“What the fuck, Whitfield?” he yelled in my face.
I closed my eyes, trying to get rid of the bright flashing dots in my vision. “I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t realize there would be cameras outside?” He shook me a little, gripping me a little tighter. “I told you not to open the door. I told you to get me if you wanted to go out. You haven’t wanted to go out the front door this whole summer. We always go out the back and—”
He stopped abruptly, looking down at where I gripped the newspaper to my chest.
His hands dropped and eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
“They’re writing about us,” I whispered.
“I know, Peaches.” His eyes softened. He tried to take the newspaper away.
I stepped back, holding it tighter. “They say my family is prominent and yours is wealthy, as if it defines us. They called my mother a Native American, as if it defines her. They …”
He ran his hand through his ink black hair and stepped closer to me. “They don’t know anything. Give me the paper.”
“I think I need to read it, Jax.” I tried to stand up taller, like it would make me look less broken.
“I don’t think so.” His voice was low in warning.
“Jax.”
“Whitfield,” he mimicked.
“Don’t treat me like I’m glass. Your brother and mom are already doing that.”
“Yeah, well, my mom treats all of her kids like that and you’re one of them now. Have been ever since we moved in next door. And you’re Jay’s best friend. He thinks of you as a little sister.”
“And you?” I looked everywhere but in his eyes.
I worried he just saw me as the girl that needed saving. The whole summer had changed us. He’d ignored me until that night, treated me like his little brother’s friend, a nuisance. After the fire, after he tore through that house to find me and bring me out with nothing but a small burn, he’d become my protector but also something more. Some part of me I couldn’t comprehend but also couldn’t seem to live without.
He didn’t have me worrying long. He just stepped into my personal space and crushed his lips to mine. He slid his fingers over my neck and rubbed his thumb down the length of it as he devoured me. Hesitation and caution weren’t a part of that kiss, just domination, claiming, power pushing me to accept him and meet his passion with mine. I gripped his shirt in one hand and held on, meeting him as best I could. I forgot everything except melting into him.
When he pulled back, he had the newspaper in his hand and was smiling. “How about we make you some tea and walk down to the lake through the backyard?”
“But I need to read—”
“Down there, we’ll read it together.”
Picking my battles, I brushed past him into the kitchen to put water on the stove. Waiting for it to boil, I mixed milk, brown sugar, and vanilla creamer together while he moved around me to mix cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and sugar in a glass bowl. We operated in silence, the newspaper on the table speaking volumes for each of us.
Once the water started to boil, Jax put everything in two mugs and held them out. I poured the liquid over it. I took in the earthy, sweet scent.
Jax moved each mug over to top off with the cream I had stirred and then sprinkled a little nutmeg on top. Something so simple calmed both of us. He handed one mug over and I smiled at the steam wafting from the mugs.
As I met his eyes, he didn’t look at the mugs at all. He kept his eyes on me and smiled back. “I figure you’re only as sweet as your favorite spice and yours is cinnamon. Sweet as sin.”
When he talked like that, I didn’t care about the news, or the people outside, or what anyone thought of us. I just cared about that moment. I rubbed my lips together, trying to center myself.
“Keep looking at me like that and we won’t get down to the lake,” he practically growled and then grabbed the newspaper. He didn’t spare a backward glance, just opened the door for me, checked the gated backyard to make sure no one had gained access and tipped his head to motion me forward.
I went willingly but slowed down as I brushed up against him, hoping that maybe he’d deliver on his threat. Only weeks after the fire, we’d given into each other, but there was a restraint in him, one I was sure he didn’t have with other girlfriends. I’d heard a cheerleader once say he’d thrown her into a wall and fucked her so hard she couldn’t walk without pain for days.
With me, he took his time. There was something gentle about the way he handled me. For once, I wanted to be the temptation he couldn’t resist, for his coiled restraint to snap. I needed him to see me not just as the girl he’d saved and needed to protect, but as the one he wanted.
The only one.