Letting Go (Thatch #1)(45)

“PUT ME DOWN, put me down, put me down!” I screeched as Jagger ran into the warehouse with me thrown over his shoulder a few days later. Before I could slap my hand against his back again, his hands were on my waist and he was bending over to throw me onto the couch.

“There. You’re down.” He smiled wickedly at me and stole a kiss, then stood up, but I grabbed his hand and yanked him back toward me.

“That was terrifying,” I murmured against his next kiss.

“I only almost dropped you once.”

“Exactly! You almost dropped me! I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

He smiled widely and pinched my side. “You’re being dramatic. I’m gonna go jump in the shower and change. Do you want to do the same when I’m done, or are you gonna head home?”

“I’ll jump in when you’re done.” I placed my hands on his bare stomach, and pushed him away. “Go shower, you smell like lake water.”

“And what do you think you’re making my couch smell like?” he countered as he walked backward toward the stairs.

“Cupcakes and rainbows?”

He stopped and gave me a look. “There is something in that water that makes you high, woman.”

I laughed and pointed up to the loft. “Go shower so I can too!”

As soon as I heard the water turn on, I got off the couch and went to find my purse where I’d dropped it near the door. Putting it on the bar top in the kitchen, I searched for my phone and texted my mom to let her know I was staying at Jagger’s for a while. I’d barely gotten the TV on when she responded, asking if we had protection.

I groaned and flipped through the channels until I found a movie, and had only been watching it for a couple minutes when Jagger came back down the stairs.

His skin was tan from spending so much time at the lake this summer, and it made the contrast of his black hair and green eyes just that much greater. I was still whiter than white, and praying I hadn’t burned anywhere. I blamed my dad’s Irish heritage.

“I left some clothes on the bed for you to change into,” Jagger said as he flopped down on the couch next to my feet.

“So now I’m going to smell like you?” I teased, and nudged his side with my toes.

He grabbed my foot and immediately started massaging it with his large hands. “Better than smelling like the lake.”

“Don’t lie,” I moaned through the foot rub. “You love that I smell like . . . fish.”

Jagger barked out a laugh and tossed my feet away from him. “That is not what you smell like, but now all I can think about is you smelling like fish. Go shower.”

“No. Foot rub!” I whined, and tried to put my feet back on his lap. He just continued laughing and pushing them away. “Please?”

Grabbing one of my hands, he pulled me up and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before pushing me toward the edge of the couch. “When you come back.”

I sent him a pathetic look as I slowly stood up, and he leaned forward to grab me and pull me back down.

“Don’t pout, beautiful,” he whispered before placing his lips on my neck.

I tilted my head away and sighed softly. “I thought I smelled gross,” I said when he continued making a line of kisses down my neck.

I felt his smile against my skin, then he said, “I never said ‘gross.’ I said ‘lake.’ You took it to another level with ‘fish.’ ” Jagger bit down gently on the base of my throat, and his hand gripped the back of my thigh when he moved lower.

My breathing was uneven by the time he made it back up to my lips, and the hand that had been gripping my thigh slowly moved up to grab the side tie of my bikini bottom. Pulling until it came undone, he reached under my shirt to undo one of the ties of my top, then the other. I was still wearing my shorts and tank top, but I knew I would be pulling them off soon if he didn’t do it himself, and suddenly I wanted that shower. I didn’t want to smell gross if things were heading in this direction.

“Um, I . . . shower—I should shower,” I stuttered.

“Then go shower,” he challenged.

It took another few moments before I was able to gather the will to move away from him, and the only thing that had given me the strength to do so was knowing that I wanted to smell clean.

“Five minutes,” I shouted as I ran up the stairs, his low laugh following me.

I’d never showered that thoroughly that quickly in my life. Barely giving myself time to dry off and towel-dry my hair, I ran into the loft and put on the clothes that were sitting on the end of the bed. I glanced down at the boxers and long shirt I was wearing, and fought with myself for a minute about whether or not I should take off the boxers. But I had nothing underneath, and I knew if I went down like that, Jagger would think I wanted something.

Something I knew I did in fact want but wasn’t sure I was ready for yet. I wanted him, I wanted his hands on me, but that still didn’t stop the fear of finally giving myself to him. By the time I stopped arguing with myself and was on my way down the stairs, I still had the boxers on and was trying not to seem as eager to get back to him as I was.

“That was longer than five minutes,” he said with his signature lopsided smile when I made it down the stairs.

“Hey, at least I’m clean.”