CHAPTER 23 DELILAH
DELILAH
I burst through the door to our room with the energy of a tiny tornado.
If I had any cardiovascular endurance at all, I could probably run up one of the ski slopes.
Do a lap around the top of the mountain, then tumble all the way to the bottom.
I feel like I could fly if I wanted to. I am riding high on the intoxicating cocktail of endorphins, defiance, and exhilaration.
“I feel amazing,” I breathe, whipping off my hat, sending it flying with a wet thwack against one of the massive windows. I spin on my heel with my arms spread wide. “Don’t you feel amazing?”
Jackson chuckles and grabs the edge of the door, keeping it from slamming into the wall. He tugs his own hat off as he closes it, toeing off his boots and shaking off the excess snow. “Yeah, that was pretty amazing.”
The broadcast was a success. We patched in directly and Leon did an absolutely beautiful transition, like there was nothing at all out of the ordinary. I bet no one at home even realized that Keith tried to make an ass of me.
But I didn’t let him. I stood up for myself. I won.
I foiled his stupid plan. I had the station on my side. All of the pieces aligned and for once, I came out on top.
I grin wildly and spin around again. “I feel like I could punch a moose right now.”
Jackson smiles my favorite smile. “A moose?”
I nod and spin around again, just for the hell of it. I wobble on the dismount and Jackson’s hands shoot out, steadying me.
“A moose,” I breathe. “I could totally take down a woodland creature right now.”
“Luckily, there are no woodland creatures nearby,” Jackson murmurs, his eyes drifting over my face before landing heavily on my mouth. “Though I’d love to see it.”
The energy buzzing haphazardly around my body settles and sinks, a low, pulsing warmth coiled in my belly. In the palms of my hands. In that secret spot under my ear that only Jackson has ever been able to find.
His hands flex against my hips and he gently tows me closer. I go willingly, my body loose and easy in the hold of his.
Our knees knock together. My hands find his shoulders. He’s still looking at my mouth.
“Tell me I was amazing,” I breathe.
“You were amazing,” he says right away, without any hesitation. “The goggles were a hit. You were charming and funny. So fucking smart.”
My heart does a cartwheel in my chest. “Yeah?”
He nods, his tongue dragging across the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. You said lake-effect and changing pressure systems, then cited the Northeast Snowfall Impact Scale, and I—”
He cuts himself off abruptly, his eyes darting away, finding a vague spot above my head instead of my mouth. I pull at the sides of his open jacket, wanting so badly to know the end of that sentence.
“And you, what? What were you going to say?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not professional.”
Last night Jackson kissed me in the snow and I got scared that he didn’t mean it.
But right now, in the light of day, he’s staring at me like it doesn’t matter what pieces of me he gets to have.
He’ll take whatever I’m willing to give.
He’ll hold himself perfectly still until I ask him to move, unwilling to compromise my boundaries with his wants.
“It’s just us here,” I whisper. “Tell me.”
He scoops me closer. I make an embarrassing breathy sound when my chest presses to his.
“I thought about kissing you in that snowbank,” he breathes. Jackson’s expression is tortured. Like he’s between two impossible things and doesn’t know which to reach for. “I thought about doing more than kissing you.”
“Like what?”
“Delilah.”
“I want to know.”
He shakes his head, dipping his face closer to mine, almost like he can’t help himself. Whatever gravitational pull is always dragging me into his orbit works both ways, I guess. His nose brushes my forehead and my eyes slip shut.
“I thought about bringing you back here.” His hand drifts up and then down my back.
Lower, over my hip to the curve of my ass.
A delicious tease, his pinky edging beneath the thick elastic at the top of my pants.
“I thought about pulling these ridiculous pants of yours down to your thighs. Making you keep them there while I put my mouth on you. I thought—Delilah,” he sighs.
“I thought that you probably look so pretty when you come. I’ve been thinking that. ”
A breath rattles out of me, everything beneath my belly button pulling taut. Like a ribbon, tied in a pretty little bow. I want Jackson to tug on the end of it. To unravel me until I’m a puddle of silk beneath him.
He grunts in frustration and buries his face against my shoulder. “I’m trying to give you space and respect your decision, but it’s so fucking hard when you—”
“When I what?”
“When you’re you,” he laughs, a little pained. “You drive me fucking crazy, do you know that?”
“I do, actually.” I evaluate the two paths in front of me. I could hold firm to the physical boundary in the name of professionalism, or I could—
I could trust Jackson. I could trust myself.
Jackson’s right. There are no rules against it.
“I think—” I lick my lips and gather my thoughts. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”
He lets go of me immediately.
“No.” I grab his wrists and drag his hands back to me. “I don’t want you to give me space, Jackson.”
He peers at me through his glasses. “No?”
I shake my head. For a lot of reasons, saying the things I don’t want feels immeasurably easier than explaining the things I do. “I don’t want space,” I repeat. “But I also don’t want to be used.”
Jackson moves closer. “It wouldn’t be like that. You set the pace, Delilah. I’m following you.”
My heart turns over in my chest. “All of Baltimore is talking about the nature of our relationship.”
“I don’t care about all of Baltimore.” He cups my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.
It’s easy for him to say that now, when we’re out here in our mountain hideaway. What happens when we get back and he changes his mind? Where will that leave me?
“Can this just be for us?” I whisper. “Not because I’m embarrassed. I just want it to be—”
“Me and you. I get it.” He ducks his head down and the corners of our mouths brush and then drift away. I grip the sides of his sweater beneath his jacket, my hands fisted in frustration. Jackson smiles. “That’s what I want too.”
“Only while we’re here,” I whisper. “Just for now. I don’t want expectations.”
I don’t want to get my hopes up.
Jackson makes a hum that sounds like a question, low in the back of his throat.
“What?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“We’ll have to see,” he says carefully.
“About what that means, or—”
He presses his thumb over my mouth, hushing me. “I won’t agree to timelines.” He lifts his thumb. Settles it beneath my ear instead, stroking back and forth. “Let’s see how it goes.”
“Why do you look so unhappy about that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I’m unhappy about it. You know I like my labels, Delilah.”
Strangely enough, it’s a bit of a comfort. That Jackson isn’t willing to toss all his rules and regulations to the side for whatever this is. “You’re the one who said it was a distraction,” I remind him. “That it doesn’t need to be more than that.”
He sighs. “I knew that upset you.” He leans back to get a good look at me. “I said it doesn’t need to be, but I never said I didn’t want it to be. That first kiss meant something to me, Delilah. All of them did. You just—knocked me on my ass. I wasn’t ready for you.”
I look at the collar of his sweater instead of at his face. I drag my fingertips back and forth across the stitching. “I don’t want to be a pit stop in your quest to push your boundaries. We’ll . . . explore this here. No hard feelings at the end, okay?”
He watches me carefully, then reluctantly nods his head.
“And if it starts impacting our work, we stop?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. He gathers me closer, both hands at the small of my back. “Like, say, if we’re caught kissing each other before our broadcast with a hot mic?”
I drop my forehead to the base of his throat. He laughs, that deep, slightly rough sound, his hand cupping the back of my head. It feels so nice to be held like this, my ear pressed to the amusement rumbling in his chest.
Warm. Safe.
“I see your point,” I mumble into cozy fabric that smells like aftershave and a coffee with exactly three sugars.
It doesn’t escape my notice that this is the most honest I’ve been with another person. I’ve shared what I want and what I don’t. My hesitations for moving forward and the hope that clings to the very edges. And Jackson has listened, patient and sure, letting me untangle the knots in my head.
His hand slips down my back. “Anything else we need to discuss?”
I rest my chin in the middle of his chest. “I don’t think so, no.” I smile. “Why? Do you have plans?”
His tongue appears briefly at the corner of his mouth, his eyes tripping a shade darker. “Something like that.”
“Want to look at the weather maps?” I whisper.
He cups my jaw with his hand, tilting my face up. “Maybe later.”
“You sure? What was it— Oh. The Northeast Snowfall Impact Scale.” He makes a low sound and I laugh. “I could talk you through it,” I whisper.
“Now that”—his nose bumps against mine—“I’m interested in.”
Someone knocks at the door. Three quick raps. Jackson drops his forehead to mine with a groan.
“Delilah,” Mark calls through the barrier. “I need you for a sec.”
Jackson slips his hand under my hair, squeezing at my neck. “Later,” he promises. He steps away from me, keeping his body turned carefully away. “I’ll get the door.”
Mark’s face is torn between exasperation, frustration, and amusement when Jackson swings open the door. He holds out his phone.
“Here,” he says.
I stare at his outstretched arm. “What?”
“You’re getting calls on my work line.”
“Me? From who?”
“Who do you think?”
I tuck my arms against my chest. There’s a reason my work phone is still hidden at the bottom of my bag. “Oh. No, thanks.”