The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jackson showed up at the house a little before eight that night as promised. He was many things, including dependable. I texted him after talking to Gram and Celia. He texted back about an associate and a memo along with a promise he would “swing by later.”

Later had arrived.

Celia and Gram sat in the family room, watching a police procedural and complaining about the poor choices the police, the victim, and the attackers made. They claimed to be big fans of the show, but they hid it well.

I caught Jackson as he opened the side door to the house and shoved him back outside. He grumbled about being rushed away from the kitchen, but clandestine meetings needed to be held in secret. Otherwise, they were just boring meetings. This situation called for something special.

I dragged him to the gazebo. Didn’t face him until we stood under the lights.

Another suit. Another opportunity to look all tall, dark, and thoroughly put together. Had he gotten cuter? Could that sort of thing happen? Maybe only to men because the older I got the more television commercials harped on my undereye circles and thinning lips that needed puffing. I loved a good moisturizer as much as the next gal but hearing the you need to buy this new lotion or potion spiel exhausted me. I refused to believe I’d run out of time to save my skin at twenty-six.

Jackson looked awake and engaged. Still pressed and impressive in that navy suit and aqua tie. He’d worked something like twelve hours already today and would likely put in a few more after our talk. Always the overachieving hottie.

“What’s the big rush? I wanted to steal a cupcake.”

“I have you covered.”

I lifted the plastic container I’d been hiding and held it in front of him. “Black velvet with cream cheese icing.”

As if I didn’t know his favorite cupcake. I also knew his favorite pie, favorite meal, and favorite restaurant. He liked his food straightforward, not fancy. No need for swirls or sprinkles.

It was possible I knew an unhealthy amount about him.

He opened the lid and looked at the two cupcakes I’d packed for him. Not that he couldn’t go inside and grab his own. He could, but I’d come up with this contingency plan to keep his attention.

“Nice.”

He dipped a finger in the icing and brought it to his mouth. “So good.”

He licked it off and something in my brain sputtered. I could almost hear the series of tiny explosions.

“What?”

He frowned. “Did you want some?”

I never noticed the way he spoke in innuendos. Now, it’s all I heard, which could mean I was the one with the innuendo problem.

“Tell me how to admit to Gram and Celia about Brock and the pitch and the mess I made.”

“Easy.”

Jackson closed the lid but looked reluctant to do so. “You sit them down and tell them.”

Not helpful. “I’m serious.”

He snorted in a way that made him sound like Gram. “So am I.”

He was the worst wingman ever. “Forget it.”

“Okay, wait.”

He caught my arm before I could bolt. His fingers wrapped around my elbow. He used the other hand to set down his precious cupcakes.

I now understood the concept of erogenous zones. What they were and how they worked. His hand. My bare skin. The dizziness that had my body falling into his.

Think of Brock. That would kill any sexual feelings and shift my focus back to my never-ending work mess.

“What exactly are you asking?”

His eyes narrowed. “Because my advice is simple. Tell the truth and end this before it blows up on you.”

I didn’t even want to think about how this work situation could get worse. “They’re going to be mad.”

He winced. “It’s more likely they’ll be disappointed.”

The comment stabbed through me. “Don’t say that. My behavior sounds so much worse when you use that word.”

“They’re also going to understand your panic and how that led up to the pitch disaster. They aren’t going to let NOI near their business, but I sense you didn’t want that to happen anyway.”

Such a smart hottie. “Right.”

“But the longer you wait, the worse this will be. If they find out from someone else what—”

“Who?”

The traitor. “You?”

I pulled back and he immediately let go. So fast that my balance wavered and my body tipped. He caught me before I did a header into the post. To be technically correct, he grabbed on and tugged me closer . . . and my work priorities took a violent nosedive.

“Are you okay?”

he asked, sounding more concerned about me than usual.

No. This whole treading-water-at-work thing I’d been doing zapped my strength. Being close to him shut down my brain. The combination of the two had me flailing and jittery and a whole bunch of other words that sounded like wading into dangerous territory.

I looked up at him, ready to launch into a renewed I need a plan whine when something shifted. In the air. Inside me. In the gazebo. The place I kissed him all those years ago and sent him running. We stood in the same position, under the same lights.

A miscalculation . . . or was it?

My stomach performed the same tumble it had back then. I might be older, but I appeared to be not one inch wiser when it came to Jackson Quaid.

“I think . . .”

What did I think? My brain put up an out to lunch sign.

His gaze went to my mouth and lingered there. It’s possible I stopped breathing. Who the hell knew.

He lowered his head just a fraction. “Tell me not to kiss you.”

Those words were not coming out of my mouth. Ever.

His head moved another inch, bringing his mouth within a breath of mine. “If you don’t want this . . .”

Warnings fired in my head and logical questions filled my brain but mostly I thought: Do it! I’d lost the power to speak and all sense of self-preservation. That was the only explanation for my next move. I shifted. Just a bit, but a definite shift, until I stood in the circle of his arms with my hands pressed against his chest.

“Good.”

That’s all he said.

Then he lowered his head and kissed me. Not a gentle, exploring kiss. Not a testing-the-waters kiss. No, this was a kiss. He didn’t hold back. He didn’t play coy. He kissed me as if he’d been waiting forever for the chance.

His mouth crossed over mine and his hands went to my waist. The touch of his lips and his fingers set off a blast of energy. I curled into him. Up on my tiptoes, arms wrapped around his neck, heat pounding through me. Every shield I’d erected to protect myself from this attraction fell.

Need and desire washed through me. The incessant craving I kept at bay leapt to the front of my mind. I wanted to jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. To tell him I’d been dreaming of this for years as he cycled through girlfriends and women who weren’t me.

When he lifted his head . . . nope. Not yet. I drew him back in. I wasn’t ready to stop or to move on or, worse, to pretend the kiss didn’t matter. I put every ounce of the affection, arousal, and need I’d stored up over the years into the kiss. I kissed him like I’d never be allowed to do it again and wanted the memory to last.

When we broke apart a second time, he rested his forehead against mine. Heavy breathing filled the air between us.

“Wow.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Yeah.”

“That was . . .”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t seem to come up with another word.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Nope.”

Oh, no. Not so soon after what was unquestionably the best kiss of my life. “If you’re about to say you’re sorry for kissing me I’m going to smash those cupcakes before you can eat them.”

He smiled. “That’s a serious threat. It sounds like you mean business.”

I waited for my usual awkward rambling to start. For the regret to settle in. Both seemed to be tardy because all I felt was the need to kiss him again.

He glanced at the lights and the darkness outside the structure. “I really like this gazebo.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The bizarre and untimely turn in our relationship amounted to a lapse in judgment—his—but I ignored the doubts and focused on his comment. He really could be adorable.

“Apparently I’m going to kiss you in this very place every ten years.”

Or, you know, again in three minutes.

“I know you wanted to talk about what to say to Mags and Celia.”

It took me a second to catch up to the topic change. “Originally. Sure.”

When he stood there, holding me, I began to panic. He really was going to say something very Jackson-like and annoy the crap out of me. Then I would smash those innocent cupcakes because I had no choice.

“This was better.”

He said . . . wait, what did he say? His thumb gently brushed across my stomach. How in the world was I supposed to concentrate when he did that?

“You mean the kiss was better than talking?”

I asked, trying to keep up with all the unnecessary chatter.

That smile of his grew wider. “Yes, Kasey. The kiss.”

My entire world flipped upside down. Things I thought I knew, the crush I tried to kill with fire. Nothing made sense.

Now what?

I looked up at the house and saw the light in the kitchen and thought about the ladies yelling at the television. My hands slipped down his arms. My brain sent a message to my legs to step back but my legs ignored the desperate order.

I inhaled because I wasn’t sure I’d actually breathed since we entered the gazebo. “Maybe we should take a minute.”

His smile dimmed a bit. “Is that what you want?”

Hell no. “There’s a lot happening.”

“True.”

“Our emotions are all over the place.”

Mine were scattered to Alabama and back.

I ended the babbling by resting my head on his shoulder. I could smell him. Feel him. A woman could only take so much before she caved to her bad judgment.

He rubbed my back, soft and reassuring. Sweet, even.

I wondered how fast I could get his shirt off.

“On the work front, think about what you need to say to explain what happened. We’ll pick a time and talk to them together. Consider me your backup.”

My head shot up. It missed knocking into his chin by a fraction. “Really? You’ll be there for support?”

“Of course.”

He finally stepped back and I hated it. Touching him was so much better than not touching him.

He picked up his container of unharmed cupcakes. “One other thing.”

Jackson, no. He could still ruin the moment.

“My emotions are just fine.”

It took me a second to figure out what he was saying. It wasn’t a struggle since he went ahead and filled me in.

“When it comes to you I know exactly what I think and feel. And I’m sure as hell not going to wait another ten years to kiss you again.”

His smile came roaring back as he stepped out of the gazebo. “Sweet dreams, Kasey.”

When he winked I doubted I’d ever sleep again.