Something to Talk About (14 page)

And then, this enormous, beautiful man was sliding the condom on, parting her legs, pressing the tip of himself at her entrance, making her wrap her arms around his neck and delight in the brush of his dark hair rubbing against her shoulders.

Jax brushed her hair from her eyes. “You still good?”

Each time Jax made his concern for her known, when he was offering her the time to regroup if she needed it, it did something to her heart. Something that tingled—a twinge—a warmth—a nudge of a feeling she had to blatantly ignore. His tenderness wasn’t something she’d expected, and it was going to break her if she read too much into it.

Jax was a considerate lover. Just because they were only in this for the sex didn’t mean they couldn’t care about how the other person felt.

Still, when she nodded her consent and arched her back, and Jax drove upward inside her, rigid and hot, her throat closed up. Grew so tight from this odd emotion, she had to clench her eyes shut.

But then the world tipped sideways when Jax’s hands burrowed under her, cupping her butt, driving deeper into her. Stroke after stroke he drew her closer, filling her with everything Jax, stretching her until she dug her fingernails into thick shoulders.

There was no tease to his thrusts, no flirtation with his intent, but she was right there with him, pushing harder, gulping for the same air he gasped at to fill his lungs. Her hips ground upward, seeking that delicious friction the scrape of her clit against his hair created, as she dug her heels into the edge of the bed to reach higher.

Their scents lingered in her nose, the slide of their sweat-slick bodies and the suction it created in her ears. Em’s muscles contracted around him, tightening, drawing him deeper inside her until it all became an overload of everything.

Everything incredible. Everything delicious. Everything she’d always read, heard, daydreamed about, but never dared to imagine could ever happen to her.

Jax was so much—so much pleasure—so much perfect—that when she came, her orgasm was one part wild release, and a million other parts stingingly, achingly sweet. Em slammed her eyes shut, stupidly hoping it would chase away this startling sense of connection—this sense of being right where she belonged.

Jax stiffened above her, his back muscles tightening under her palms as he settled deeper into her, taking his last long draw before he cupped her jaw and ran his thumb over her bottom lip and reared up.

And then he came, too. As strong and as powerful as the rest of him. A release of tension-filled energy before he sagged against her, breathing harsh rasps of breath.

As if it were possible, in that second, while he was above her, rigid and firm, when his chest was ripped with tight muscle, and his jaw was clenched, he was even more amazing.

Did anyone look that good when they came? But watching him from hooded eyes hadn’t just turned her on, it made her heart curl, twist, beat harder as if it were begging for attention.

No.

These wispy-warm tendrils of satisfaction would not dig themselves any deeper than into a layer of her flesh. Her heart was sacred—off-limits—temporarily out to lunch.

Reason would return, and she’d look back on tonight and realize what she was feeling right now was just the afterglow of love well made. It left you vulnerable, and open to a world of hurt. It was why so many mistook love for incredible sex.

Love took time, and sometimes, even when it had time invested, it wasn’t real love after all. That wouldn’t fool her again.

She definitely wouldn’t be fooled by this “connection” business.

They’d been connected all right. By limbs, and sweat, and mouths and tongues.

And it had been unbelievable.

The sex. Just the sex.

No overthinking it, Emmaline Amos.

Twelve

“M
s. Amos?”

Em looked up from the mound of paperwork that had been waiting for her on her desk when she stumbled into Call Girls, bleary-eyed and yawning. She and Jax had well overextended themselves last night.

After all that business makin’, they’d stayed up far too late going through her idea book, choosing colors for the multiple rooms in his aunt’s old farmhouse, looking on Jax’s laptop at appliances, fixtures, lamps, throw rugs, outlet covers, bedding—you name it, they’d tapped it.

Every second they’d spent drinking wine and eating Jax’s stash of Twizzlers, hunkered under that itchy army blanket had been pure heaven for her. A heaven she was bound to fall from if she kept thinking that way.

Em folded her hands in front of her and examined her nail polish. To look at Dixie could be likened to confession, if she was Catholic and she went to confession.

Dixie knew her better than anyone. She had a way of making her confess things she didn’t want to confess. “Yes, Ms. Davis?”

Dixie sat down in front of her desk and gave her an endearing smile. Em knew that smile. Dixie had smiled it back in high school—just before she’d talked her into prank calling the local pizzeria and ordering twenty anchovy pizzas delivered to Louella Palmer’s house because Louella had made her angry at cheerleading practice. “I’m going to be bold.”

Em’s eyebrow rose in the way it always did when Dixie declared she was going to do something she did on a regular basis. It was the new Dixie’s way of warning you she was going to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. “Because you and demure are so tight?”

“You’ve had sex.”

Oh, boy. Did I ever. I’ve had the best sex I’ve ever had, and I can’t stop thinking about it
. But Em cocked her head and gave Dixie the “you’re crazy” look. “I have not.” She had to be very careful here. If she went too far in her “I didn’t have sex” defense, she’d ramble and look guilty because she was the worst sort of liar. If she remained silent, she’d look just as guilty.

This was a delicate matter she was going to have to handle with kid gloves—find the in-between and ride that fence.

“You have, too.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Dixie bounced her hand on the desk, slapping it. “You have so, Emmaline! I know it. And if you don’t want to tell me about it, that’s just fine, but I know I speak the truth.”

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you with a Louboutin.”

“I call foul. You did so have sex.”

“You can call whatever kind of bird you’d like. I did not have sex.”

Dixie’s rich laughter filled the office at Em’s intentional misuse of the word. “Then where were you last night when I called you at ten sharp? I know it was ten sharp because that’s when you watch the DIY channel for an hour until bedtime. Caine was in Johnsonville last night, and I thought maybe we could watch over the phone together. But you weren’t home.”

“I was so. I went to bed early.” Sort of. Technically, she’d gone to bed.

“Oh, no. I know that’s not true. Do you want to know how I know that’s not true?”

“Again, we’re back at the word
truth.
What does Dixie Davis know about the truth?” She gave her a saucy lift of her eyebrow and flipped through the latest Call Girl stats.

“I know it’s not true because you didn’t let Dora out at nine-thirty. Alder Caldwell says you let Dora out at exactly nine-thirty every night. His bedroom faces your back door off the kitchen. But last night, he didn’t hear Dora whine to come in until three in the morning. Plus, you have bags under your eyes. Big, dark bags. So dark, they’re like the baggage claim carousel at the airport, annnd you have a stiff neck. Suspiciously, Jax’s back is sore today. Could it be that Jax and my Emmaline have similar ailments because they did similar sexually related acts?”

Damn. Most times it was nice to have neighbors who looked out for you. Especially when you were single and the sole protector of your castle.

When you were having no-strings sex like a shameless sex addict, not as nice. And they’d have to do something about that air mattress. Invest in an upgrade, find a new place to meet or something, because all these aches and pains would give them both away. “And when did Alder tell you this?”

Dixie gave her a sour look. “Well, he didn’t tell me, silly. No one tells me anything, remember? Plum Orchard’s favorite pariah? He was telling Louella Palmer at Madge’s this morning while I was getting coffee...”

Em glanced at the clock on the wall of her office. It was almost noon—that meant all the Plum Orchardians in Plum Orchard-ville were about to eviscerate her over their grilled cheese sandwiches. But there was no proof. She’d made certain of that. So, too bad, Louella Palmer. “FYI, gossipmonger, Dora had a bit of a stomach bug last night. She woke me up, and that’s why I let her out so late.”

Again, not a total lie. Dora had thrown up all over the carpet, and she really had let her out at three in the morning when she’d gotten home from Jax’s. Actually, it had been three-o-six when she’d caught a glimpse of her alarm clock and realized that all this illicit sex she was planning on having would have to have an egg timer set on it.

Three hours of sleep just wasn’t going to keep her on her toes to fend off questions just like these.

“Oh, no,” Dixie sympathized, instantly forgetting her accusations. “Is she okay? Did you call the vet?”

Em fought a yawn—one that made her mouth water. “I think it was the change in her food. The supermarket didn’t have her usual brand, so I bought an in-between bag, and I think it disagreed with her touchy tummy.”

Dixie nodded and made her poor baby face. “Poor Dora. Okay, now that’s covered, tell me about the sex.”

Em sighed, emphasis on exaggerating her impatience. “I didn’t have sex.”

“Who didn’t have sex?” Marybell asked, strolling into Em’s office, her eyes covered from lid to eyebrow in her signature smoky eyeshadow.

Dixie pointed to Em. “She didn’t.”

Marybell perched on the end of the desk, the spikes from the chain hanging from her leather pants scraping on the edge of the wood. “You didn’t have sex? Why are we surprised by that, Dixie?”

Hold on. Was that the label prude being thrown around again? Em tapped her desk with her fingernail. “Excuse me. I’ve had lots and lots of sex.”

“I knew it,” Dixie taunted, to the tune of Marybell’s soft chuckle.

“Stop misconstruing. I’m not having sex now. I meant I’ve had sex just like everyone else. With my clothes off.”

“In the dark, with the curtains closed up tighter ’n Fort Knox. You tell ’em, honey,” LaDawn teased, leaning a shoulder on the door frame. They often had talks like this just as her and Dixie’s day was ending, and LaDawn’s and Marybell’s was just beginning.

Em loved them. She loved hearing about their crazy phone calls, or even what they had for dinner the night before. She felt included, loved, involved. But tonight? When all she wanted to do was skip back to her house, luxuriate in some bath bubbles and decide what she’d wear for her and Jax’s meeting tonight, she didn’t feel like touching base.

Em’s cheeks sucked inward. “I have so had sex with the lights on.” She had, and it had been just fine. Not like last night fine, but fine enough.

Marybell twisted one of her rings on her thumb. “Eyes open or closed? Because it doesn’t count if you had the lights on but your eyes were closed, little lady.”

Oh. Well, who wanted to see all of their flabby parts jiggling, and who’d made up these rules?

You did. You did last night, Em. You wanted to see all of it, and when you did, you liked it. Your eyes were wide-open.

LaDawn’s eyes found Em’s over Marybell’s spiked head. She searched them for a moment and must have sensed Em’s panic. She smiled in her direction before addressing Dixie. “Ladies? Why are we talkin’ about sex when we have other, more important matters at hand? Like who, in all of heaven and hell, keeps takin’ my meatball Hot Pockets from the lunchroom? I can’t keep livin’ like this, Dixie Davis. How can you expect me to truly perform my duties as a proper companionator when I don’t have the right nourishment?”

“Me, I think that was me,” a voice said from behind LaDawn’s tall frame.

Marybell jumped, the chains on her belt loop cracking against the desk.

Em put a hand on Marybell’s hand to soothe her. She understood. She’d spent all morning jumping when she heard Jax’s voice every time she turned around today. A Hawthorne could do that to a woman, among the other wicked things he did to a woman. “Ladies, this is Taggart Hawthorne. He’s going to be doing some work around Call Girls. I’m trustin’ you to treat him nice.”

Marybell slipped from the desk, head down, and nodded on her way out the door. “Nice to meet you. I have to go before my shift starts. Talk to you guys later.” She wiggled some fingers over her shoulder and ducked around LaDawn and Tag.

Both Em and Dixie shared a confused glance before their attention was redirected to LaDawn—who was preparing to sharpen her claws—on an unsuspecting Tag.

LaDawn spun around, her lips in a flirty pout, her eyes playful when she widened them at Tag. “So it’s you who has a hankerin’ for my midnight snacks?”

Tag nodded his head, the dark wisps of his hair poking out from under his knit cap rustling on his down jacket. “My apologies. I thought the boss stocked the fridge. I didn’t realize it was your personal stash.”

LaDawn held her hand out and winked, letting her false eyelashes flutter outrageously. “I shoulda labeled it, but just so you know, I’ll share my stash with you whenever you want.”

Tag took her hand and gave it a shake, the tips of his ears turning red. “I appreciate it, ma’am,” he mumbled low, and reminiscent of Jax.

“Do you like chocolate? Come with me and I’ll show you my secret Snickers hiding place.” LaDawn hooked her arm through his and directed poor Tag away from Em’s office.

Dixie was up in a shot from the chair. “I’d better go save him before we lose another Hawthorne to the wiles of a Call Girls woman.”

Em’s ears pricked—getting all hot, and her stomach plunged. “Lose another Hawthorne?”

Dixie nodded. “Well, yes. We already lost Jax to you.”

Em’s lips went flat. “I told you—”

“You’re not having sex.” She flapped a hand on her way out. “I heard all about it. I didn’t believe it, but I heard it. And you are, too!”

“I am not!”

“Are, too! Are, too! Are, too!” she sang down the hallway, her husky laugh a deliberate taunt.

Disgusted with how thinly she’d veiled her lies, Em reached for her purse and noted her mother had called. She’d ignore it, but it could have to do with the boys. She pressed her mother’s number and put her on speaker. “Mama? Are the boys all right?”

“Well, it’s about time, young lady.”

Em’s chest tightened. It didn’t matter if her mother was calling her to remind her to pick up a gallon of milk, she still dreaded talking to her. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

“Where were you last night? I called your house phone and you weren’t there.”

That’s because I was having sex with Jax.
Her face flooded red. Oh, dear Heaven. She could never confide that to her mother. “I think I fell asleep and didn’t hear it. I’m sorry, Mama.”

“What kind of mother doesn’t keep the phone right by her ear when her children are away?”

The bad kind. The dirty kind. She swallowed hard. “Did something happen I need to know about?”

Clora gave a grunt—one full of disapproval. “You need to know you should pay better attention when your children are in the care of someone else.”

“Are you sayin’ I should be worried when they’re with you, Mama?” Whoa. Em looked around her office. Where had that kind of rebellion come from? She rarely defied her mother. She rarely defied anyone. What was happening to her?

But it diffused Clora’s scorn. “No. I’m sayin’ you should be available at all times,” she blustered.

Em almost forgot about her mother when she saw her phone blinking. “I’ll make sure I am, Mama. I have to go now. Talk soon.” She hung up to the tune of her mother’s mumbling. She could even ruin winning the lottery, and lately, it had become a heavy weight she just couldn’t shake.

So instead, she read Jax’s text, and her insides responded in puddly-gooey kind.

Thanks to you and your irresistible charms, my back is killing me,
Jax texted with a smiley face at the end of the sentence.

Was it possible to hear his melty-warm voice in a text? That slow chuckle that made her limbs get all buttery?
My neck is, too.

Wanna work out our kinks together?

A brief image of his eyebrows wiggling made her giggle to herself.
We’ll just end up with more if we use that air mattress again.

As if a dilapidated air mattress was going to stop her from meeting Jax. Not even a pack of wild Magnolias could keep her from reliving last night.

I bought a deluxe one today. Just for you.

She smiled a smile reserved for the smitten.
Oh, your armor, it’s so shiny,
she teased.

So you wanna come over to Forest Hawthorne and I’ll show you my armor?

Only if you promise you’ll let me try it on.

Date,
he texted then followed quickly with,
I mean, deal.

Em’s smile turned to a frown. Yes. A deal. They’d struck a deal. Not a date.

As she swept her things into her purse, she reminded herself that this was indeed a deal.

One that was made with the idea that someday it would be broken.

* * *

Jax dropped his phone into his coat pocket and turned the key in the ignition. The glimpse he caught of himself in the rearview mirror made him sit up straighter and wipe his expression clean.

You were goofy smiling.

Nope. He shook his head like Jake was in the car with him. Like they were driving off to the gym together, or going to grab a beer and some pizza. Like they used to.

Yeah, you were. Because Em makes you smile
, Jake’s voice said.
It’s good to smile.

Jake had said that about Reece, too. He’d said a lot of things about Reece that Jax found himself recalling lately.