Jackson (Wild Boys After Dark, #3)(21)

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RAIN PUMMELED THE ledge, sending ripples of water streaming beside them. Jackson focused on the tiny river, trying to bring himself to the place where he knew Laney had already settled. He saw relief in her eyes, felt her body go soft and pliable against his. His hand traveled over her warm skin, down the curve of her spine, over her slim waist, to the bloom of her hip covered by wet denim. He was hard again, wanting to strip her bare and bury himself deep inside her until reality slipped away.

But he wouldn’t do that to Laney. He couldn’t do that to himself.

Sex was a balm on a burn that would never soothe.

Her slender fingers slid along his skin. “You love me,” she whispered.

“Always,” he admitted.

She searched his eyes, and her finely manicured brows knitted together. Her eyes dampened before he even said a word.

“But you don’t want me?”

“I always want you,” he said honestly.

She shook her head, and he knew she heard the truth behind his words despite her reaction, because she saw all of his truths—and she deserved more than he could give.

“But I have to let you go, Laney.”

She dug her nails into his forearms.

“Don’t you see? I can’t keep doing this to you. I’m not the guy you need. I’m not marriage material.” He forced her back from his chest as self-loathing simmered deep inside him. “I’ve never committed, Laney. Not once. You know this.”

She was trembling again, shaking her head, clinging to his skin like a lifeline—only he wasn’t her lifeline. He could never be.

“I can’t string you along, only to ruin your life by hurting you.”

“You would never allow that to happen.” Her eyes blazed with anger.

“I already have, haven’t I?” Why was his voice so calm when inside there was a tornado brewing?

She shook her head, confusion written in the lines mapping her forehead.

“I don’t know that I’m capable of being with one woman.”

“You are!” she insisted.

He moved her from his lap and rose to his feet, fisting his hands by his sides.

“Don’t you think I wish that were true?” They stared at each other for a long, heated moment. Her eyes pleaded for him to change his mind while his heart shattered inside his chest.

“I don’t want to f*ck you up, Laney. I don’t want to be the guy you find in bed with another woman. It would kill me to leave you wondering where I am at three a.m. after a shoot, when I’m lost in the aftermath of a party, holed up in some woman’s bedroom with my head buried between her legs.”

She stood, her whole body shaking, her eyes boring through him, sucking the life from his chest. “Fuck you, Jackson. You’re saying those things to scare me off.”

He stepped in closer and lowered his voice. “Am I? Because you know damn well who I am. You’ve always known who I am. And who I am is not good enough for you.”

She pushed at his chest, tears of anger streaming down her cheeks, nearly cracking his resolve. “Why are you doing this?”

He forced words from his tightening lungs. “Because it’s the truth, and I love you too much to hurt you.”

She pushed him again, and he grabbed her wrist—hard. “Look at me, Laney. Really look at me.”

She clenched her trembling jaw closed as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You know what you see. You’ve always known.”

“I see a coward.” The truth slid from her tongue like venom. “A man I don’t know.” She stepped in closer, pressed her cheek to his, and whispered, “Let. Me. In. Jackson. Please let me in.”

He closed his eyes against the truth—she was already in.

In so f*cking deep she’d become an inescapable part of him, and he knew he had to let her go.





Chapter Nine


IN THE AFTERMATH of the storm, they’d trudged back to the campsite, stripped bare, and lay within the dry blankets of the tent. Their bodies were twined together, their hearts pulling apart. They hadn’t made love. They hadn’t spoken through the night. They hadn’t needed to. Jackson had said everything he’d needed to say—and she’d begged for more. How could they mean everything to each other except the most important thing of all?

She shoved their supplies into the backpack, feeling like she was packing away the best parts of her life. Jackson disassembled the tent, and every few minutes she felt his eyes on her, holding her hostage, pinning her in place. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken heart.

Even as she fought the urge to look at him, she admitted to herself that he wasn’t getting any satisfaction from this bullshit. He was just as broken as she was.

Well…f*ck him.

She zipped the backpack and turned away from him, filling her lungs with a jagged breath as she withdrew the velvet box.

“I figure we can make it back by noon if we hurry,” Jackson said.

They were leaving days earlier than they usually did. Another thing that had taken no words to decide. She’d woken up before Jackson, still tangled in his arms, and she’d gone down to the water and sat there until the sun rose, trying to weed through the barbs he’d thrown at her.

They still stung.