I'm back in the kitchen the next day, although I'm spending more time daydreaming than doing anything else.
I keep thinking about what I overheard Jackson say, and also about how close I came to turning over this morning after he kissed my neck and asking him about it.
That his lingering morning neck kisses aren't turning into anything else is causing me a world of confusion because the guy is hard, like seriously hard, and he's happy to just kiss my neck and get up to go start his day?
It doesn't make sense to me. Surely, he must know I'm leaving soon and his only hope of convincing me to stay is getting me hooked on his body, right?
Or maybe, he doesn't know.
Maybe that was what the pizza and the shopping and the cooking lunch and dinner for us the other day was about.
In which case, he may be more dangerous than I thought. Because it's easier to want nothing to do with an alpha dick with a hot body. But a guy who knows how to look after a girl and carries her to the bathroom when she's hurt, even when she isn't in pain anymore, that's a little harder to ignore.
And those neck kisses.
I've never known a guy who seemed to like them as much as Jackson does, which is another problem because he's too good at them by far. Way too good.
"You know, you've been holding that whisk in the air for a good fifteen minutes now."
I jerk in surprise at the voice coming from over my shoulder.
"God, Jackson, you scared the life out of me! You need to wear a bell or something, so I know where you are."
I lower my head back to the angel food cake that I'm supposed to be making, hoping like hell that my hair is shielding my red cheeks. Knowing it would take one glimpse of the blush that I can feel heating my cheeks for Jackson to know I was thinking about something other than cake.
Jackson slips an arm around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. "Or you could just use your nose, you know, like a shifter."
I elbow him in the belly. He doesn't even grunt in pain, and I'm sure I'm the only victim when it feels like my elbow hit a brick wall. "Jeez, what the hell are you made of? Rock? Iron? Cement?"
"Just flesh and bone. You want to see, darlin'?" He presses a lingering kiss on my throat, making my heart skip a beat.
How does he always know the perfect place?
"No. I'm baking." I try to sound severe, which is impossible to do when I have Jackson pressed up against me.
He kisses me again. "Looks fluffy. What is it?"
"Angel food cake." My voice is breathless, and I wince at the clear evidence his kisses are having a much bigger effect on me than I'd like him to know.
"I've never had it before," he admits.
I remember what he said the other day, about not having a home, and it makes my heart hurt at the thought. What else has he never had before?
I stop trying to lean away from him as I envision what my life would've been like without my family-without pack.
Even with our old alpha, Owen, though things weren't perfect, we were still a pack, and I knew I had a home and people who cared about me. I belonged.
"You okay, darlin'? You look like you're back to the thoughtful silences again. Want me to hold your whisk?"
I make a decision and hope it's the right one.
Instead of replying, I return the whisk to the bowl and turn around, so Jackson and I are face to face. Well, as close to it as we can be with him being like a foot taller than my five-five.
"I heard you. Yesterday. I heard what you said to the boy," I say.
Jackson studies me in silence for several seconds, then he grips my hips and lifts me so I'm sitting on top of the counter. "You did, did you?"
I nod. Although he leaves his hands on my hips, I don't tell him to move them. "I wanted you to know."
He steps closer. "Why?"
I try to concentrate on his face instead of him standing between my legs. "Uh, what?"
He moves a hand from my waist to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Why did you want me to know?"
I swallow at this new intimate position, the most intimate we've been since the near-humping incident and our morning neck kisses. "I didn't want you to think I was eavesdropping."
Jackson's eyes search my face, then he shakes his head. "No. That's not it."
"It is."
Again, he shakes his head. "No. You want me to know for another reason. You want to talk about it because you care. About me."
I sit up straighter. "You're wrong. Why would I care when I'm not even staying? I mean, in a few days, I'll be back in Hardin."
"Will you?" He leans close and kisses my throat.
"Yes. Though, I probably won't be." I think quickly. "My parents want me to go to Miami. So, I might be there settling down with my new mate."
Against my skin, I feel Jackson's lips curve in a smile. "Your new mate?"
I put my hands on his chest. "Yes. He's exactly my type. I have pictures on my phone, want to see?"
Jackson turns his attention to the other side of my neck, trailing soft kisses that leave me struggling to catch my breath. "Tell me about your type."
I press on his chest. "It'll be easier if I just show you."
I frantically try to remember if the pictures mom sent me are still on my phone or if I deleted them.
"I'd like you to tell me."
Since it's getting increasingly difficult to concentrate with his mouth on my neck, I realize this is going to be a problem.
"It's the opposite of you. The complete opposite. No muscles, he isn't too tall, blond, blue eyes. Wears glasses."
"Is that why I can smell how aroused you are? Because I'm the complete opposite of your type."
I shove harder. "Look, I may have a small-a tiny-fondness for neck kisses. I'm sure any guy-" I stop talking because Jackson is suddenly no longer kissing my neck.
No, he's gazing into my face with a neutral expression. "Any guy, what?"
I open my mouth to tell him that any guy could kiss my neck and I'd be just as turned on by it. That his doing it isn't in any way special. That he isn't special.
Only the words don't come.
I sit there on the counter with Jackson standing wedged between my legs, one hand on my hip, the other curved around my nape and I say nothing.
"Regan?" Jackson's face is impossible to read, but just out of sight is that hint of anguish rising to the surface.
"How can you afford to rent this house for a year?" I blurt, hoping it'll distract him from a conversation I'm not ready to have yet.
Although his expression doesn't change, the pain flares brighter inside him at my question. "Jeremy and I built houses."
Since I wasn't expecting my question to cause him any pain, I frown in confusion as I try to work out why.
But before I can speak, he continues talking, "We started when we were teenagers, working dead-end jobs. We soon learned that we were good with our hands, and we were determined."
I don't ask him why he and Jeremy were so determined because I know. Having no pack means being on your own, no support, no home, no family. It means trying to find any way you can to survive.
"And you did them well enough to afford million-dollar homes?" I ask softly, hoping this question won't hurt him to answer.
His lips curve into a faint smile. "No. But well enough that we realized we should be working for ourselves instead of others. We worked any job that paid cash in hand so we could save, then we started buying up run-down homes, and we fixed them up."
While impressive, that still doesn't explain how they went from fixer-uppers to being able to afford the type of house Jackson is renting, or Jeremy buying business class plane tickets to Paris. I don't say a word, but I'm sure my expression communicates my disbelief.
"It was years of work. Hard work. We moved across the states, working our way up to bigger properties, making more money. Learning to invest. Sometimes, we lost some. Sometimes we came close to bankrupting ourselves, but we didn't give up. Along the way, we found some external motivation to keep going."
By now, his anguish is so overwhelming that I'm amazed there's not a hint of it in his face or his eyes.
Something hurt him. Someone hurt him, and he buried himself in work.
"And then you became a millionaire?" I ask, keeping my voice light.
"That your type, darlin', a guy with money?" he responds, his voice just as light as mine, but I know he doesn't mean it. I know he's still wrestling with his pain-trying to keep it from me, and if I wasn't an omega, he would have succeeded.
"I have no interest in it. I have my own money."
"Now," Jackson says, a finger lightly stroking the back of my neck, "as interesting as this conversation is, it's not the one I want to be having. And it's not the one you want to be having either. Is it?"
I don't say a word.
"If memory serves me right, you were about to tell me that any guy could pleasure you the way I do."
"I…" My voice trails off.
I could really hurt him.
Although I don't know his history or this story that Savannah hinted at, I'm guessing it involves some woman. It has to.
This is twice now I've started telling him he's replaceable with another guy and his reaction is just one time too many for it to be a coincidence.
Maybe someone wanted to hurt him in the past, or maybe things had run their course the way some relationships do. All I know is that I don't like hurting anyone. If I can avoid it, I will.
So, for me to look into Jackson's eyes and lie about him being replaceable is something I can't do. Especially not when I know what it's doing to him.
"I lied," I whisper, looking him right in the eye. "I've had guys kiss my neck before and it was nothing like the way you do it. There was one guy who came close to drowning me and I'm not even being dramatic when I tell you I needed a towel after. And then there was this-"
Jackson jerks me toward him and silences me with a hard kiss.
But it doesn't stay hard. It only starts off that way. Slowly, I lift my hands to clutch his thick mane of long, walnut-brown hair.
Closing my eyes, I part my lips and let him deepen the kiss. With a low growl, he hauls me even closer as he slants his head and strokes his tongue against mine.
For several minutes, I forget about everything except the perfect way Jackson is kissing me as I hold him against me, and then I pull my hands from his hair and press against his chest.
Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, and for one long moment, we rest our heads against each other, trying to catch our breath from our marathon kiss.
I lift my head, and he observes me with eyes still dark with desire.
"This is a terrible idea," I murmur. "This is the very opposite of what we should be doing. I'm baking a cake."
Sometimes the universe has perfect timing, and it proves it when, in that next second, the oven beeps to warn me it's finished preheating.
I ignore the beeping, while Jackson is so focused on me, it's like he doesn't even hear the annoying sound.
Finally, it stops, and I make another decision, not knowing if I'm making the right one, but making the one that makes the most sense to me right now. The one that my heart and my soul and everything in me, everything but my head, is telling me.
I reach for the hem of his shirt and tug.
Jackson releases his grip on me and backs up enough for me to ease his black cotton shirt over his head.
My gaze goes to his heavily muscled physique and my mouth goes dry.
I feel like I've always had a thing for well-built guys. I can't say what triggered this lustful need, but it just makes me all hot and bothered.
My ex, Jared, a guy I used to date in Hardin, was pretty much me choosing a body over what was in his head. I took one look at his chest, and that was it. He was an idiot who spent more time working out in his garage gym than doing anything else, but he was okay in bed, and he wasn't clingy.
But Jackson has a hot body, a brain, and a lot more besides. The worse of which is the pain inside him that I'm desperate to heal. A dangerous combination for a girl with no intention of sticking around past the end of the week.
I stroke my hands over his shoulders and chest, doing nothing to hide my attraction. Then I lift my gaze to his face and meet his eyes. "You're exactly my type."
Which is why we shouldn't be doing this.
So why are you, Regan?
As if Jackson catches the doubt flickering in my mind, he moves closer and combs his hands through my hair. "You're fighting against the impossible, darlin'."
I shake my head, even as I tug him even closer. "We don't have a future."
My home is in Hardin, not here with Jackson, and that won't ever change, no matter that I'm attracted to more than his body. But that doesn't stop me from leaning to meet him halfway when he bends his lips to mine.
I moan when his hands shift me right to the edge of the counter, so his erection is tucked flush against me. The contact triggers an ache in every part of my body: between my legs, my breasts, everywhere.
Jackson breaks his kiss to meet my eye. "Everything in me is telling me we do."
Then it's his turn to grab for my shirt and tug it over my head and toss it to the floor before his lips are crashing back on mine.
When he leans me back on the counter, I hear the bowl of cake mix sliding across the surface as he shoves it away to lay me down. I do nothing to stop his hands from going to my shorts and unfastening them. I even help him ease them along with my panties down my legs.
Jackson breaks the kiss and lifts his head, his gaze sweeping down my naked body as I lay on the counter. "You're so fucking beautiful," he groans, as his fingers skim lightly over my aching breasts.
As if he senses my need, his touch halts just where I want them. His large hands are just the right amount of firm, and arching my back, I moan. "That feels so good."
His mouth takes over, kissing, sucking, using the edge of his teeth on my sensitive nipple. I grip his long hair and hold him against me.
"Jackson," I breathe.
I fight him when he attempts to lift his head until I realize he's just moving to my other breast, and with a happy sigh, I sink back against the counter as he gives my left breast the same loving attention as he did the right.
When one hand glides down my body and brushes between my thighs, I part my legs, and he dips a finger inside me. "Oh, Jackson," I murmur, shifting restlessly. The contrast between the cold marble beneath me and the heat of Jackson's touch on my skin is unlike anything I've ever felt before.
"Keep saying my name like that, darlin', and I might not even make it inside you." Jackson's voice is gruff, and I feel the harshness of it against my breast.
His words, accompanied by the feel of his erection throbbing against my bare thigh, alarms me enough that I peel my eyes open and wrench his head away from my breast. "I only want to come with you inside me," I blurt, looking him dead in the eye.
For one second, he stares back at me, his breath suddenly as heavy as mine. And then his hands are tearing at his pants as his lips return to mine. It's as if my words snap whatever control he has left because the slow, lingering kisses give way to heat and fire and desperate craving.
Our kiss is frantic now, and I taste Jackson's lustful need for me in it. His hands go to my hips as I curve my legs around him. At the blunt head of his arousal bumping against my core, I tense as I wait for him to move.
He doesn't leave me to wait for long. He eases back before driving deep into me.
I break the kiss to throw my head back and cry out, "Oh, God!" My heart is pounding as my body struggles to adjust to Jackson's girth.
"Fuck, you're tight." He rests his head against my breasts, and I both feel and hear him fighting to catch his breath. We don't move for a second, just stay locked together.
When he eases back and then thrusts a little deeper inside me, I whimper when I realize just how big he is. A long moment later, Jackson lifts his head from my breasts. And when I see the harsh strain on his face, the lines bracketing his eyes, and the tension around his mouth, it makes me tighten around him.
He swears harshly. "Regan, shit. You have to stop doing that."
He makes it sound like I have any control over what's happening when all I'm thinking is I need him to move.
His next move seats him a little deeper, and as I struggle to catch my breath, I have serious doubts I'm going to last much longer. "Jackson, I don't think I can take any more. I'm so close," I pant as my body shifts restlessly beneath his.
I feel the way my muscles are rippling around him, and from experience, I know my release isn't a million miles away.
"Me too, darlin'." He lowers his head and kisses me hard. "Just a couple more inches and you'll have all of me. I know you can."
I fight for breath when he pulls back out, slowly, and slams all of him into me.
I cry out, struggling under his heavy weight to move or to not move. I don't know what I want more. All I know is that I've never been so utterly filled in my life. It takes me a long time to realize the desperate moans I'm hearing are spilling from my own lips as my body fights to accept all of Jackson's cock.
"Baby, you have to stop moving. Fuck." Jackson's voice is a harsh growl as his hips jerk almost helplessly against me.
I moan as I lose the battle with my release. "Jackson, please."
His lips find mine as he starts moving the way I want him to. The way I need him to. The pressure inside me bursts before he slams back into me. Each deep thrust makes me cry out, extending my climax so I'm riding one long wave with Jackson driving his body hard into mine, deep and fast.
There's no end to the pleasure crashing over me as Jackson strokes himself inside me, growling harshly at the apex of each motion against my lips. The tight grip he has on me is guaranteed to leave bruises, but all I'm concerned about is lifting my hips to meet each one of his increasingly powerful thrusts.
I feel him swelling inside me, which has me gasping, and then Jackson breaks our kiss and presses his mouth against my throat. He eases his body back, pulling out almost all the way before hammering so deep, I scream as I writhe against him.
My nails break the skin on his arms as I feel the hot splash of his release fill me.
I lay panting on the counter with Jackson's mouth against my throat, my body still rippling with aftershocks as Jackson's cock continues to twitch inside me.
For a long time, we lie locked together, slowly regaining our lost breath. I'm full of so much regret, it's unreal. Sex with Jackson isn't just hot, I've never come that fast before, and although I feel him softening inside me, already I'm thinking about doing it again. And again. And again.
As if he feels me thinking, or he senses my changing mood, Jackson presses one more kiss on my neck and lifts his head.
With the amount of regret surging through me, there's no way Jackson can't see it lighting my eyes.
"I'm taking you up to bed," he says gruffly, surprising me.
"But we-"
Jackson cuts me off with a soft kiss. Once I've relaxed against him, he lifts his head and meets my gaze again. "I want you, and have every intention of having you."
Even knowing this isn't a good idea, my lips curve. "You've already had me."
"Yes," he says, as he lifts me and stalks out of the kitchen, leaving all our clothes strewn all over the floor. Pausing only long enough to turn off the oven. "But once doesn't come close to being enough."
No. He's right. Once isn't enough, because even as I feel him hardening inside me as he carries me up the stairs, my need for him is growing more urgent.
By the time he's braced over me in our bed, he's fully hard again and I'm more than ready for him. "Only while I'm here," I moan as he surges inside me.
His hands frame my face as he pierces me with a probing stare, making it impossible for me to look away. "No, Regan. Forever."
Before I can argue or tell him I have no intention of staying, his mouth settles over mine, swallowing my complaints.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, turning my attention away from arguments about the future and instead toward the delicious feel of him throbbing between my legs and his decadent kisses that make me desperate for him to never stop.