a hand on the doorjamb behind me. “Do you want me to kiss you, or not?”

I wanted to tell him no, it will make things too complicated, you have to protect your powers. But what I wanted more—much more—was to feel his mouth on mine.

This was a terrible idea. I nodded.

Jackson didn’t smile. He leaned down the remaining few inches and brushed his lips against my cheek.

It was nothing like before. That kiss had been unrestrained, unrelenting. This time, he didn’t even make it to my mouth. It could have been a friendly peck on the cheek but for the way his lips lingered and parted, just a little, over the curve of my cheekbone. I shuddered. I couldn’t help it. The scents of his hair gel and shaving cream were thick in my nose, clean and simple. Jackson moved his mouth back, toward my temple, and pressed another kiss at the corner of my eye. He placed a third at the base of my jaw. He pulled away a fraction of an inch. Three light kisses, almost chaste. But not quite. The places he’d touched burned.

I met his eyes, and they were so serious, so full of hope, that my breath caught.

“Yes,” I said.

He broke into a grin. “Yes?” His voice was soft and shot through with humor.

I could only nod.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, his voice gone low. The sound hit me right between the legs.

Yes. God, yes. “Yes.”

I stumbled up two flights of stairs, turning around and seeing him smile at every landing. At the door to my apartment, the old key slid easily into the lock, the mark of their long relationship. I turned the doorknob but stopped, suddenly not wanting him to see how pathetically bare my apartment was. Half of my things were still in boxes. But Jackson didn’t even look around.

I backed up until I hit the wall opposite the door, and Jackson followed, that sideways grin still on his face. He slid his hands to my waist, pulling me forward, forcing me to take a step into the warm cage of his body. He ran his thumb in a slow circle along the small of my back. He shut the door with his foot, too hard. The wall rattled.

“Oops,” he said, and pulled me closer, his hand slipping under my shirt. His fingers were cold, and I flinched when they found my skin, but I didn’t care. My pulse was pounding, making me dizzy. I wanted this man. I wanted his neatly parted hair and his recklessness and his protectiveness. I wanted his body over mine like a blanket of warm stone. Even as anticipation filled me with careless, hectic joy, I remembered what the tingling shocks on my skin meant.

“We can’t,” I said, twisting away from him. “I’ll ground you.”

“Right,” he said, breath hot in my ear. “Bad idea.” He dropped his hand, but I could feel his heart pounding where his chest pressed to mine.

“It’s all right,” I said, suddenly bold. “We can make up for it.” I reached down and covered the bulge at his groin with my hand, arching my back, pressing my breasts against his chest.

“Oh, fuck...” he moaned, pressing his hips toward me.

I gave him a wicked grin and slipped away, darting for the bedroom and kicking off my shoes as I went. I sat down on the edge of my futon and unbuttoned my shirt. Jackson leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, watching as I tugged my arms out of the sleeves and let it fall behind me. By chance, I’d worn one of my favorite bras, an electric green one with lots of lace. I dragged my finger into the cleft between my breasts. Jackson bit down hard on one of his knuckles. I undid the button on my jeans as he watched me, his breath coming faster. I held his gaze as I slid off my jeans and kicked them ungracefully toward the closet. His eyes were dark, and he let his hands fall by his sides.

I bit my lower lip and slipped a finger under the waistband of my panties. Jackson groaned. I moaned as I touched myself, watching him. His nostrils flared, his eyes flicked from my face to my fingers. I moved my legs a little wider, giving myself better access. I arched my back as I slid a finger inside myself, then gasped as a phantom touch covered my left breast, kneading through the lace of my bra. Jackson hadn’t moved, but his eyes were fierce and hard, and he was watching me like a cat before a kill. I froze for a moment, undone by the intensity of his gaze, and then he started moving.

Jackson’s eyes never left mine. He sent my shirt soaring off the floor into his hands and walked toward me. As he came, he twisted it around his right hand, red fabric stretched tight over his fingers. Then he knelt in front of me and used his wrapped hand to push my knees apart, first one and then the other. Heat built between my legs. Rough cotton slid up my thigh, warm from his body. He met my eyes with a crooked smile and dipped his head.

“You can’t—” I said

He put his mouth right at my center, hovering, not touching me. Then he licked me through the thin satin of my green panties, and I cried out loud enough to startle myself.

“Oh my God...”

He did it again, pulling back to blow on the damp place his mouth had left.

“God, that’s good,” I said, barely able to get the words out. My breath was caught in my throat.

“Shh,” he said, smiling, and he stroked two long fingers down my center, featherlight and teasing, making me tremble. At the same time, his mental touch slid over the tops of my breasts, warmer and more diffuse than hands ever could have been.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, lost in the feel of his touch skimming over my body everywhere at once. His lips whispered over the damp satin covering my clit, and I moaned, spreading my legs wider. All I wanted was for that barrier to be gone, to feel his mouth on me, his hands on me, to feel them in me. I imagined what it would be like to have him on top of me, inside me. Jackson groaned.

“You aren’t making this easy,” he said. I could feel his fingernails pressing into my knee through the fabric of my shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I making you frustrated?” I growled. I imagined flipping him onto his back, seeing how long he could stand similar treatment.

“We can try that some other time,” he said.

“Nosy.”

He grinned and crawled over me, bracing a hand on either side of my head. He hadn’t taken off even his shirt. With his eyes on my face, he pressed his body down onto mine, the hard circles of his shirt buttons making indentations in my skin. He settled his legs between mine, shifting so I had no doubt at all that he was hard. The fabric of his khakis was thin enough that I could feel the outline of his erection against my thigh. I bit my lower lip. It was definitely in proportion with the rest of him.

“Nosy has its benefits,” he said. I felt warm pressure against my hip, almost like the feel of fingers sinking into my skin, kneading. The sensation moved to the edge of my panties, then under, light, teasing. Jackson dipped his head until his lips were by my ear.