Chapter 13 Rosalie #2
“No.” My answer is immediate. “And I bet it’d make him proud to see you carrying on his legacy with this ranch, alongside Ryan.”
“You’re right there.” He chuckles, but there’s a pain to his laughter. “Growing up, we joked that he loved this land more than us kids.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“I don’t know. We gave him hell.” Jackson scrubs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. That got dark real fast. I’m not high enough for this conversation.”
My brow furrows. “You’re high?”
“Not yet.” He walks over to the sofa and reaches up to crack open the window above it. He retrieves a joint from the sill and turns to meet my stare with a smile. “This is what I brought us up here for.”
“To smoke weed?”
I almost laugh, but when Jackson’s brows lift and he holds out the joint, I realize he’s completely serious.
“No pressure. But after our conversation earlier, I thought maybe you’d want to try.” He shrugs. “I mean, you’re already hiding out for the week, might as well take full advantage to knock some things off your bucket list.”
“Oh.”
Was it stupid to get high for the first time at thirty-eight years old? But when else would I get an opportunity to try this? I’m safe with Jackson. He won’t let anything happen to me, and most importantly, he won’t ever tell anyone.
“Unless you don’t want to? No pressure, Rosalie. I just thought—”
“No, I do.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Okay, then.” Jackson retrieves a lighter from the same windowsill, and lights the end of the rolled paper, taking a seat as I plop down next to him. “You nervous?”
“Of course I am,” I retort a little too harshly, but Jackson doesn’t react.
Instead, he meets my stare as his lips press around the joint. He holds my gaze as he takes a long inhale.
Time somehow slows. My own breath gets caught in my throat. I can’t look away. God, why is he so hot?
Jackson passes me the joint and he finally exhales. I mimic his actions, but as soon as I hand the joint back, I cough.
“Don’t laugh,” I threaten as I struggle to catch my breath.
“I’m not,” he says without an ounce of humor before taking another drag.
“I don’t feel anything yet.” I frown. My desire for control is so strong, I wonder if this stuff is truly potent enough to break through my anxious thoughts.
“Give it some time.” Jackson sinks back into the sofa, and passes me the joint. “One more and then we wait. If you feel weird or sick or paranoid, tell me. We’ll take this slow.”
“Okay.” I relax a little, knowing he has my best interests in mind. He’s experienced in partaking, too. He won’t allow me to overdose.
“You feeling okay?” Jackson asks, his gaze is almost unnerving.
“Fine.” I nod, but my brain is overwhelmed. Did he turn up the music? Because I feel it in every molecule of my body.
“It’s hitting you, isn’t it?” His chuckle sends a shiver up my spine.
My body feels good. Really good. And I’m hyperaware of his proximity. He could lean over and kiss me. Hell, I could lean over and kiss him. Maybe I should. Why fight it? It’s exhausting pretending I don’t find him attractive.
He brings the joint to his lips again, and I get a little jealous of the rolled paper pressing against them.
“What are you thinking about?” Jackson asks. He smiles as if we share a secret. Can he read my mind?
“You have really nice lips.”
I can’t believe I admit that aloud! A giggle rattles my chest. Between this album and the weed, Jackson has me acting like a goddamn teenager. The kind I would have been if I hadn’t had to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I reach for the joint, taking it from him to inhale. This time I don’t cough at all.
“You’re a natural,” he praises.
“I’m a fast learner.” I smile proudly. “And a perfectionist.”
“So, what do you think of my man cave?” He glances around the room.
“I like it,” I say carefully. Studying the décor, I correct him. “It’s more Hot Tub Time Machine than man cave.”
His laughter is instant. “Ouch. Okay, I think you just insulted my decorating skills.”
“I mean, it’s perfect for smoking weed.”
“That it is.” He grins, taking another hit.
“I bet you bring all your dates up here.”
I frown, thinking about that. I wonder how many naked women have sat on this couch.
“Would you believe you’re the only woman who’s been up here?” He lifts his brow in a silent challenge.
“No.” I narrow my gaze. Though, what reason would he have to lie? “Really?”
“Really.” He grins. “Only my brothers have seen my hot tub time machine. Too bad I don’t have a hot tub up here. That’d be nice.”
“Might have trouble fitting it through the hole in the floor.” I point to the opening.
“Damn.” He sighs. “I think you’re right.”
The full effect of the weed hits my system, because all I can seem to concentrate on are the lyrics and familiar tunes filling my ears.
I sing along to each chorus, the words extracted from the deep corners of my mind with surprising ease.
Can’t remember the password I created yesterday, but apparently you never forget the lyrics of songs from your youth.
I don’t know how much time passes, but when the next song plays—the track we started with—I suspect I’ve been here longer than it feels.
“Jackson.” I turn my head, resting my cheek against the back cushion to meet his gaze.
“Yeah?” He’s closer than I remember, our bodies almost close enough to touch. I don’t remember what I wanted to say. I only know I can’t tear my gaze from his.
“Rosalie,” Jackson hums, his hand brushing the hair from my face. His touch is a caress. So gentle for someone who works with his hands. “My rose. So beautiful. So pretty.”
My brow furrows, but I laugh. “What?”
“I’m going to call you Rose now,” he states matter-of-factly.
We’re both high, but I still don’t follow. “Why?”
“We’re having fun, right? You want to be here?” His face sobers and he looks so dejected, my heart squeezes a little. “Because I’m worried you’re going to let me drown.”
“Drown? There’s no water.” I sit up, looking over the edge of the sofa to be certain.
“You’re Rose. I’m Jack. The Titanic.” He gives me a pointed look, as if that’s explanation enough for his ramblings, and takes another long drag from the joint. “And that’s why we’re doomed.”
“Jackson.” I take the joint from him, concern filling my mind. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“No such thing.”
If he’s hallucinating water, maybe I should put this joint out before I experience the same.
I place it in the tray balanced on the windowsill and take inventory of how I feel.
My body is warm and I wish I could snuggle up next to Jackson, so I know my inhibitions are lowered. Still, I feel perfectly fine.
“There was room for both of them, you know.”
“Who?” I flex my feet and hands to make sure I have full control over my limbs.
“Jack and Rose. There was room for both on that makeshift raft.”
I temporarily abandon the self-check-in with my nervous system to agree with him.
“There totally was!” It’s the one part of that movie that’s always pissed me off. “She didn’t even try to share it!”
“I would never let you drown. You know that?” His sincerity cuts through my defenses. I believe him.
“I know.”
“We’re just like them.”
“Who? Jack and Rose?” I frown. He’s attractive, but looks and acts nothing like the character portrayed in the film. I wish I resembled a young Kate Winslet. Hell, I wish I resembled her now. “How are we just like them?”
He holds up a finger. “First off, you’re older than me.”
“Okay, but I’m not betrothed to a rich asshole.” Though, I guess I am tied to one. That makes me sad.
He uncurls a second finger. “You’d be embarrassed if people found out you stayed in my house this week.”
“I would not.” But that’s not entirely true.
These past few days I’ve gotten to play the role of someone else.
A person without any responsibilities or attachments.
A vacation from my real life. But all of that is waiting for me, and as soon as the week is over, I return to that.
Jackson doesn’t know me—the true me. He’s only experienced a version of myself where I don’t work full-time or care for my child.
Fuck. “Maybe we are like Jack and Rose.” The gravity of this situation threatens to sour my high. “Jackson?”
“Yeah?”
I stare directly into his gaze, determined. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”
Jackson doesn’t blink. A beat of silence passes and for a moment I think he might cry, but then he bursts into a fit of laughter. Our whole conversation is so fucking stupid and soon I’m leaning into him and giggling, too.
I never laugh like this. I never let loose and allow myself to be silly. It feels good. Damn good. I should do this more often.
I lift my head to tell Jackson that, but before I can his mouth slants over mine.
His kiss is sweeter than I remember, but when I open my mouth to him and press my body closer, I suspect he was holding back the last time.
My breath becomes his and my body heats all over as we fully make out.
He wraps an arm around my body and in one swift movement, I’m beneath him, letting him lead and losing myself in the sensual pleasure of kissing another person.
He kisses me until my lips are swollen and desire radiates through every molecule of my body. I grind against him shamelessly, the ache to be driven over the edge overwhelming all sense of propriety.
I feel different. Lighter, and somehow more aware of sensations.
My brain focuses on his lips. The most perfect mouth that ever kissed mine.
Then I’m hyperaware of his body, pressing mine into the sofa cushions, close but not close enough.
I’m warm on the inside, but my body shivers at the tenderness of his touch.
His hands explore and roam over my clothes, and I do the same.
He pulls back suddenly, his hair falling forward on his forehead. “Do I compare?”
“What?” I have no idea what he’s asking or why he stopped kissing me.
“Tell me I’m at least giving them a run for their money?”
“Who?” Is he back on this Jack and Rose thing again? Or am I really high?
“Your book boyfriends,” Jackson states earnestly. “I know you like them better than real men.”
Oh. I can’t help but smile. “I do.” They never hurt me.
“I get it, darlin’. After reading the book you gave me, I’d want to fuck one, too.”
My body shakes with laughter. He’s ridiculous. “You really liked the book?”
“I did.” He hasn’t moved away, and I’m hopeful that means we’ll be getting back to kissing soon.
I need more. “I want to read more, but I don’t know when I’ll have the chance.
” He grinds his hardness against the apex of my legs with a grin.
“Not when I can do this.” He kisses along my neck and across my collarbone.
“Yes.” I wholeheartedly agree. Squirming against him, I can’t quite find a position to ease the building ache between my legs. The couch is too small. We’re both wearing clothes. Frustrating.
He must feel similarly. “Here.” He sits back and pulls me along so that we’re both upright. “Can I take this off?” He holds the hem of my shirt in his hands.
“Please.” I lift my hands in the air to help as he removes my shirt and bra.
After he drops my bra and top to the floor, he goes still. His gaze is laser focused on my breasts.
“Is something wrong?” I resist the urge to cover myself.
“No.” He shakes his head, still not meeting my gaze. “Your tits have bewitched me. Body and soul.”
I take his jaw in my hand and force him to make eye contact. “You are ridiculous.” I chastise, though I’m rather entertained by his play on the renowned line.
He grins before capturing my mouth again.
Our kisses are frenzied and his hands find my hips, dragging me onto his lap so that I straddle him.
From this position I can feel every inch of his arousal and I can’t help but rub myself against him.
His hands leave my hips and he cups my breasts, his fingers playing with my nipples.
When his mouth joins them, I arch my back to give him better access.
“Jackson.” I whisper his name, encouraging him as my hips find a sensual rhythm.
“Jackson!” Someone calls his name in the distance, which is weird because we’re the only two people here. We freeze. Jackson pulls my body down to his, covering me and not saying a word. Our breaths are the only sound above the music. Maybe we are both hallucinating? Though, that would be strange.
“Jackson? Hello?” The woman’s voice calls from downstairs. What the fuck? There’s someone in his house!
“Who is that?” I whisper.
“I don’t know!”
“This is your house!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t invite anyone.”
“Maybe it’s one of your hookups looking to get some.” I don’t know why the idea makes my stomach sick.
“Can’t be.” He moves me off his lap and cranes his neck to peer out the window. “It’s worse.” His voice is low and full of dread. “It’s my sister. Shit!”
I cover my breasts and scramble off him.
He reaches for my bra and shirt, practically tossing them at me. “Get dressed!”
“Why would you give her a key?” I fasten my bra.
“She’s my sister!” His shout is a whisper.
“My shirt won’t go on.” I try tugging it into place, but it’s all twisted up. “What did you do to this?”
“It’s not my fault!” Jackson takes it from me, but can’t seem to figure it out either. “Why is this so damn complicated?”
I take it from him and motion toward the opening to the attic. If she comes looking for him, she’s going to find us out. “Go!”
“Yeah.” He nods, and moves to the stairs. “Stay here. I’ll get her to leave. Don’t come downstairs. I’ll come back as soon as she’s gone.”
Fear courses through my body. Maeve cannot find me here.
“I won’t move a muscle,” I promise him, trying not to think about the worst-case scenario as Jackson disappears down the stairs.
She won’t come up here, right? Even if she suspects he’s with someone, she wouldn’t barge up here to see who. My friend is nosy, but not rude. I attempt to calm my fears with rational thinking but even still, my gut fills with dread. What if it’s too late? What if we’re already busted?