Sweet Seduction Surrender (21 page)

What exactly did Jason Cain do in his down time? And considering he had a lot of it now, how stable was he going to be when I next saw him?

I was biting my lip contemplating all manner of outcomes when I turned into my street. Sitting directly outside my house was a black SUV. The elation at seeing Jason's vehicle parked on the street outside my home was magnificent. He was already here, and by the looks of it, as I parked my BMW behind his bigger car, not waiting outside, but rather, somehow, waiting inside.

The table lamps were on in the bay window at the front of the house, casting a welcoming muted glow across the sheer curtains. I could hear sultry music wafting through the door as I walked up the path; Robin Thicke's
"Tears On My Tuxedo".
I wanted to hum along to the sweet words he was singing, but my voice was stolen as the door swung open and Jason leaned against the door frame. Faded jeans and shirtless.

I actually sighed. He grinned back and reached forward to take my satchel from my hand, ushering me inside the house. The smell of something delicious met my nose, which almost, but not quite, distracted me from the strong arms wrapping around my waist and soft lips pressing into my own. He tasted minty fresh and smelled like Jason. I moaned into his mouth.

"Welcome home," he whispered against my lips. "Hard day?"

It was so natural, to have him waiting, to have him ask how my day went, ask what I'd been doing. It was so natural, yet such a surprise I couldn't form words to answer him right then. I just stared up into beautiful chocolate pools and allowed myself to fall a little. Jason didn't push for me to talk, he just smirked, his signature smile, placed my satchel by the hall table and led me by the hand into the lounge.

The dining table was set across the way, complete with lit candles and chilled bottle of wine. I was betting it was a Sauvignon Blanc.

"I thought you said you were only good at breakfast?" I asked, stunned at the effort he'd gone to preparing a romantic dinner for two.

"Who said it's not Eggs Benedict," he shot back, striding over to the wine and starting to pour us both a glass. I enjoyed the glide of his hips as he walked away and the ripple of his muscles as he reached across the table.

"It doesn't smell like Eggs Benedict," I pointed out. It smelled divine. Beef of some sort, I was thinking, with an Indian twist.

"You're right. It's not," he admitted. "And I lied. I can cook breakfast and curry, but that's it."

I laughed as he handed me my glass.

"Here's to breakfast and curries, then!" I held the glass up for a toast.

Jason held my gaze for a moment, and murmured softly, "Here's to you letting me look after you when you've had a hard day at work."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I clinked glasses and drank to the toast.

"Have a seat, Kate," Jason ordered, in his usual way. I sat down where he indicated immediately, as he began to serve up our meal. He'd either timed it to perfection, or had been reheating it. It didn't smell burned, so it was clear he did know how to cook a curry. I felt my taste buds watering in anticipation.

After fussing away for a minute or so, he finally took his seat across from me at the table, his face cast in interesting shadows as the candle flickered between us.

"Eat," he encouraged with a nod of his head to my plate.

I took a mouthful and moaned at the succulent beef and star burst of flavours on my tongue. "This is incredible," I declared, hurrying for a second mouthful.

Jason smiled, leaned back in his chair, wine glass hanging from a relaxed hand, and watched me consume my meal for a while, then suddenly reached over the table to clasp my free hand in his. His thumb danced softly over my knuckles.

"I'm going to take good care of you, Kate," he declared. "Every day for the rest of our lives." I sucked in a breath at his words, but he wasn't finished. "Starting this week. I know you've got yourself worked up over this project and getting it finished on time, so let me look after you; morning and night. When you walk through that door you can leave it all behind you, and let me handle everything else."

"Are you asking me if you can move in, Jason?" I asked, trying to bring a little levity to the conversation with my tone and words. I failed. Jason was completely serious about this.

"I can't take care of you if I'm not here," he pointed out. "Let me look after you this week. While you've got this project on. Can you do that, baby?"

It wasn't really a question I had to think about, was it? I'd wanted him here from the moment I turned my car towards home. I'd longed to see him tonight, and that feeling wasn't about to disappear by the end of the week.

Besides, I think Jason needed this, as much as he desired it. And I don't believe that was all to do with the fact that he was now unemployed and twiddling his thumbs. I was his anchor and he was my muse.

But now, he was also my home.

"I can do that, Jason," I said softly. "I could do it for the rest of our lives," I openly admitted, placing my cards on the table and seeing where they fell.

"Kate, Kate, Kate," he husked, flashing me a purely satisfied male grin. "You were made for me."

Possibly. Probably. But Jason Cain was made for me also, and I hadn't even realised until I met him, that my life before had been incomplete.

The next three days flew by and Friday arrived before I even knew it.

It had been the most amazing week of my life.

I barely had time to think or to worry. My days were taken up with Tremayne's studio refurbishment and all the necessary tasks that involved; liaising with Eric and ASI, overseeing the progress the builders made and ensuring they understood my brief and floor plan, and organising the soft furnishings to be made and delivered in time for decoration.

I'd used a modified version of the Montgomery-Smith's design, taking aspects of the contrasting patterns I'd chosen for their sitting room, but changing the colours to reflect a more neutral tone for the purposes of showcasing the artwork on display, and not over shadowing it. One repetitive and unexpected colour was used to spark a reaction; the concept was going to be my signature in each of my designs from now on - at least for a time, anyway. By Thursday evening there was only some minor decoration left to complete - which I planned to do over the weekend - the project had otherwise come together faultlessly, if not a little harried at the beginning.

The almost-finished look was spectacular and if Tremayne chose not to place his pieces in the spaces I'd created, the room on its own could be considered a work of art. I'd designed each area with the particular sculpture or painting that was to be displayed there in mind. No doubt as he turned his product over, new pieces would fit in equally as well, but I was going to offer a follow up service at a discounted price to entice further business. When he sold an item from his showroom floor, I could quickly modify the display to suit the next piece.

It was my version of up-selling. I was hoping Tremayne would go for it, even if I'd told him I wasn't going to work on studios again. I had to admit I enjoyed this. Despite the limiting and entirely ridiculous time-frame, and the unusual security request, it had ended up being an exciting and invigorating project.

But of course, that could have all been because of my morning and evenings that week.

I was woken each day to either an amorous Jason, or a freshly showered Jason after he'd had an extremely early morning run and returned to cook me breakfast. Twice he brought me my morning meal in bed, and then proceeded to feed me each piece of fruit languidly as he lay beside me in nothing but boxer shorts. Breakfast in bed always led to an amorous Jason and an invigorating start to my day.

Evenings were even better. I can't describe the feeling I had locking the door to a swiftly materialising masterpiece at Tremayne Arts each day, having shared an exhausting, but hilarious several hours in the company of Eric and my builders, whom I all adored. It was hard to imagine my day getting even better, but the moment I slipped into my car, waved good-bye to my contractors and headed towards Herne Bay, I knew what awaited me.

Jason.

And he wasn't just amorous, although that was perhaps one of my favourite character traits. He was also caring, loving, interested in my day, engaging, encouraging and humorous. I don't think I had smiled as much as I had this past week. My cheeks actually hurt. And a part of me, the part that had been damaged almost beyond repair, was scared that once the week ended, once Tremayne Arts was completed and the contract met, everything would disappear.

I tried not to think about it. I tried not to let my brain wander to darker thoughts. I'm not usually depressed in mind, but something had been changed in me when Jason walked out of my life. Something I was fearful of never being able to recover.

He didn't show any signs of wanting what we had to end. But I couldn't help thinking something had changed in Jason as well. And for the life of me, I wasn't sure if it was for the better. I liked Jason just the way he was; gruff, abrupt, short, sharp, demanding, sexy, powerful, controlled. Beautiful. To me he was... beautiful. And I was so lost to him now, that the thought of him changing from what I had come to love, and leaving me because of it, was debilitating.

When Friday morning dawned my heart, despite the accomplishments met and experiences I'd had this week, was heavy. My chest hurt, my eyes stung, and my throat felt tight with worry. It was stupid and perhaps unnecessary, but I had equated the end of this week with the end of my new found happiness. And even logic and reason failed to stop my battered mind from making more of my tortured thoughts than it should have.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Jason broke into my tumbling mental ramblings with those soft words.

I was getting dressed, after waking to Jason as he stepped out of the attached bathroom, recently showered from having his early morning run. I'd been staring into space, in front of my mirror, my make-up only half done. At his words, I resumed applying my mascara.

"Nothing, darling," I quipped, not making eye contact at all.

There was a strained pause, weighted with concern, from Jason. Then abruptly, "Let's get one thing straight, right now." My gaze met his in the mirror. He looked mad; his brows furrowed and chestnut glaring back at me from over my shoulder. "I am not your darling. I am not..."

He shook his head, his chest rising and falling quickly. He was so angry he couldn't even finish his sentence. I carefully placed my mascara tube down on the dresser and turned to face him fully.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but the words wavered embarrassingly, and I had to blink rapidly to still the sudden tears. His reaction had confused and scared me.

The end of the week had come, but even that didn't make any sense.

He stared at me, a muscle jumping along his square jawline. He sucked in a deep breath and lifted his head to the ceiling, glaring at it instead of me, as though there would be answers written across the paintwork.

My hand came up and covered my mouth, in an effort to hold my frighteningly emotional response inside. I hadn't seen Jason like this for what felt like a very long time. Infuriated beyond reason.

His head came down and two tumultuous pools of brown locked on me, taking in my hand position and, no doubt, my entire trembling state.

"Do you love me, Kate?" he asked suddenly. My heart leapt and then faltered. "Answer me!"

"Y..yes," I stuttered. What was happening? Was he ending it? Was this his way of saying it wasn't going to work?

"You don't sound sure?"

Was I? Right now I was so confused by his reactions, by my fears, by everything, I had to think his question through. And that only made him madder.

His fists balled at his sides and I think if he had been closer to the wall he would have punched it.

I hated seeing him this distraught. I hated it.

"Jason," I said, standing and taking the steps necessary to bring me into his space. Why? Because I was feeling his anguish with him and it was impossible not to reach out and soothe some of that pain away. "I love you more than my life," I managed to say, the words slipping out willingly, resolutely. Oh dear Lord, this man could ruin me.

His eyes flicked all over my face, searching.

"Is there anyone you love more than me?" he asked, voice pained and laced with trepidation.

But what a question. I couldn't wrap my mind around it; the desperate plea in every word, the almost childlike quality of it, said from the lips of a grown man. If I was confused before, then now I was confounded.

"Not the way I love you," I said on a whisper. His face darkened, so I hurried on. "I love my parents. My brothers. I love Genevieve and Eva. I love the Sweet Seduction gang and the ASI team, and those at ADK, all to some degree. But
none
of them I love the way I love you." I was rambling, unsure if what I was saying was what he wanted to hear. Desperate myself to end the confusion by removing the angst I saw in his features.

His shoulders relaxed, his face smoothed, but shadows still haunted his beautiful eyes. I let a slow breath out at seeing some release of tension in his frame. I was still confused though.

"Jason?" I asked, uncertainly, peering up into his face.

"You call all of them darling," he said in a deep, rough tone. I held his gaze as he looked down at me expectantly. I offered a small frown; 'darling' was my name for everyone, it was just a phrase, something I'd adopted to hide behind when the world expected me to behave a certain way.

Katie Anscombe was always happy and cheerful, evidenced by her familiar, yet conversely distancing, nickname for those people who threatened to see through the ruse.

Oh.

"You're not my darling," I said with dawning understanding.

"No," he said, jaw still twitching slightly with his contained fury which, as yet, had not dissipated. "Nor are you Katie to me." No I was Kate. Or 'baby' when he was feeling particularly friendly.

"Baby," I whispered, blinking up into his steady eyes. Chestnut still lingered there, but he released a breath of air out on a slow exhale, as though forcing himself to let the anger go. "You're my baby," I added, wanting the last of that ire to vanish completely. Wanting desperately for him to come back to me.

Was this how it would always be? He'd been so stable all week, so present and engaged. His usual demanding self, but a lightness gracing each command, each instruction, each directive that fell from his lips. But then,
I
had been elated and content. My growing apprehension had only reared itself fully this morning, having settled in my head and heart when I awoke. I'd been too busy this week; working, being pampered and loved, to have let the emotion have free reign until today.

And he had reacted to my doubts and fears, with his own.

Was Jason just as scared as I? Did he fear that this would be snatched away from his grasp at any moment and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it? Did he feed off my emotions like I fed of his?

"What are we doing to each other?" I asked, more to myself than him. But of course, I'd said that aloud.

"What do you think we are doing to each other?"

"We're going to drive ourselves insane," I pointed out.

"No," he said with a shake of his head, his face softening, his arms reaching up and wrapping around my shoulders. "We're saving each other, Kate," he whispered into my hair. "You're saving me."

I gripped my arms around his back tightening the embrace, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to prove through my solid and persistent hug, that I would never let go. I couldn't, even if he tried to sever ties again, I would hunt him down and drag him back, all the while my heart would bleed because I'd feel his pain along with him.

And now I knew he felt mine along with me.

His head came down and soft lips met the flesh on the side of my neck. A caress full of more than just the sensation of skin on skin. It was laden with everything he felt, mirrored by me. Love. Hope. Fear. Need. Longing. I turned my face, my lips meeting his freshly shaven cheek, the smoothness sending a thrill throughout my body. Any contact with Jason was electrifying, but just then, with our hearts opened before us, the pain of possible rejection still fresh, I craved the physical connection as though he was my drug.

We moulded further together; seeking comfort, seeking reassurance, seeking love. His lips trailed over my jaw, while his hands roamed my body hungrily. Within seconds a fire had been lit and I wanted more.

"I need to be inside you, baby," Jason whispered roughly into my hair, his nose nuzzling the skin at my nape, his hands continuing to roam all over my body. "I need to reconnect. To make sure you're mine."

I think I understood what he was saying. Jason was a complex, broken man, a product of his experiences. But his reaction to my fears, his realisation that I had been scared it would all end, had affected him as much, if not more so, than me. And now he needed reassurance. And for Jason, that manifested physically.

I was completely on board with that method, had been from the moment he wrapped his arms around my body and laid his lips against my skin. And the fact that he hadn't simply ordered me to lie back on the bed and get ready, but voiced his intention in a way that explained rather than demanded, left me feeling strangely light-headed.

But Jason wasn't the only one requiring reassurance. I needed to know I had
my
Jason back.

"Then tell me what you want," I whispered back, pulling from his embrace and standing patiently before him. My gaze peeking out behind lowered lids, my hands clasped loosely in front of my body. I held my breath and waited.

Jason's naked chest rose and fell hypnotically as my eyes trailed appreciatively over his torso. He was dressed in his faded denim jeans, the buttons of the fly still undone, as he hadn't finished closing them when he'd spotted me in my trance. His erection was prominent behind the material, but also tantalising close to breaching the top of his boxer shorts. A shuddering breath escaped my lips at what I knew lay hidden beneath that waistband, within such short and easy reaching distance. My fingers flexed with the need to touch its silky length.

Jason watched my reaction intently, a small smirk playing on the edges of his lips, letting me know a little of my Jason had returned at last. But I was sure I wouldn't have him back completely until he sank himself deep inside of me, reminding me I was his.