5. Chapter 5
five
~ Jasper ~
A lthough I didn’t have any events on the calendar, I found myself in the company of my plus-one nearly every day of the following week.
My schedule didn’t allow me to spend as much time at SafeHouse as I would have liked, but I tried to be there as often as I could.
And so, it seemed, did Beckett.
No one, including Beckett, had informed me that he’d applied to be a volunteer, but all of his paperwork was in the system, including the extensive background check.
As long as they met the qualifications, I welcomed any help I could get, but the fact that he had started the process before we had officially met surprised me.
Throughout the week, I had watched him de-escalate a potential altercation on the basketball court like a seasoned pro.
I’d seen him convince a shy teenage girl to try out for captain of her cheer squad.
Much to my amusement, I had also witnessed him fend off clumsy and awkward attempts at flirting with clear boundaries and mild panic.
He’d scaled a tree to rescue a wayward frisbee.
He had helped prepare meals for the center’s Taco Tuesday social—an outreach event to encourage the community to become more involved.
That same night, he had also instigated a food fight on the south lawn, which had resulted in me spending the next two days trying to wash mashed avocado out of my hair.
Everyone had found it hilarious, including the visitors, and we had actually received more volunteer applications than ever before.
So, while I had lectured him, my heart hadn’t really been in it, and we had both known it.
By Friday evening, he had become such a fixture at the mansion that I didn’t even question why he was hanging out in my office after everyone else had gone home.
Then again, ever since the bookstore, I no longer felt uneasy having him in my space.
Rather, it felt like he belonged there.
While I finished some executive tasks at my desk, Beckett sat on the sofa, organizing boxes of donated books by genre and reading level.
Apart from the occasional question about a particular title, we didn’t talk.
Still, I found his presence comforting, and he added a warmth to the room that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“So, you said this was your parents’ place,” he said hours later when we were both winding up our individual tasks.
“Did you grow up here?”
Looking up from my laptop, I gave him my full attention.
“No. I had already moved out on my own when they bought the house.”
A frown tugged at his lips, and he dragged his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand out in disarray.
“No offense, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. Why would they need all this space?”
“No offense taken. It’s a fair question.” And one for which I didn’t have a particularly good answer.
“I’m not sure what they intended to do with the property, but they never lived here.”
“Okay, you have my attention.”
I swiveled around to face him fully and leaned back in my desk chair with a quiet chuckle.
“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. I didn’t even know about this house until after they died. Their attorney didn’t know why they’d purchased it, either.”
“Makes sense.” He moved to the edge of the cushions and bobbed his head thoughtfully.
“These big old houses always have skeletons in the closet.”
“Are you always this dramatic?” I teased.
It was a mystery, sure, but not some plot to a Nancy Drew novel.
“This house isn’t that old, either. It was built in the nineties.”
“Practically ancient.”
It sounded like something one of the kids would say, and he looked so serious I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You are incorrigible.”
“You look good when you laugh.” He spoke nonchalantly, an off-handed comment, and returned to sorting books.
“You should do it more often.”
Though I still felt a flutter in my chest when he said things like that, I had gotten used to his casual flirting.
As such, I no longer panicked, and in this case, I actually took offense.
“I laugh.”
“You do,” he allowed.
“When you’re here at the center.”
Rising from my chair, I rounded the desk and eased a hip onto the edge of it.
“That’s not true. I laugh all the time.”
“And it’s fake as hell.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed.
“By all means, tell me how you really feel.”
Placing a stack of books down on the coffee table, he pushed to his feet, but he didn’t approach.
“Am I wrong?”
“If you’re referring to the fundraisers—”
“That you hate.”
“They’re good causes.”
Beckett took a step forward.
Just one step, but the room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating.
“I’m not arguing that. You told me why you go to those parties, and I understand. I get it, Jazz.”
Jazz?
In thirty-seven years, no one had ever shortened my name like that.
Personally, I kind of liked it, but I could practically hear my mother gasp with disapproval from the afterlife.
I didn’t correct him, though.
Like so many things where Beckett was concerned, I let it happen, as if he had every right to call me whatever he wanted.
“I know you listen to gossip with a smile while slowly dying on the inside.” He took another step toward me.
“I know you don’t like personal questions, and you’d rather throw yourself into traffic than be the focus of attention.” Another step.
“Why do you care so much what those people think of you?”
I tensed, my muscles coiled tight, every cell in my body telling me to run.
Instead, I remained seated on the edge of my desk, my arms folded defensively as I absorbed his words.
“And what people would that be?”
“Don’t play stupid.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed.
“It doesn’t suit you.”
Nervous energy coursed through me, a low vibration that made my hands shake and my voice tremble, but this time, I didn’t back down.
Pushing away from the desk, I closed the distance so that I stood directly in front of him.
“Because those people keep the lights on around here. They sponsor programs that these kids need. Because this isn’t a fun hobby or a silly game, Beckett. These are real lives, and they depend on me .” My chest heaved, and I could feel the heat spread up my neck and into my cheeks, but I kept going.
“So, yes, if I have to fake a smile and kiss their Louis Vuitton’s, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and weighty.
Neither of us stepped away.
Neither of us broke eye contact.
“Nice speech,” Beckett said at last, his tone dry and dispassionate.
“But we both know it’s not about donations. At least, not entirely. So, again, why do you care so much about what people think of you?”
“I just told you why.”
“No, you told me the socially acceptable version.” He stepped forward, forcing me back a step to avoid a collision.
“How about you try the truth now?”
“People depend on me,” I repeated, though I had lost much of my conviction.
It had been the first time in recent memory I had lost my temper, and naively, I assumed he would back off after I showed a bit of teeth.
Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.
“And?” he prompted.
“And sometimes I have to make compromises because of that.” My voice wobbled, and my entire body started to shake when he forced me back another step.
Then another.
“No.” He shook his head.
“You choose to. Why?”
“I don’t—” A breath huffed from my lips when the back of my legs collided with the desk.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Beckett took up a military stance, legs wide, anchoring me in place with his solid frame.
“I want you to tell me why it’s so important for people to like you.”
I could have pushed him away.
I could have stopped everything right there.
I should have. Instead, I took a deep breath and swallowed past the lump in my throat before saying the one thing I had never admitted to anyone.
“Because it hurts when they don’t.”
Emotionally, yes, but also physically.
I felt it in my whole body.
It started in my throat and spread up my neck.
My heart pounded too hard, too fast, a painful drum against my sternum.
Then I’d feel a sharp stab between my shoulder blades before the tension moved down my back to my stomach and hips.
“Because you’re not worthy without their approval.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.
“Yes.”
My parents had been wonderful, if maybe a little too proper.
They hadn’t hurt or belittled me.
They hadn’t made me feel lesser.
If anything, I was lucky I hadn’t grown into an arrogant, self-serving jerk who felt the world owed him something.
Apart from some minor teasing, I hadn’t been bullied at school.
Teachers had been kind to me.
In fact, nothing truly traumatic had ever happened to me.
Yes, I had lost my parents only two years apart in my twenties.
It had been hard, but it hadn’t been unexpected.
Already in their late fifties when they had adopted me, they had battled their failing health for most of my life.
Despite their commitment, however, there had been a part of me that felt undeserving of their love.
Older now, it sounded dramatic, but as a kid, I had always felt like a stray.
Unwanted. Pitiful. Always needing to prove myself, my worth.
Because if my biological parents hadn’t wanted me, why would anyone else?
Once the dam broke, I couldn’t contain the flood.
The words tumbled out, one over the other, in a rush of long-masked insecurities.
Beckett didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t offer platitudes or assurances.
But he also didn’t pull away or make me feel like a burden.
Solid and unflappable, he leaned into me, lending me his strength as he absorbed every emotional blow.
Once the storm passed, rational thought returned, and along with it, a deep, burning shame.
I didn’t so much stop talking as my voice faded away into nothingness, like a song on the radio.
“Sorry,” I murmured, dropping my gaze to stare at his collarbones.
“That was…a lot.”
“It was,” he agreed.
There was no judgment in his tone.
He simply acknowledged what we both knew.
“You’ve been carrying that around for a while, huh? How do you feel now?”
“Tired,” I answered honestly.
“Embarrassed.” I finally dared to meet his gaze again.
“But better?” A tight, slightly unhinged chuckle puffed from my lips at the absurdity of it all, and I dropped my head again, resting my brow on his shoulder.
“I’m a disaster.”
“Yeah, kind of.” Beckett laughed along with me.
“But you’re also real. This might be the realest I’ve ever seen you.”
Righting myself, I snorted and shook my head.
“Hot mess masquerading as authenticity. That checks.”
“Jazz.” This time, there was a thread of censure in his voice.
“I’m trying to make a point here.”
“By all means. Please proceed.”
And he did, completely ignoring my defensiveness disguised as snark.
“You let me see the real you, and I’m still here. I’m not running, and I’m sure as hell not disappointed.”
“Give it time.” His lips parted, clearly intending to argue, but I cut him off.
“And since when do you call me Jazz?”
There it was.
That cocksure grin that made my chest flutter and my stomach tighten, and he knew exactly how to weaponize it.
“Do you like it?” Pure sin dripped from his words, and he leaned closer, placing his hands on the desk behind me, caging me in.
“I just wasn’t aware that we were that close.”
“Jazz,” he said, adding emphasis to the name now.
“There’s only one way we could be closer, and I don’t think you’re ready for it.”
That little voice in the back of my head, the one that told me I wasn’t worthy, screamed for me to turn away.
To hide. To rebuild the walls around myself.
But what would be the point?
He’d already seen me at my worst. He had witnessed the raw, unfiltered version of me I never showed anyone, and he was still here.
“That sounds dangerously like a challenge, Mr. Shaw.”
“And if it is? What are you going to do about it?”
I wasn’t bold, not like him, but I was tired of fighting him.
More accurately, I was tired of fighting myself and what I felt for him.
Palming the back of his neck, I urged him closer and slanted our mouths together.
While no blushing virgin by any means, it had been a while since I had let someone this close, and I felt clumsy and inept in my attempts at seduction.
So, of course, my anxiety took over, and I immediately tried to disengage.
Beckett didn’t let me go far.
Placing his hand against the small of my back, he jerked me closer, following as I leaned away.
“Don’t stop.”
If I had learned anything that night, it was that I didn’t have to pretend with Beckett, or try to be something I wasn’t.
That didn’t make speaking the words any easier, but I took a deep breath and forced them out anyway.
“I’m a little out of practice.”
“Trust me.” He rocked his hips, letting me feel the erection trapped behind his zipper.
“You’re doing just fine. Don’t stop.”
Emboldened by his response, I captured his face between my palms and brought his mouth back to mine.
I did my best to silence the intrusive thoughts that told me I wasn’t good enough, to block them out and just allow myself to feel.
He kissed me gently, letting me take the lead, but despite his passiveness, I could feel his desire simmering beneath the surface.
Leashed, controlled, but undeniable.
Then his lips parted in silent invitation, and I plunged between them, electricity sizzling through my veins as the taste of coffee and chocolate exploded across my tongue.
I delved deeper, mapping and exploring, committing every subtle shift in his posture to memory.
I pulled away again, but this time, it was a deliberate choice.
I wanted to look into his icy blue eyes, to see his expression so I knew exactly how he felt.
Heavy-lidded and slightly dazed, his gaze mirrored my own aching need, and I shivered at being wanted so blatantly, so desperately.
Sliding one hand into his hair, I tangled my fingers in the soft strands, my cock throbbing when he responded with a quiet groan.
Then I attacked his mouth again, licking and biting, branding him from the inside out, claiming him for my own if only for this moment.
My head swam, my heart thundered inside my chest, and my body thrummed with barely checked need.
This stubborn, infuriating, remarkable man had awakened a gnawing hunger inside me, and there was no going back.
Whatever happened from here, I knew I would never be the same.