True for You (13 page)
“No.”
She tips up her nose and looks away. “And I won’t want
company in five minutes either.”
I
start to laugh, unable to help myself. “Ten minutes from now?
I’ll bring some of those nasty hot snaps you like.”
“Maybe
in eleven,” she grumbles. “And they’re not nasty.
They’re yummy. You just have a delicate stomach.”
Victory
is mine. Laughing at her opinion of my digestive system, I go inside,
check on dinner, and grab the bag of candy, before heading to Bliss.
She
scowls at me. “It’s only been five minutes.”
“But
I brought candy.”
Her
lips smash together and she hmpfs.
I
sit down beside her, pour some hot snaps into my hand, and wave it
under her nose. “You can’t say no to candy.”
“No,”
she whispers.
“What’s
that?” I ask, cupping a hand against my ear.
“You
heard me.” She sighs. “I’m taking your advice by
standing up to you, but you’re making it hard on me. I love hot
snaps. Candy is my one weakness.”
I
store that bit of knowledge in the back of my head. “Taking my
advice?” I stretch out an arm along the back of the swing, my
fingers brushing her shoulder. Bliss sits forward, then back, and
loose curls fall on my arm. “Haven’t you figured out I’m
an open-mouth-insert-foot type of guy?”
She
turns my palm over and dumps the candy into her hand. I hide a smile.
“No, you’re an always-used-to-getting-your-way type of
celebrity.”
Well,
she has me there. I am used to getting my way, with most people,
because of my celebrity status. I don’t want Bliss telling me
no because of it, though. I want her to say yes or no to me, the man.
“Care to have
dinner with your husband?” I shake the bag. “You can eat
dessert first, if you want.”
She
looks at me, calm and steady. “And if I say no, then
what—you’ll throw more things around in the kitchen?”
I
flush. “Heard that, huh?”
She
nods. “Your hands gave it away, too.”
“It’s
all cleaned up. Did you come out here because you were scared?”
Of me, I want to add, but I don’t. I’ve only made a
jackass of myself one other time, with the temper I’d inherited
from my dad, and Bliss had been the one to witness it. Our
conversation had been nearly identical to the one earlier.
“
Go
away, Jackson.” She says the ck portion of my name softly,
unlike the hard x of my stage name. I blame my ears for picking up on
the nuance.
I’m
not sure what to make of her using my given name. She’s never
done it before. “Bliss—”
“
I
said, go away.” She bites off the thread and stands, hanging up
the shirt before smoothing it out. Then she packs up her supplies.
“
Just
wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
She
turns to walk past me, head down, like she’s all defeated. “I’m
fine. Thank you.”
Thank
you? My temper snaps. “Grow a damn backbone, Bliss, and tell me
off.”
Her
head snaps up, full lips mutinous. It’s the first hint of anger
I’ve ever seen on her face. “I’m not about to give
you a reason to feel better.”
“
What?”
“
Most
people think that turning into some screaming banshee somehow proves
you’re this strong woman who doesn’t take crap from a
man, but from what I know, it only gives the other person the right
to feel better.”
In
some weird, twisted way, her logic makes sense. I had wanted her to
yell at me, to cuss me out, or even throw something at me, because I
know how to deal with that. It would make me feel better if she got
back at me.
But
this way… I feel worse than ever.
Maybe
I underestimated her.
“
Or
hit them,” she adds softly.
That
stops me cold, colder than when Violet caught us. “Hit them?”
She
nods, holding the small, plastic container in her hands out in front
of her, like a barrier. Or a shield.
“
I
scared you, didn’t I?” The last thing I’d ever want
to do is scare her, even if I’d already done it. I’ll
never do it again. I’ll find another way to express my anger
and frustration.
She
shakes her head, sending dark, curly hair swaying. “Not
really.”
I
don’t want to ask, but I do it anyway. “Why is that?”
“
Because
I’ve lived through worse.”
“A
little,” she says softly, mercifully pulling me out of my head.
Dropping
the bag of candy into her lap, I turn her to face me. “I’d
never lay a hand on you, not in anger. Not ever. I swear it.”
She
takes one of my hands, lacing our fingers together. “Of all the
things I’m scared of in this world, you aren’t one of
them.”
“Know
what I’m scared of?”
“Crazed
fans.”
I
tilt my head to one side. “Be serious.”
“No
fans.”
“Are
you in my brain, right now, because that’s pretty spot on,”
I tease. However, she’s correct. No fans would be the end of my
career. It would be the end of me. What would I do if I didn’t
perform on stage?
She
smiles at me, beautiful and sweet, just like the first time we met.
“I hope I’m in other important places, too.”
And just like the
first time we met, I feel a connection with her.
Jackson
The
next day dawns bright and unusually warm. I drink coffee as I’m
standing on the deck, looking out at the ocean.
Bliss
joins me. “How long will it take for the bridge to be
repaired?” she asks.
I
set down my cup and wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her
head. “In a hurry?”
She
leans against me. “Nope.”
Dipping
my head, I whisper in her ear, “What
shall
we
do to pass the time?”
“Not
what you’re thinking.” She whirls around, tipping up her
chin. “I want you to teach me how to swim.”
I
raise a brow. “Do you have a bathing suit?”
Her
hands go the hem of her shirt, slowly edging it up her body, giving
me an inch-by-inch tantalizing view of her skin, of her stomach, the
bottom of her breasts, then a wicked gleam enters her eyes, and she
tugs it up and over her head.
“I
have the bottoms to one.”
I
swallow, unable to properly form coherent sentences.
She’s
topless, beautiful skin bare to me. All curvy, her breasts heavy with
dark nipples. Turning, she wiggles her ass at me. “Do you like
them?”
The
bottoms she has on are barely there, tied on each side, with ruffles
in the back. My heart pounds. My cock grows hard, and I can barely
think.
But
I can rely on what I’m used to doing when presented with a nude
woman. I settle my hand on her hips, pulling her against me, enjoying
the gasp that leaves her mouth when she feels how turned on I am by
her.
“You
really plan on torturing me, don’t you?”
That
gleam of hers turns flirtatious. “Trust me when I say this kind
of torture is mutual.”
She
breaks away from my embrace and runs down the stairs. I chase after
her, catching her again when she skids to a stop at the steps of the
pool.
“Scared?”
“A
little.”
“I
won’t let anything happen to you.”
Our
hands lace together, and for some reason, in that moment, I feel that
she won’t let anything happen to me either.
“You
go in first, and I’ll be right behind you.”
She
turns slightly, her gaze catching mine. “Promise?”
“Always.”
*** *** ***
Bliss
I’m
standing in the shallow end, near the edge, as I wait for Jackson to
join me. The water only comes to my waist, and I feel too exposed.
Maybe I’m throwing too much caution to the wind by going
topless, but I have nothing to lose. Not anymore.
All
my life I’ve been cautious, resigned to my situation. With
Jackson, I want to be free.
“Watch
out!” Jackson yells.
I
turn in time to see him do a front flip into the deep end of the
pool. When he comes up for air, I clap, impressed with his trick.
“Pretty
soon, you’ll be doing that, too.”
“But
not today.”
He
shakes his head, sending water flying everywhere, before he begins to
swim in my direction. I bend my knees and sink beneath the surface,
until the water hits my shoulders. My heart pounds as he comes closer
and closer. A familiar feeling of desire swirls in my abdomen when he
holds out his hand.
I
smash my lips together, suddenly nervous.
“Ready?”
“Kinda,”
I answer truthfully.
He
winks at me. “Take my hand, baby doll, and I’ll show you
the basics.”
The
minute our hands touch, I suck in a breath, and he does the same.
Slowly, with my heartbeat in my ears, I stand and walk to him.
“Is
the water warm enough?” he asks, his voice all low. I recognize
what it means. He’s turned on by me. It’s a powerful
feeling for someone so used to being powerless.
Nodding,
I softly say, “Yes.”
He
keeps his eyes on my face, and I want to giggle when I see how hard
he’s trying not to stare at my breasts. With my free hand, I
touch the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s over his heart
and, for some reason, it makes me sad to look at it.
“I
heard every tattoo has a story. Does yours?”
His
hand covers mine, but instead of pressing it to his heart like I
want, he pulls it away. “I was drunk.”
“Oh.”
“You
sound disappointed.” His dark blue eyes search my face, but I
have no idea what he’s looking for—judgment or
acceptance?
“Just
curious.” I’ve given him neither, I think.
Dropping
my gaze back to his muscular chest, I bring both our hands to a Grim
Reaper. Whoever the artist was, he knew how to draw emotion, because
just looking at it makes me feel the angry vibes. The colors are
dark, black, red, and navy. “Was this one when you were drunk,
too?”
“I
thought you wanted me to teach you how to swim?” he snaps, but
I don’t take offense. I know the answer a question with a
question game by now. It means I’m too close to the truth, and
he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to share it with me. I can’t
blame him though. I haven’t shared all my truths with him.
“Being
vulnerable doesn’t make you weak,” I say softly, bringing
my gaze back to his face. I’m struck by the underlying
vulnerability that actually lurks beneath the surface.
He
blinks, dark lashes fanning over sharp cheekbones, and the
vulnerability disappears, replaced by his usual cockiness.
“For
you it doesn’t.” He tugs on my arm and I fall against
him, wet skin to wet skin. His fingers travel down my spine, gently
touching each vertebra, and I soak in the feeling. “God,
you’re soft.”
“Swimming
lessons?” I remind him, and myself. I could stand here all day
and let him touch me.
“Give
me a minute.” He steps back and turns around. I watch his
shoulders rise and fall. His back is broad and defined with muscles,
just like his arms. “Do you know how to float?”
Instead
of answering him, I lay back and let my legs rise. The cool air
washes over my skin and makes my nipples hard. Goosebumps appear, and
I shiver.
He
turns and mutters a curse. “Come here.”
Grinning,
I look up at the sky and say, “Can’t. I’m too busy
floating.”
Suddenly,
his hands are on me and he’s lifting me up. I wrap my arms and
legs around him. Warm water is replaced by cool air, and then he’s
laying me down on a pile of towels.
He
looms over me, his broad shoulders blocking the sun. “You’re
a tease, Bliss Morgan.”
It
thrills me to no end for him to call me that. “Am not,” I
protest, then I arch my back and stretch my arms over my head,
twisting my hands together. Immediately, one of his hands clamps over
my wrists.
“Know
what happens to teases?”
“Why
don’t you show me?” I peer at him through my lashes,
something I noticed other girls do when they were flirting.
His
eyes darken.
Must
be working
,
I think, right before his mouth comes crashing down on mine.
