Same time next week, p.8
Same Time Next Week, page 8
The second session was even more electric and amazing and mind-blowing than the first, because it was slower. Jackson took his time, making sure to kiss every inch of her body, exploring her back to front, top to bottom. Shelby took her time with him, soaking in every inch of him, head to toe, from several angles. By the time they collapsed against each other again, out of breath and extremely satisfied, Jackson was delirious and passed out in the middle of a sentence. Shelby snuggled against him, on his chest, listened to his heartbeat and tried to fall asleep.
As usual, sleep eluded her.
It was a different guilt this time. This was guilt that she'd enjoyed the night, the entire night, because it was so different than anything had ever been before. She enjoyed Jackson because he was young and virile and handsome and she had things in common with him. He was sexy and he turned her on like no one else ever had−including a man she had been engaged to marry.
This was guilt that she more enjoyed advances from this pop star who might not remember her name in three months than a man that had opened his life, his home, his bank account, his heart to her. She hadn't wanted it, couldn't pretend to want it anymore. She couldn't make herself love him. It broke her heart to realize it and to tell him. And to break his heart.
Shelby laid in a bed that wasn't hers, next to a man she didn't know and watched the long shadows crawl across the ceiling as night turned to twilight. Jackson was spread eagle across the bed, snoring lightly. Slowly and quietly, she slipped out from between the sheets and tip toed toward the closet, looking for something she could put on.
Jackson had more t-shirts than anyone she'd ever met. She pulled one from the stacks and put it on, then crept out of the closet, past the bed and out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her.
Without making a sound, she crept to the kitchen and snapped on the light. One by one, the fluorescent bulbs burned, lighting up the kitchen, showing off the stark white appliances and empty countertops. That he kept his kitchen this clean only meant one of two things−either he was a neat freak or he didn't use this room at all. She leaned heavily toward the latter.
Yawning, she searched cabinets, looking for coffee. Surprisingly, she found an unopened cube of Folgers in the cabinet, milk in the fridge and sugar in a canister. At least he had the basics. In a few minutes, the fragrance of coffee filled the kitchen. Looking through more cabinets, she found a mug and a spoon, and stood at the counter, tapping her fingers, watching the dark liquid drip and collect in the glass carafe.
She poured a cup, added milk and sugar, stirred and took the first sip. Mmmm... warm and soothing.
Shelby padded through the kitchen to the den. She smiled the collection of clothing and shoes around the room, remembering the moment her shirt and bra were flung haphazardly to one end of the couch. She gathered them up, folding them and setting them next to her purse, then slid into one corner, curled up toward the window to watch the sunrise over the lake.
She'd almost bought a home in this area, but something kept her from buying something too big and ostentatious. She wasn't rich because she'd worked hard for it, fingers to the bone, blood, sweat and tears and all that. She hadn't worked her way up from obscurity and lived a life on the road for years on end, to deserve a home as nice as the one she was sitting in.
No… she'd bedded a rich man for three years, let him spoil her, take care of her, satisfy every need but the most important ones and then broke his heart.
And then killed him. She was a model citizen.
By that time, she was so deep in Lucas Samuels' world− getting married and playing the part the part of trophy wife, that she had long alienated friends and almost pushed her parents to the edge. After the accident, she'd had no one. After the funeral and the distribution of funds from his estate (which his family fought every step of the way), she had managed to patch things up with her parents, but everyone else avoided her.
Lucas' ex-wife and children had been almost friendly to her during the settlement negotiation from the lawsuit against Perfect Tire… until they learned that she had no intention of sharing the wealth. Why should she? Lucas had left them millions in cash and stocks, homes and cars, a thriving global real estate practice and trust funds for their children. He'd provided for their futures. They had enough money.
She was regular people, from regular stock, with a regular pedigree. All she needed was enough money to disappear. The generous gift from his will and the lawsuit settlement made that happen. The money rolled in. Shelby rolled out.
Shelby sipped coffee and watched dawn turn to morning, the sun rising over the lake in a gorgeous orange ball and climbing higher in the sky. Jackson's house was peaceful and quiet, the neighborhood not overrun with loud goings on. Her stomach rumbled−she hadn't had anything real to eat since the plateful of food she'd managed to get down before leaving to meet Jackson. And then there was the torte and the wine, long since burned off. She got up again, needing to refill her coffee cup anyway, heading back to the kitchen. He'd certainly done enough grocery shopping; he was sure to have food somewhere in the kitchen.
Chapter 12
Jackson
Bacon. Coffee. Did he smell toast?
Jackson sat up, still half asleep but curious about the smell of food wafting through the room. A glance around the bed, at his jeans and her jeans and a lacy thong at the foot of the bed jogged his memory and he smiled. Remembering.
They'd left her car at Antigua. Shelby was still there. She must have decided to make breakfast. You know, to thank him for all the amazing sex. Hell if he had a problem with that.
He hadn't remembered her sleeping next to him. Not that he would have remembered much the way he passed out, but kicking and tossing and turning and snoring and insisting on laying all over him woke him up or kept him from sleeping. He usually showed a date the door after sex. It didn't mean he didn't have a good time. It didn't mean he didn't cherish the time spent with whatever her name was. It meant that his sleep was important to him. He didn't like it messed with. So… out they went.
Jackson wondered what she was wearing, since he was picking her jeans up off the floor, along with his own and tossing them across the foot of the unmade bed. He stumbled to his closet and pulled open a drawer, grabbing a shirt and pair of sweat pants and pulling them on.
The scent of coffee was strong as he made his way down the stairs, tantalizing with the scent of food alongside it. He rubbed his belly in anticipation and walked down the hall toward the kitchen, stopping to lean against the entryway and watch her.
There was food on plates on the counter and a nearly full carafe of coffee. Shelby was at the sink, washing the pots and pans she had used, looking amazing in his Moby t-shirt and nothing else. He watched her shapely ass moving around the kitchen in his shirt, her hair wavy from sweat and sleep, her long brown legs and tiny feet in his kitchen.
"Just so you know, you're never allowed to leave," he finally said. Startled, she whipped around, her eyes wide, hand over her chest.
"Jackson!" She laughed, heaving dramatically. "You scared me! How long have you been there?"
"A little while." He moved from the doorway and shuffled into the room, his arms open. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
She stepped into his arms, sliding her own arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. He hugged her, his hands roaming her back and further down and then up under the t-shirt. He was twitching again. "You feel good this morning."
"I'm glad you feel that way. And also glad you're awake. Are you hungry?"
"I can always eat. Food woke me up. Before we get to that, though..."
He tipped her head up with his index finger and kissed her, nice and slow, taking his time, stroking her tongue with every bit of sensuality he could muster up before noon. She stepped into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to get closer. "Mmmmm...." He hummed, pulling away, finding her eyes, staring into them. "Nice. I like that."
"Me too," she said, blissful smile on her lips. "Let's eat. And then maybe..."
Jackson laughed, releasing her, letting her lead him around to the other side of the counter, to the stools stored underneath. "We're on the same wavelength. Going in the same direction. In the same boat."
He watched her serve him, pour him a cup of coffee, set out milk and sugar before she sat next to him and served herself. "Did you sleep?"
"No," she answered plainly, biting into the edge of a piece of toast. "I felt like I might wake you up, so I got up. Made coffee, watched the sunrise."
"Mmm," he said, nodding, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He was hungrier than he'd thought he was. "It's nice out here in the mornings. That's what sold me on the place. Sunsets are nice, too. So you didn't sleep at all?"
"Not a wink. Tried, but I couldn't fall asleep."
"Hmmm," he mused, then smiled while sucking a piece of toast off of his thumb. "You wore me out. Sorry I passed out."
"I take that as a compliment. I don't sleep. I don't know why." She shook her head, moving food around on her plate, letting the fork clang against it as she dropped it, her head falling into the palm of her hand.
"Aw, honey, I'm sorry. I feel like an ass−"
"Oh, don't. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel guilty−"
"No... Shelby, I asked. Don't apologize."
She sat next to him, staring off into the distance and saying nothing more, so he went back to his breakfast. A few moments later, she went back to hers, sipped her coffee, sat in silence. It was peaceful, except that something was obviously bothering her. He wished he could get her to tell him what it was.
"Alright." Jackson twisted in the seat and stood, tossing a used napkin onto his empty plate, wiped clean. "Are you done? Come here." He pulled her arm until she stood, too and led her by the hand back to the den. "Let's hang out. Relax in here for a little bit. You're not in a hurry to go home, are you?"
She cuddled up next to him on the couch, both of his arms around her. Her eyelids looked so heavy and she was yawning and quiet. Maybe if they got warm and comfortable and watched some movies, she could sleep a little bit. He was already up for a nap.
Shelby
When her eyes popped open, she was curled up with her back to the cushions, a thin blanket over her and the TV was off. She heard movement in the house but it was relatively silent around her. One moment Shelby was staring at the images on the TV, knowing full well she wouldn't sleep and the next minute she was waking up.
Shelby was surprised she'd been able to sleep in a house that wasn't hers, on a couch no less, but she supposed it caught up with her eventually. She actually felt rested and alert and grateful for a few short hours of dreamless, peaceful sleep.
She sat up, stretching, gathering the blanket around her and folding it. She noticed Jackson's shoes from the night before were gone, as was his shirt. Her shoes had been placed neatly under the side table near her purse, blouse and bra. The to-go containers, forks, and wine glasses from the night before were gone and the room was clean. A check of the kitchen revealed the same. Every dish was put away, the coffeepot emptied and wiped clean, the countertop void of food or gadget or dish. Maybe he did actually use the kitchen and was an incredible neat freak.
She climbed the stairs, headed toward the bedroom where the sounds seemed to be coming from. The bed was made, her jeans folded in a neat square and sitting on top of the cotton comforter.
"Hey," she said softly, stepping into the room and peeking around the corner. Jackson's head poked out of the walk-in closet-mostly his hair and eyes.
"Hi. You didn't sleep long."
"I never do. But I feel okay. Was I cranky?"
His head disappeared back into the closet, but his voice carried from inside it. Shelby sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to ruin his perfect bed making job. He was kind of a neat freak. It was amusing. "Not all. You seemed like you could use a nap. Glad you feel better."
"Thanks. So...I should probably go. Get out of your hair."
He stepped out of the closet, flipping the light switch off. With not nearly as much care to his bed making job, he flopped beside her, stretching out, crossing one ankle over the other. "You're not in my hair. I'm not throwing you out or anything."
"I know... I would rather leave before you want me to. It's one of those rules that girls live by. Leave them wanting more."
Jackson was staring, his eyes an intense and piercing blue. "Rules like that shouldn't exist for you."
Shelby blushed. He didn't want her to leave. She didn't want to. But really felt she should. "You flatter me."
"No flattery about it. I had fun last night, from the second you walked into that club until right this very minute. I like you."
He was spoiling her with all this attention. She'd half expected to have been set on the doorstep around sunrise to wait for a taxi, greeted with nothing but a wave and a smile, a ‘thank you honey, be safe' and a door closing in her face. She most certainly didn't expect to still be at his house at 11 AM. In his t-shirt. And nothing else.
"I like you, too," she said, shuffling her feet along the soft carpet. "And I had a lot of fun, too."
He grinned, grabbing her hand, breaking into soulful crooning, the chorus from Ain't Too Proud to Beg. Shelby laughed, swooning at his voice. The silky sound did something to her insides, from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head. She was feeling warm and more than a little persuaded now.
"Well, so... don't you have to work or something?"
He nodded. "Rehearsal at 4 o'clock. That gives us..." He rolled his eyes over to the corner, but nothing was there. "I used to have a clock right there. What the hell time is it?"
"Almost noon."
He wiggled his brows at her and grinned a sneaky, sultry grin. "That gives us at least three hours. Two and a half, if I'm showering. Which, if I have my way, I'll need to."
She fought a smile, a knowing one, but didn't fight the stirring in her belly or the hardening of her nipples or the spreading slick wetness between her thighs. Nor did she fight the gentle pulling on her hand, bringing her closer to him until she was lying next to him on the bed. Then he was leaning over her, a hand under the t-shirt, exploring the soft skin beneath it. Jackson's hands felt incredible, gliding lightly over her.
"You're very persuasive, Mr. Sweeney."
"Most people think my best asset is my voice. Little do they know..."
He kissed her as she laughed, his lips brushing over hers, his tongue licking and flicking at hers, his throat emitting humming, happy sounds. His thumbs found taut nipples, ready to be pulled and flicked and sucked until they were puffy. Shelby responded to the bolt of lightning that shot down her back with a jerk of her hips up off of the bed.
She fought him off for a few seconds and sat up. "I hate to mess up this pretty room you just cleaned, but this t-shirt has to come off."
"Fling it. It'll give me something to remember later when I'm cleaning up." The shirt came up and over her head and was tossed somewhere in the direction of the closet. "Good enough. Come here," he said, grabbing at her waist.
"Nuh uh," she said, a tease in her voice and a smile on her lips. "Your turn. Strip."
That nap had done her a world of good. Suddenly she was energetic and in a very good mood, ready to work off all of her rest. Jackson complied and the clothes he was wearing were flung near the t-shirt.
In the daylight, Shelby could see more of him. In the daylight, she noticed his hair was graying a little at the temples. That his earlobes were enormous, which was funny to her. That his arms and hands were veiny. That he had a scent, seductive and manly and that scent excited her more than any cologne ever could. And that, on closer evaluation, he was thick, solid and hot to the touch… and in the daylight, incredibly more tempting.
The night before had been about her. In the limited time she had, the morning would be about him.
She pressed her hand against his chest, grinning at the knowing smile on his face, pushing him back against the pillows. "There's something I didn't get a chance to do last night and I'm not leaving until I do it. Lay back and enjoy it."
Chapter 13
Jackson
Jackson pulled into a spot a few feet from her car, put the gear shift in park but left the engine running.
"Well, thanks for the shirt and shorts. And flip flops."
Shelby wiggled her toes in the oversized sandals he'd lent her. Her clothes and shoes from the night before were packed into a plastic grocery bag and sitting on her lap. "I'm glad I don't have to go anywhere. I look ridiculous."
"Well, it beats having to put last night's clothes back on, right?" He laughed, sizing her up in his large t-shirt, large shorts and floppy shoes. Still sexy. Few women could pull that off. "Can't have you doing the walk of shame, now."
"I'll wash them and give them back to you, I promise."
"No hurry." He paused, and Shelby paused, her finger on the door latch. She didn't want to get out of the car. He didn't want her to. "So... you'll let me know about the TV, right? That you want me to hang for you?"
She nodded, her lips were pressed together like she didn't want to smile but couldn't help it. "Yep. Yeah, I will."
Another beat of awkward silence passed. "So, I'm glad we met. I uh, had a good time. Last night. And today. Really good time."
"Me too," said Shelby. "Really great time. It was fun."
He hated to see her go. He knew she had to though, and so did he. Another afternoon-into-evening-into morning of rehearsal awaited him. Jackson was hopeful that the guys would keep him busy enough that he wouldn't get caught staring into space, reliving the night, feeling her again, lips and fingertips and that sweet pink tongue of hers, the way it lapped at him like he was her last meal. Rod, for one, would be relentless and would want to know what he was grinning about. Shelby would be written all over his face, if he wasn't careful. She was someone he wanted to keep to himself for now.
