Wild Homecoming (Dark Pines Pride Book 1) Page 4

  “He’s very good at it,” Summer said. “It’s how we met.”

  Becca waved her hand dismissively in Summer’s direction. “I’d like the witness to answer the questions.”

  The sound of billiard balls crashed in the background. Jackson stared at Becca. Was she for real?

  “SocialBook, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube…um…Instagram. I think that’s it.”

  “Do you pay your taxes?” Becca asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Current residence?”

  “I’ve been on the road a few years,” Jackson said.

  “Current residence?” Becca asked again.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “How do you get paid, then?”

  “Direct deposit.”

  “To have a bank account,” Becca said in a reasonable voice, “you have to have an address.”

  “We use the address of our old house, here in Huntwood.”

  “We?” Becca asked.

  “My brother, sister, and I.”

  “Interesting. They’ve also been on the road a few years?” she asked.

  Jackson nodded.

  Summer looked impatiently from Becca to him, and back again. “Is this going to take much longer?” she asked. “Because I have to pee.”

  “Go for it,” Becca said. “I have plenty more questions.”

  Summer gave an exaggerated sigh and got up, her gait slightly unsteady.

  Jackson watched as she made her way to the bathroom, then he pointed to her nearly-full margarita. “She said that’s her third, right here.”

  “She’s a lightweight,” Becca said. “Now back to you.”

  “Look, I like Summer, and we’ve been messaging back and forth for a couple months. That’s all that’s going on here.”

  Becca leaned closer. “I need to make something perfectly clear.”

  “Why do you think she needs a watchdog?” Jackson asked. “She seems perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

  “She’s happy alone,” Becca said.

  Now Jackson was getting annoyed. His irritation dampened at the thought that Becca was just trying to protect her friend, though. He could have this discussion to help put her mind at ease, no problem. “I’m glad she’s happy. Good.”

  “Someone hurt her pretty bad last year, and she’s finally doing okay, and she doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t even want a man.”

  “Okay.” Jackson held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “Don’t patronize me,” Becca snapped. “I’m telling you she’s happy alone only because if you mess with that and make her sad, I will personally come after you. But…I can also see her being more than happy with someone like you. And I want that for her.”

  Jackson sat back. This was a turn from what he’d been expecting. “So, you’re telling me to, what, tread carefully?”

  “Exactly. Because you’re right—she doesn’t need a watchdog. She can take care of herself, for the most part. Except for all the legal shit I’m doing to help dig her out of the hole the last guy left her in.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said. “Message received.”

  “Oh, and no matter what, she’s getting in my car when we leave here tonight because we barely know you and she’s been drinking. So don’t try to talk her out of that.”

  Did Becca think he was some kind of monster? “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good,” Becca said. “Then maybe we can be friends.”

  Jackson looked over Becca’s shoulder and spotted Summer making her way back toward them, a small smile on her face, her hips swaying gently as she walked in time to the nineties rock ballad playing on the jukebox. Green Day’s “Time of Your Life.”

  She reached the table and looked down at Jackson and Becca. “So,” she said, “what’d I miss?”

  Chapter Eight

  Everything seemed bright and shiny. Magical. Ha. Summer leaned into Jackson’s shoulder and tried not to snort out loud at the ridiculousness of that idea. Jackson was still talking to Becca. At least this time Becca wasn’t interrogating him—he must have somehow earned her trust. Summer was glad. She wanted them to get along even though Jackson was likely just passing through and she shouldn’t be reading any more into this.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  “You got this heartbreaking little frown on your face all of a sudden. Sure you’re all right?”

  Summer snuggled into his shoulder. “I’m fine, just getting tired.”

  “We should probably go,” Becca said. “It’s getting late.”

  Summer didn’t want to go anywhere unless it was with Jackson. She saw the determined set to Becca’s mouth.

  “Can we just stay a bit longer?” Summer asked. She didn’t like the sound of her voice—she sounded like a little kid asking permission, instead of an adult woman who knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. Clearing her throat, she turned to Jackson. “How long are you in town for?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I don’t have any firm plans.”

  Firm, she mused. His muscles were firm beneath his thin t-shirt.

  “I should head out now, though,” he said. “Can I walk you to your car?”

  Summer sighed. “I guess.”

  The three of them stood up and walked to the door, Summer weaving more than she would have liked. She felt strong, though. Free. The world was a bright shiny record player and it was playing her song.

  When they stepped outside, she stopped on the sidewalk. This was it—the end of her meeting with Jackson. And he didn’t have any firm plans, but what did that mean? Would she ever see him again?

  She let go of his arm and maneuvered him to one of the benches outside of The A-Hole. “Wait here,” she said.

  Then she grabbed Becca’s arm and dragged her a few feet away. “I don’t want to say goodbye to this guy.”

  “It’s the beer goggles,” Becca said.

  Summer wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Jackson laugh. He must have good ears. She pulled Becca a few more steps away. “No, seriously.”

  Becca laughed. “You look like someone’s walking off with your favorite toy.”

  “Can you just…can you give me a minute with him?” Summer asked. “Please?”

  She watched Becca examine her face. Becca’s green eyes were penetrating, questioning. Damn, she made a great attorney. “Fine,” Becca said. “Five minutes.”

  Summer pulled her into a hug before shoving her gently toward the entrance to The A-Hole. “Pretend you forgot something.”

  From behind her, Jackson laughed. “I heard that.”

  Summer turned. He was right there in front of her now, so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. What was this insane attraction she felt? Was it really just the alcohol in her system, lowering her inhibitions? Or was there more to it? Before she could question it any further, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his…chin.

  “Oops, missed,” she said, mortified. That wasn’t at all what she’d been trying to do, she’d wanted his lips touching her mouth, his hands against her skin, his breath mingling with hers.

  Her face felt hot even in the cool night air. She turned her head away to stare at the neon pink and blue sign in the window of the bar.

  Jackson said, “Hey,” and gently turned her face back toward his. He leaned down and barely, so lightly, brushed his lips against hers. A soft, unwinding feeling of pleasure buzzed through her veins, filling her with something she couldn’t identify.

  “Jackson,” she said, “can you do that again?”

  He grinned. His smile, man, she could stare at that for ages. He was all bitey teeth and luscious lips and that smile promised so much.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers once more, and she gasped, then grabbed the back of his neck to hold him in place. More. She wanted more kissing, more Jackson. She didn’t care that they stood in the middle of a sidewalk. There weren’t
too many people around this late at night anyway, so let them watch as her mouth was ravaged by this beautiful beast of a man who had captured her heart with his words and her libido with his muscular body and his promising smile.

  His tongue pressed against her lips and she gladly opened to him, letting him deepen their kiss. He knotted his fists in the back of her shirt and she arched forward, wishing they were somewhere else and he could rip the damn thing off. She’d tear his shirt off, too, so their bodies could be together, skin on skin.

  He pulled back so his face was inches from hers. “I think we’re going to attract too much attention if we keep on like this.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I want more. Come home with me.”

  “There’s nothing I’d love more than that,” he said, but he was frowning. “I can’t, though. Not tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

  She pulled out of his arms and stared him down. “I think I know what I want.”

  “I’m sure you know what you want, especially if you think you want this half as bad as I do.” He leaned forward and kissed her again, a soft, tender kiss that made her body ache with need. “But I want to do this right. I want you to be sober and if you regret things later, I don’t want you to blame those margaritas.”

  “You think I’d regret this?”

  “Nope. But what if you did? I don’t sleep with women who’ve been drinking. It’s just a rule. My mom and dad raised me on the idea of clear consent.”

  Despite her annoyance that she and Jackson would not be naked together tonight, her heart melted at the notion of his honor. When was the last time a guy had been so considerate and thoughtful? Answer: exactly never. Or rather, Cory had been, but that had all been for show, a part of his game.

  Summer Grieb might have been completely buzzed and nearing full-on drunk, but there was one thing she was certain of: Jackson wasn’t playing any games with her.

  Becca came out of The A-Hole. “Time to go,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, Jackson.”

  “It was nice to meet you, too, Becca. I’ll be in town tomorrow,” he added in a rush, his words directed at Summer this time. “I’d like to see you again.”

  “I’d like that, too,” she said, before turning to walk to Becca’s car, parked down the block.

  She touched her lips as they walked, thinking no, Jackson wasn’t playing games, but the stakes were still very high.

  Chapter Nine

  Jackson sat in his tiny rental car, watching Summer and Becca walk down the block. The two of them were quite a pair—Becca in her posh heels and business attire, Summer wearing her jeans and flowing top.

  Summer. Damn. It had been so hard to tell her no. To not go home with her, make love to her. He rationalized in his head a thousand times that she wouldn’t have a single regret—he’d make sure of it. He’d even tried rationalizing that she was sober enough to decide she wanted sex because she was sober enough to argue with him about it. But he wasn’t going to screw up, not now, not ever. He’d protect Summer, no matter what.

  Becca’s car beeped loudly when she unlocked it, and the two women climbed in. A second later, Becca drove them away, red tail lights disappearing into the autumn night.

  How would Summer feel about him tomorrow? He hoped she wouldn’t change her mind.

  Hoping he wasn’t being too pushy, Jackson grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it on the passenger seat. His fingers hovered over the screen, but he couldn’t think of what to write to her. For the first time ever, he didn’t have the words, because meeting her tonight had meant more to him than he could even say.

  He dropped the phone back in the seat and started the car. He could easily sit here and brood on the street all night, except his legs were already feeling cramped from being folded up in the tiny car.

  He zoomed back to his motel, in the opposite direction Becca and Summer had gone, hating that he’d had to say goodbye to her.

  *

  Jackson dreamed of Summer, and her smoky scent filled his nostrils. In his dream, she straddled him, moving her hips in a sinuous circle, her pussy gripping his cock tightly as she moved. She leaned over him, the tips of her breasts rubbing against his chest, but every time he went to grab her hips and take control, he grabbed smoke instead of flesh.

  He sat up and tried to kiss her, but her face faded into smoke every time he tried. She continued rocking against him, then threw her head back in pleasure. Jackson groaned, the pressure and her movement on his cock too much, too good. He was going to come any second.

  “You nearly there?” he breathed.

  “Not yet,” she said.

  He reached forward to grab her breasts, but they turned to smoke. The same when he reached for her clit—he just couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Her eyes sparkled playfully, and he was surrounded by the scent of mint. “Don’t you get it, Jackson?” she asked. “You can’t protect me. You can’t protect anyone.”

  He gasped and reached for her. “Summer, no—”

  But she was gone.

  He woke up with a boner and a broken heart.

  *

  He kept to the shadows.

  Two hours later, he stood as a mountain lion at the edge of his family’s property. The Dark Pines territory. He stalked back and forth along the property line, picking his way among sections of fallen down, rotting fence posts and tree trunks. He’d come for a run to help forget the…dream? Nightmare? Whatever that had been, having sex with Summer but being unable to touch her. The images were burned into his brain, and they wouldn’t go away no matter his form, whether he was mountain lion or man.

  There was only one way to distract himself from the dream, and that was finally stepping over the property line.

  It’s just land, he told himself. Soil, trees, grasses, a house. Without allowing himself to think about it any further, he turned around and walked a few steps back, then spun and took a running leap over the flattened fence.

  He landed on the other side, paws hitting the ground with a soft whump. The ground didn’t feel different here. The scents weren’t heightened, they didn’t trigger new emotions. It wasn’t even as momentous as when he’d held hands with Summer last night. Still, he knew where he was, and the fact that he was here was major.

  He stayed close to the trees, cautious. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of the Clausen family, but they’d fought hard to drive the Jayneses out of the territory, and Jackson wasn’t taking any chances. He moved slowly, keeping his belly low to the ground. He used his nose, his eyes, searching for anything that might signal danger. A whiff of Old Man Clausen’s sandy desert scent, or the sight of his son, Daniel’s, dark-tipped lion ears.

  But there was nothing.

  At the top of a low rise, he stopped. His body trembled with excitement. There, forty yards away, was his childhood home. Half of it looked just like he remembered growing up—white siding with dark green trim, the purely decorative shutters his dad had put up to please his mom, the high peak of the roof that hugged the attic where Jackson had once hid for two hours during a game of hide and seek with Will and Hayley. His gaze skirted over the building, from the now-overgrown side yard with the flagstone patio which had been the scene of cook-outs and birthday parties, to the long driveway where he and Hayley had raced each other after school as she practiced for track.

  But it was unavoidable. His gaze was drawn back to the other side of the house with its much darker memories. That side lay in charred ruins.

  Jackson might have been tempted to shift back to his human form and explore the house, but the sight of the blackened, flame-licked beams and the collapsed roof strengthened his fear. He wouldn’t have been able to shift to human, not when terrible memories assaulted him.

  Fire surrounding him.

  Hayley, seventeen years old, wrenched from his arms, screaming. Will
in his lion form, already bleeding from the fighting outside, tearing into the house and taking down their attacker. It had been one of the Clausens’ allies in human form, and Will had dragged the man outside and torn out his throat.

  Just then, a porch beam fell, landing on Will’s hind leg. Hayley and Jackson had rushed forward, yanking the beam from him and dragging him to Will’s truck, which had been parked around the back of the house, ready to go in case the battle was lost. Their father was already dead—Jackson had known that the second someone breached their front door.

  “Where’s Mom?” Jackson screamed at Will. “Where is she?”

  Will had stared up at him, dazed, his feline form limp in Jackson’s arms. Will had blinked once, then shook his head.

  As they’d sped off the property, abandoning enemies and allies alike, Jackson couldn’t shake the shame of not being able to help in the fight. His parents and Will had instructed him to stay back in the house and protect Hayley, but he hadn’t even been able to do that. Will had needed to come in, and his leg would never heal completely.

  The version of Summer in Jackson’s dream was right—he couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t protect anyone.

  What had he been thinking, returning to Huntwood and the Dark Pines territory? He was a fool.

  Chapter Ten

  Late morning sunlight streamed through Summer’s bedroom curtains. She rolled over, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. What fresh hell was this?

  Then she remembered last night. The margaritas. Becca’s scolding glare.

  Jackson.

  Jackson, and wow. That kiss with him. It had been magical. She touched her lips, wondering if they’d been changed somehow, transformed by his mouth into something divine. Because that’s what that kiss had been—heavenly.

  A glass of water and bottle of aspirin sat on her nightstand. Becca was a life saver and probably the best friend ever. Summer reached over and took a sip of water, popped open the bottle of pills, and downed two. She hadn’t had so much to drink since college. It was her nerves that had done it. If she’d stopped at margarita number two, she would have been fine. A little tipsy, but not drunk.