Chapter Eleven
MARLEY
WHEN I was a little girl, I was afraid of the dark, and on those occasions when I would wake up from a bad dream, my mom would always ask me if I wanted hot cocoa.
It didn’t matter if it was twenty degrees or a hundred degrees outside, hot cocoa and sitting at the table with mom made everything better.
Because of that, cocoa is a staple in our kitchen.
Kinley has some memories of cocoa with mom, but Tucker and Breanna don’t, so I kept the spirit of it alive by becoming the hot cocoa fairy in mom’s stead.
Not only did it warm my heart to carry on mom’s tradition, it made late night sibling conversations at the kitchen table over a warm mug some of my favorite memories.
The dream that has my heart beating wildly in my chest and my sheets wrapped around my hips tonight wasn’t like the dreams I usually have.
This time it was carnal and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was Jax between my legs.
All I could see was the top of his head, and the tattoos on the hands holding my thighs open were his.
I orgasmed in my sleep.
I’ve never done that.
The raw erotic passion I was feeling in the dream while watching his fingers dig into the skin of my thighs had my body so hot that I woke up in a mess of sheets and twisted shorts, the haze of sleep had me confusing the sheets hugging my hips and thighs with his hands. But I was alone.
Even with the air conditioner on in the house, I feel claustrophobic, so I made a cup of cocoa before I step out onto the porch to get some fresh air.
I know it sounds counterproductive to drink hot cocoa while hot, but the kind of hot I’m feeling right now won’t be affected by cocoa or anything else.
This side of the wrap-around porch faces my stables, it’s the nicest part of the porch and connects directly with the kitchen. I was sitting in this exact spot, after Mason was forced to leave to go to the Army, when I got the idea to rehab horses.
Since the thought of doing anything that took me from home, where I felt safe, filled me with so much anxiety that I could barely breathe, I asked Dad if he would build me my own stable for abused horses.
He had it built within a year and I was getting calls from people for help as soon as word was out that I was up and running.
It’s been a very lucrative business and one that brings me more reward than I could ever wish for.
The air is still comfortably cool at night and the tree frogs chirping and singing is music to my ears. I sit in one of the large wicker chairs and sip my cocoa.
The moon is a little more than half-full, the soft silver light gives everything a pretty glow and a deep sigh fills my lungs. My body is still buzzing from the dream, and my thoughts keep replaying every memory of my conversations with Jax over the past few weeks.
He’s been here since the wedding, and since the flower delivery, he’s been like a magnet showing up everywhere I go.
They tried to limit my time in the yard with the horses, but I told them they could all shove it, I won’t be a prisoner in my home, and I won’t let my horses down because some dickhead thinks he’s something special.
He fixed the shelves in my stable and I could hear him talking to the horses when they were in their stalls while he worked. It was kind of cute and I caught myself listening to him speak to them in his native tongue.
We’ve kind of started a little game. He says something in his tongue and I try to guess what he says based on the context. I’m getting better. Some things he says are starting to sound familiar.
Is it weird that I’m more afraid of some of the things he’s said to me, and the way he looks at me, over the past couple of weeks, than some crazy jerk leaving a murdered cat on our porch? I’m worried that I’m getting used to him being around, and I’m starting to like it. This is bad.
It will only hurt more when he leaves.
He’s become bolder with his touches, too. Just this morning at breakfast he placed his hand on my lower back when we both walked to the coffeepot, and he stood to the side to let me go first.
It wasn’t just a simple touch. His warm palm was like the warmth of the sun on my back between my shoulder blades before it slid down to just above the waist of my shorts before he dropped his hand.
There was a time when something like that would have sent all my red flags up at the same time, but with Jax, that small caress sent a shiver up my spine and goosebumps made all the hairs on my arms stand up.
I know he saw it, he was right next to me and from the corner of my eye I could see him looking down at my arm.
What I can’t wrap my head around is why he would be interested in me. He’s been with so many women that he probably lost count a long time ago, why would he want me? I don’t have that kind of experience. And in all honesty, I don’t think I could relax enough to make anything enjoyable for any man.
Insecurity and good old-fashioned self-deprivation stomp out the flicker of hope that has me thinking about the possibility of him being interested in me.
My cocoa has lost its appeal, and I set it on the wicker table next to my chair and walk to the porch post to lean my shoulder against it as I look out over the yard.
The combination of the cocoa and the slight humidity in the air has my tangled hair sticking to my neck and I lift it up to let the breeze do its job.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Jax’s deep voice comes from my right and makes me jump. I drop my hair and slap my hands over my heart as I take a step back.
My breaths are fast and short as I watch him appear like a ghost from the shadows next to one of the trees.
His black fatigues and black t-shirt blends perfectly with the darkness cast by the big trees around the house.
The panic in my chest won’t let me talk and he moves quickly to stand on a step that puts him eye level with me.
He grabs my hands with his large ones and presses my palms together like prayer hands, his long fingers wrap around to cocoon mine in his. He starts tapping a regular rhythm on the back of my hand with one of his thumbs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Breathe with me.” He is just inches away from me. “Count the taps. One, two, three, pause. That’s right. Again.”
He takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a count of three and exhales through his mouth, the force of it tickling my chin. “Again.” He softly orders and I follow along with him, looking at his blue eyes that seem to shimmer with the moon.
We breathe together for a few moments while I count the taps on my hand and time slows down, my heart rate returns to normal, and the sounds of the tree frogs are back as the ringing in my ears fades away. I nod my head and whisper, “I’m good.”
His eyes roam over my face. “You sure?”
I nod again. “MmHm. How do you know about the tapping?”
His lip twitches up on one side. “I’ve seen you do it, so I looked it up.”
He looked it up? He went through the trouble of looking it up?
“What are you doing out here?” I look around the yard. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t let go of my hands. “I don’t sleep well, so sometimes I patrol the house at night.”
When I feel the heat from his body warming my front, I realize that all I have on is my sleep boxers and a t-shirt. No bra. My hair is also in a jumbled, tangled mess around my head. I know I should be self-conscious, but I don’t feel that way with Jax.
Curving my mouth into a smile, I jokingly say, “You afraid someone might steal me away in the night?”
His face is serious, and his eyes move between mine. “Yes.”
My heart skips a beat and I lift my eyes to look around my safe space, seeing it differently than I have every night of my life.
His hands squeeze mine and my eyes drop back to his. “I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t my intention to scare you. Because of some events from my past, and doing the job I do, I sometimes see danger in places where there is none.”
“What events from your past?” His hands are warm around mine, and I don’t want to pull them away.
A deep sigh lifts his chest and the exhale through his nose moves over my chin, his eyes are guarded and I realize I might have crossed a line. Lowering my eyes to his chest, I try to pull my hands away, but he holds them tight. The warm calluses on his palms press against my knuckles.
“It’s not easy to talk about, lepa.” He pauses a moment. “I watched my mama and my little sister die at the hands of bad men, it was part of the reason my family came to America.” His features have hardened and I feel bad for asking.
Pulling one of my hands from between his, I set my palm on his jaw. “I’m sorry, for your loss and for asking.”
The hard lines soften and his lips tip up ever so slightly. “It’s okay. I will always answer your questions.”
Something else occurs to me and my eyes get wide as I suck in a small breath. “You weren’t born here. Is Jax your birth name? It doesn’t sound very Serbian-y”
His smile goes to his eyes this time, and he shakes his head. “It’s not. Jackson Simmons was assigned to me when we fled Serbia.”
I smile. “Does it make me a shallow person to say that I didn’t know until just now that your last name is Simmons?” I tilt my head to the side. “What is your birth name?”
He hesitates for a second. “Branislov Sokolov. My family called me Brana.”
“Branislov. Brana.” I say them both, enjoying the feeling of his real name on my tongue.
I move my hand from his jaw and set my palm on his chest. “I like it. Would it be okay if I call you Brana?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, my entire face burns crimson.
“Oh, that’s probably too familiar. You said it was your family who called you that… ”