I Wish You Were Mine
Page 32

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her hands coming up and resting lightly against his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palms, the soft scratch of his chest hair perfectly rough against her fingertips.
He dipped his head slightly so his cheek was nearly pressing against hers. Not quite touching, but nearly.
She felt his breath against her shoulder. Knew her own breath was coming hot and fast against his throat.
One of them should move back, but Mollie’s body refused to cooperate.
Very slowly his other hand slid from the counter to rest against her hip, his fingers curving around to hold her, his touch possessive.
“Jackson, we really can’t—”
“I know.” He turned his head, and now his breath was on her lips. “I know that.”
She gave the smallest of nods, waiting for him to move away from her, because Lord knew she didn’t seem capable of pushing him.
Jackson’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, and Mollie’s breath hitched. He pulled back as though waiting for her to protest, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
He moved in again, this time his lips touching hers square on, and damn it. Damn it. Their mouths fit perfectly.
Moving slowly, he pressed all the way against her, deepening the kiss as her arms wound around his neck.
Mollie had been kissed before. Plenty of times. But nothing—nothing—compared to the feel of Jackson’s mouth against hers.
He coaxed her mouth open, deepening the kiss even further, and Mollie was lost. Lost in kissing Jackson Burke, a moment she’d entertained only in her wildest, most forbidden fantasies.
And the kiss was better than the fantasy. Better than anything she’d ever experienced.
His hands slid around her, his fingers toying with the thin straps of her camisole, and she was all too aware that it would only take the slightest tug and she’d be topless. In moments more, they could be completely naked. He could lift her onto the counter, and…
Jackson pulled back slowly, and Mollie barely withheld her whimper of protest.
He rested his forehead against hers as their gazes locked in bewildered want, both of them still breathing hard.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Mollie could only nod mutely. This was bad. Really bad.
“Mollie—”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “If you’re going to apologize, just don’t.”
His mouth lifted in a half smile. “Trust me, apologizing wasn’t on the agenda, but that was…that was a mistake.”
Her heart twisted, and she wanted to retort that the best kiss of her life had not been a mistake. That a kiss like that could only mean good things.
But of course he was right. The two of them…they couldn’t.
She closed her eyes. This was a mess.
He slowly leaned back, putting more space between them before finally stepping back. Wordlessly he turned away, reaching for the neglected water pitcher and pouring her a glass before handing it over.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded, then put the pitcher back in the fridge. The light from the refrigerator illuminated his perfect body for just a moment before he closed the door, his fingers still on the handle. He leaned forward slightly and rested his forehead against the stainless steel of the fridge door.
“Mollie?”
She froze in the process of taking a sip of water. “Yeah?”
“This can’t happen again.”
“I know,” she said, a little testily.
He gave her a small smile. “Sure was good, though.”
Mollie’s fingers clenched around the glass, tempted to hurl it at him. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to kiss her like that, then tell her it was a mistake, then tell her how good it was.
“Good night,” she said pointedly.
His smile faded and he gave a nod before turning and walking quietly toward his bedroom.
Mollie chugged her water in three gulps before shaking her head in irritation. She was definitely going to need that cold shower after all.
Chapter 13
After his late-night run-in with Mollie, Jackson was still behind on sleep. He rubbed at his tired eyes as he realized there was zero hope of getting any real work done until he’d had a caffeine fix. Another one.
Swear to God, if it wasn’t one Carrington sister turning his life upside down, it was the other. The Madison-induced insomnia he could understand. The woman had been wreaking havoc on his life for over a decade now. But it wasn’t Madison that had kept him up the past few nights.
It was Mollie.
Mollie, who had always been a constant in his life. His light when everything else was dark. She was still a constant, but there was nothing uncomplicated about the way she’d been turning him on lately. And turning him on without even trying—that was the real kicker. Jackson had had some of the most gorgeous women in the world throw themselves at him at the peak of his career, but none of them had made him feel as much of a horny schoolboy as Mollie in those tiny pajamas.
It wasn’t what he should be thinking about. He should be thinking about the fact that he’d spent two hours in his ex-wife’s company—willingly, if perhaps a bit manipulated. But during that whole dinner, mostly he’d felt…bored. For months he’d been doing his damnedest to avoid his ex-wife out of a hidden, desperate fear that he’d fall under her toxic spell. But as they’d sat there with their wine and her admittedly excellent short ribs, he’d felt nothing. Familiarity, sure. Resentment, perhaps. Even though he’d braced himself for a wave of bitterness, he’d realized he didn’t have the energy to hate her anymore.