Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(29)

“You can always go.” He propped his boots up on the table, easing back to balance his chair on two legs. With a smug grin, he put his hands behind his head.

He was so cocky, I wanted—nay, needed—to wipe that grin off his face. I’d reached my limit. I could die tomorrow, and I refused to spend my last night on earth getting manipulated by a moonshine-guzzling Cajun.

Besides, I wasn’t too shy. I’d worn my skimpy cheer uniform to school in front of slavering teenage boys, and my best friend Melissa had pantsed me routinely. “Fine.” I twisted in the tub to rise with my back to him, then stepped out and marched to my clothes—

Wham! He’d crashed back in his chair?

Stifling a grin, I wiped myself semi-dry with my old T-shirt, then pulled on the panties.

“E-Evie?” His voice sounded strangled.

I reached for my bra, might’ve showed side-boob, didn’t care. When I had the strap fastened, I glanced over one shoulder.

Next to the overturned chair, Jackson knelt with his lips parted, breaths ragged. His high cheekbones were flushed, and his muscles were tensed—like he was about to lunge at me. “You . . . you stood up?” He swiped a shaking hand over his mouth, and again, his eyes dark with lust. “Never thought you’d stand up, ma bonne fille.” My good girl.

With a shrug, I reached for my jeans. “If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the cabin.”

He swallowed audibly. “Br?lant.” Sizzling hot. “And believe me, cher, I plan to take that heat.” Then he was on his feet, coming for me, those heavy boots pounding the wood floor. His every step multiplied my anticipation. He was going to kiss me again, and just the idea filled me with energy.

No, no, no! This was wrong. I didn’t want him to hit on me just because he was drunk and hard up.

Before I could put on my clothes, he’d spun me around, looping his arm around my lower back. “You swished that pretty ass in the wrong direction, bébé. You should’ve come to me when you were all naked and wet.”

“Don’t you dare make moves on me! You’re just going to accuse me again of mesmerizing you.”

“I realized you didn’t have all your powers when I first started wanting you.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because if you were mesmerizing back then, all them Sterling boys would’ve been panting over you instead of Clotile.”

Chin raised, I said, “Hey, I didn’t do too bad, Cajun.”

“For true. When I saw you that day alone in the school courtyard, in your cheer skirt . . .” His expression was smoldering. “I wanted to lay you back on that table and take you right there, Evangeline.”

I shivered at the way my name rolled off his tongue in that accent. Irresistible. I knew this, because I was struggling to resist.

He was right; I was gone for him. Stupid to fight it. I gazed up at him, whispering, “Just, just don’t hurt me again. If I kiss you, and then you get disgusted . . .”

He gave a low laugh, moving his hips against mine. “Does it feel like I’m disgusted?”

I gasped. “Jackson!”

“You smell like honeysuckle. You likin’ ole Jack now?”

“I never stopped liking you. Even when you were warding me away with the power of Catholicism.”

“Can’t help the way I was raised—anything supernatural is supposed to be either a miracle or satanic.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you’re still trying to figure out which I am?”

“Non. I’m trying to figure out if I’m still Catholic.” He grinned that heart-stopping grin.

Gorgeous lips. I wanted them on mine.

Just before he kissed me, he said, “You might be different from what I thought, but I’m goan to protect you anyway. I’m goan to try to accept all this. But you got to accept me.”

“Accept you? What are you talking about?”

“I’m a nineteen-year-old bayou boy. I got a fondness for liquor. I’m goan to say stupid shit. Doan you go getting your feelings hurt at the drop of a hat.”

I laid my palm against his face. “You’re going to get more than your feelings hurt if you stay with us. And it will be my fault because I don’t want to separate from you. You wanted me to let you go.”

“That was before I realized something this week. I wasn’t goan to live a long life even before the apocalypse. Before there were Baggers, cannibals, and plague. Now I figure I’ll spend my limited time left doing what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

His grin deepened. “You’re what I want, and I’d like to be doing you.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine.

At that contact, the rain began to pour down at last, pelting the cabin’s tin roof. I hadn’t heard that sound since the night I’d gone to Jack’s home in the bayou.

He drew back. “Christ, your lips are sweet. Douces comme du miel.” Sweet like honey. He yanked off his shirt, revealing his damp chest, the rosary around his neck. I’d missed seeing him like this.

My fingers skimmed over the raised scar on his arm. How I loved that mark. If he hadn’t been getting that wound tended to the night of the Flash, he would’ve died like most everyone else.

His hands landed on my ass, giving it a possessive squeeze. “T?’es pour moi, Evie. You’re mine. Every part of you.” He leaned down, took my lips once more. Between kisses, he said, “I told you once and I’ll tell you again: there is nothing that can happen to you that we can’t get past. Just give me a chance to get to you. Promise me.”