Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(72)

The mattress sagged when he lay down, and instant heat spiraled her way. She stiffened to keep from scooting into that warmth. Real warmth.

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her into his hard body.

Heat. Blissful, amazing heat. She couldn’t help but snuggle right in with a soft moan.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” Jax breathed into her hair, sliding a leg over hers.

She sniffed. “I know.” In the darkness, in the intimacy of the room with the rain pattering outside, she could feel his pain, deep and dark. Reality tortured Jax Mercury. Every ounce of her, everything feminine and soft, needed to offer comfort. She turned around, almost surprised when his grip lessened enough to let her. Slowly, gently, she cupped his whiskered chin, careful of the fresh bruises. “I’m so very sorry, Jax.”

He closed his eyes, and his broad shoulders shuddered. “Me too.”

“Wyatt was a good man,” she said softly.

“Yes.” Jax’s eyes opened. A small grin almost lifted his upper lip. “Did you know Wyatt had a foundation?”

“No.”

Jax swiped a hand down her back in a gentle caress, spreading tingles. “Yeah. He ended up with a bunch of money from football and created a foundation for kids with diabetes. His younger sister grew up with it, so instead of spending his money on himself, he decided he’d aid others with the disease.”

Lynne smiled. “That sounds like Wyatt.”

“Yes.”

She lost the smile and slid her leg between his. The warmth made her groan. “I heard what you said. That Cruz killed your brother.”

Jax stiffened. “Cruz killed Marcus on purpose because Marcus was special and probably challenged him.”

“I’m sorry.” Lynne leaned even closer, her hand flattening on Jax’s chest. “We’ll get Cruz. I promise.” She glanced toward the wall. “You don’t talk about your mom.”

Jax stiffened. “She wasn’t that good a mom. Not horrible, but not great. Slam and I were on our own, and that’s okay with me.” He stroked down her arm. “You need to know, I’m contacting the Elite Force tomorrow. We have to reach out for help. Twenty isn’t the only gang out there, and we’re almost out of supplies.”

Lynne sighed. “I figured. You’ll let me go first?”

“No. When we get the research from Myriad, I’m counting on you to figure out how to help everyone survive the contagion. We need you.” Jax rested his hand on her hip. “But I won’t let anybody hurt you, and I won’t let them know you’re here. I’ll just ask for supplies.”

Now that was a promise he probably couldn’t keep. He’d try, but somehow she needed to find a way to leave on her own. For now, she wanted heat and to offer comfort. It was all she had. She licked her lips and pressed them against his.

He remained still. “Lynne, you don’t have to sleep with me for protection.”

She breathed in, her mouth curving on his. “I know. I want you, you need me, and we have right now.” She kissed him, cuddling closer. “Let me help you for once.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





The planning of war is ultimately the planning for peace, or perhaps that’s how we comfort ourselves as we load our weapons.

—Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony




Jax settled back, acutely aware of the soft body pressed against his—of the curve of her waist cradling his hand—of the compassion she was trying so hard to hide. At her core, Lynne Harmony was a healer, a nurturer, and now she offered herself.

Maybe not even consciously, not completely.

Yet she’d sensed his pain, somehow realized his turmoil, and she gave up the only thing she could.

Her body.

And she didn’t realize he saw that. Hell, he saw her. Sure, she’d been keeping secrets, but he understood and didn’t blame her.

So he caressed up her ribs, over her arm, and cradled her head. Damp curls wound around his fingers. “Go to sleep.”

“No.” She shoved him over and rolled on top of him. “Sleep is overrated.” She wiggled against him, her breasts brushing his chest through her worn shirt. “I don’t want anything but tonight from you, Jax. No expectations.”

The words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus, and he breathed out, sliding both hands into her hair to cup her head. “Not true, Lynne Harmony.”

She blinked, caught. “I mean it.”

“Do you?” he whispered, dragging her down to his mouth. Her lips opened to his, and he went slow, pouring emotion he couldn’t express into the kiss. He was so fucking lost, needing to hold on to something. To somebody. Deep and soft, determined, he overtook her lips, the taste of her nearly drugging him.

Without releasing his hold, he rolled them back over, pinning her to the bed. He swallowed and leaned up. His cock hardened.

She blinked rapidly, her mouth forming a bemused O.

“I can’t use you tonight,” he said. After losing Wyatt, after failing to kill Cruz, after trying to go numb, he couldn’t be the guy just fucking a body. “I can’t do it, Lynne.” His voice cracked. Jesus. His vision blurred. Losing Wyatt brought back every devastating moment of losing Frankie in Afghanistan.