5. She Doesnt Scare Easy #2
Rafe freezes for several seconds before his mouth drops open a fraction of an inch. He stares at me, completely stunned, making no effort to hide his absolute shock.
For a man who makes a living anticipating threats, he clearly did not see this coming.
"You did what?" Rafe asks, his voice cracking.
"I fucked her," I repeat.
Rafe blinks twice. Then, a loud, booming sound erupts from his chest. He throws his head back and guffaws, howling with pure, unrestrained delight. The sound bounces off the corrugated iron walls. He slaps his thigh, his laughter rich and loud.
"You lying sack of shit!" Rafe curses me out, the words laced with profound affection. He points a finger at my chest.
"You? Jackson Rowe? The man who lives like a goddamn monk? That is completely out of character for you. When? How the hell did that happen?"
I feel the heat creeping up my neck. I redden, my skin burning with embarrassment. I rub the back of my neck with my free hand, the calluses scraping against my short hair. I am already regretting opening my mouth.
"During my last business trip," I mutter, looking away. "I met her in a bar in Galveston. We drank. We got a room. I fucked her. I thought it was a clean one-night stand. No names. No baggage. I thought I would never see her again in my goddamn life."
Rafe leans against the bench, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "Let me guess."
"Yeah," I grunt. "The exact same woman turns up at my front gate three days later, holding my mother's land deed and asking to buy me out."
Rafe howls again, shaking his head in disbelief. "I never thought the day would come," he wheezes, grinning from ear to ear. "The universe finally kicked you square in the balls, Jax."
"Shut the fuck up, Rafe," I snap, though there is no real heat behind it.
"You are a dead man walking," Rafe laughs, clapping his hands together. "You slept with the enemy. No wonder you look like a useless bastard today."
I open my mouth to hurl another string of curses at him, but the loud, metallic screech of the front gate cuts me off.
I snap my head toward the yard.
The chain link gate swings open. Just like the previous time she was here, Nora steps through the opening.
Every single drop of blood in my body rushes south, and my lungs stop working.
She walks onto the gravel yard, pausing for a moment to take in the mountains of scrap steel and the heavy machinery. She looks like she just stepped out of a goddamn dream.
She is wearing a pair of dark, high-waisted denim jeans that hug the flare of her hips and the long, strong line of her thighs like a second skin. Her top is a ribbed, olive green Henley, unbuttoned at the collar, the tight fabric molding to the heavy, full curve of her breasts.
The color makes her pale skin look like porcelain. Her red hair is wild today, untied and falling in thick, heavy waves past her shoulders, catching the afternoon sun and looking like spun fire.
My body reacts instantly. A violent, heavy ache settles deep in my groin. My fingers twitch. I want to cross the yard, throw her over my shoulder, carry her into the office, and lock the door for three days.
She turns her head. Her bright blue eyes find me standing in the shadows of the open bay doors.
Beside me, Rafe lets out a low, slow whistle under his breath.
"Is that her?" Rafe asks, his voice barely a murmur.
"Yeah," I murmur back, my eyes locked on the sway of her hips as she starts walking toward the workshop. "What do you think?"
"I think you are in deep shit, brother," Rafe whispers back. "She is such a looker. It makes complete sense now."
"What makes sense?" I ask tightly.
"Why have you never been impressed by any of the women around here?" Rafe says, watching her approach. "And why were you obviously swept completely off your feet in Galveston. A woman like that does not just walk into a room. She takes it over."
A heavy and warm feeling settles in my chest. A dark, possessive, masculine pride wells up in my blood. Rafe is right. She is mine. Even if she is standing on the opposite side of a property war, the memory of her skin belongs to me.
Nora steps into the shade of the workshop. She is completely clueless about the conversation that just took place between us. She stops five feet away, her hands resting casually on her hips. She looks at me, and then she flashes a cool, composed smile that makes my blood run boiling hot.
"Hello, Jax," she says, her smoky voice echoing off the iron walls.
"Nora," I nod, my voice a gravelly rumble.
She turns her bright blue eyes toward Rafe, her smile softening and becoming polite. "Hi. I am Nora Beckett. From next door."
Rafe steps forward, extending his large, scarred hand. He puts on his best charming, professional face. "Rafael Dalton. Most people call me Rafe."
Nora shakes his hand, her grip firm. "Nice to meet you, Rafe."
"Likewise," Rafe says, his hazel eyes gleaming with hidden amusement. He steps back, grabbing his heavy laptop off the workbench and sliding it into his tactical bag.
"I was actually just leaving. I have a perimeter check on the south side of town. I will leave you two to have a great conversation."
Rafe slings the bag over his broad shoulder. He walks past me, aiming a sharp kick at the toe of my boot. He shoots me a look that says do not screw this up, dumbass, and walks out of the workshop into the bright yard.
I wait until the sound of his heavy boots fades into the gravel.
I turn back to Nora. I cross my arms over my chest, planting my feet shoulder-width apart. I lock my jaw. I need to keep the boundaries clear. I need to remember the land.
"What do you want, Nora?" I ask straight to the point. "I believed I already gave you an answer to the request you made before. I am not selling."
Nora does not flinch. She stands her ground, her blue eyes looking directly into mine.
"I thought you might say that," Nora says, her voice smooth and unbothered. "And honestly, Jax? I do not blame you in the slightest."
The invisible armor I had built up around my chest splinters. I stare at her, completely thrown off balance.
I had expected her to walk in here ready for a fight. I had prepared myself for a screaming match, for a battle over property lines and appraisal values. I expected a hardass. I did not expect her to validate my feelings.
She sees the shock register on my face, and her expression softens. The cold, professional mask drops, and the sad, beautiful woman from the Galveston bar looks back at me.
"I know how much this place means to you," she says quietly, her voice dropping into a tender, intimate whisper that cuts straight to my marrow. "My Gran told me about your mother."
Nobody talks about her.
Not here. Not to my face. Not without me having to leave the room.
For a second I hear my mother's laugh. Not the whole sound. Just enough to hurt. Funny how grief works. Twenty years can pass. Then somebody says one sentence and you're standing in the wreckage all over again.
My right hand closes around the heavy steel crescent wrench on the workbench. My knuckles turn pure white. I grip the iron like a lifeline, my chest heaving once as I fight the burn in the back of my throat.
I force myself to breathe as I set the wrench down on the table. I turn my body slightly, looking back at the stretched steel frame on the welding table so she cannot see the absolute wreck she just made of my composure.
"Yeah?" I say. The single word is all I can force out of my throat.
"Yes," Nora says softly.
She takes a step closer. The scent of wild clover washes over me, making my pulse pound. "I am not here to argue with you today, Jax. I just came to let you know that the reason I want the land cannot be held lightly either."
My eyebrows twitch in response.
"I promise you, no one in this world would cherish that land as much as I would." She pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Aside from you, of course."
She steps into my space. She reaches past my chest, her arm extending to point out the open bay doors toward the eastern part of the land, toward the heavy oak trees marking the border.
The heat of her body hits me. The side of her full breast brushes against my bicep.
My entire workshop disappears, and the only thing that exists in the entire universe is the smell of her skin, the heat of her breath against my collarbone, and the desperate, violent urge to pull her against my chest and never let her go.
She holds the point for a second longer, letting me feel the absolute devastation of her proximity.
Then, she steps back.
The loss of her heat leaves me cold.
I hate that I notice.
I hate it more that I miss it.
"I love that place to death," she says, her blue eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, quiet dare. "And it would mean a lot if you could reconsider."
She turns around and starts to walk out of the workshop, her hips swaying slowly, leaving me standing alone in the heavy silence.
"I will be back," she calls out over her shoulder, not looking back. "I hope you change your mind."
I stand alone in the empty workshop.
The smell of clover is already fading.
I think about my mother.
I think about the way Nora said her name.
Carefully.
Like it mattered.
Later, after the gravel settles and the gate swings shut behind her, I walk the fence line out to the river. I didn't decide to do it. My boots just go.
The stone is exactly where it's always been. I crouch down, brush a few wet leaves off the top of it with the back of my hand, the way I've done a hundred times without thinking about it. I didn't say anything to her today.
I just check.
Then I walk back to the shop and get back to work.