Afterburn

acknowledgments and quick rejoinders. I caught sight of a familiar face, beautiful Allison Kelsey—the woman whose fiancé’s bachelor party had brought Jax and I together—then the view changed to a brightly lit hallway. From there, Jax led me through a swinging door into a massive industrial-sized kitchen buzzing with activity.
    I looked around, noting the multiple cooking stations and the black-and-white service uniforms I’d only ever seen in movies. Jax snagged a bottle of champagne out of the hands of a waiter, slipped his ring finger around the stem of a flute in a practiced movement, then pulled me out a side door into another hallway.
    “Where are we going?” I asked, still wary of being alone with him. I wanted him. I’d never stopped.
    “You’ll see.”
    The sounds of the party grew louder, and I ignored the pang of disappointment I felt at the possibility of rejoining it. Seriously, I had to make up my mind.
    Jax led me through open French doors onto a terrace overlooking a magical garden. At least it looked that way to me, with its torch-lit gravel pathways and handsome old trees sparkling with white lights.
    “Whose house is this?” I queried.
    “It’s a Rutledge estate.”
    The way he said it conveyed more ownership than the words themselves. “Right.”
    “Pretend we crashed this party,” he said, leading me down cobblestone steps to a crescent-shaped marble bench.
    I sat, watching as he poured champagne for me and passed me the glass. “Seems like we’ve been pretending all along, doesn’t it?”
    Jax swigged straight out of the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, careless and a bit defiant. “Maybe. I still know you better than you think I do.”
    “I don’t feel like I know you at all.”
    “So get to know me,” he challenged. “What are you afraid of?”
    I sipped my champagne. “Spinning my wheels and dead ends.”
    “Can’t you just enjoy the ride?”
    Oh, I’d love it. A surge of heated yearning pierced me.
    He set the bottle on the bench beside me. “I’m going to kiss you.”
    My breath caught. “No, you’re not.”
    “Try and stop me.”
    I surged to my feet. “Jackson—”
    “Shut up, Gia.” He cupped my face in both hands and took my mouth.
    For a moment I didn’t move, frozen by the feel of his lips on mine, so soft yet firm. Achingly familiar. Tender. His tongue licked along the seam. I opened up to him with a low moan and he slid inside.
    I dropped my flute. Distantly, I heard it shatter, but didn’t care. My arms were draped across his broad shoulders; my fingers were in his silky hair. I was drinking him in, tasting champagne and Jax, lifting onto my toes to deepen the connection.
    As always, he gave me what I demanded of him.
    Holding me still, he ate at my mouth, stroking with the velvet lash of his tongue, nibbling with lips and teeth, sliding his lips back and forth across mine. Savoring me. Turning a simple kiss into an erotic melding that had me trembling with pleasure.
    God, I’d missed him. Missed the way he made me feel.
    He growled, the rough sound vibrating against me. His hands slid downward, rubbing along my back, holding me in place as he rolled his hips and brushed the thick length of his erection against my cleft. Desire shot through me, flushing my skin. He smelled delicious, the subtle fragrance of his soap mixing with the virile scent that was his alone. I wanted to wallow in him the way I used to, pressing my naked body to his until even air couldn’t come between us.
    “Gia,” he murmured gruffly, his lips sliding along my cheek. “Christ, I want you.”
    I closed my eyes, my hands fisting in the thick strands of his hair. I was on fire for him, my skin feeling too tight and sensitive. “You had me.”
    “I made the right decision walking away.” His breath gusted over my temple. “That doesn’t mean I don’t regret it.”
    A tiny voice of caution was screaming. “You’ll hurt me.”
    “I’ll worship you.” One of his hands captured my nape. The other gripped my hip, urging me into the slide of his hardness against my clit. “You remember how it was. Hours with my hands and mouth on you, my cock inside you—”
    “For how long?” My core was clenching, tightening in demand for an orgasm.
    “Weeks.” He groaned. “Months. Jesus, I’m so hard it hurts.”
    I struggled out of his hold. “I need more than sex.”
    He let me go, but his gaze was fierce and hot. “I’ll give you