Poison Princess
Page 30

We searched both wings upstairs and down, finding even more delights. The bedrooms had closets full of designer clothing and shoes. The garage housed camping supplies, hi-tech survival gear—and a colossal storage tank of gas.
No car, though.
In the enormous kitchen, Jackson opened one of the two refrigerators, which was surprisingly well-stocked with jellies, condiments, and drinks.
He briefly closed his eyes at the feel of cold air, then said, “Come here, you.” He shoved me in front of him so I could feel it too, then stood behind me with his hand on my shoulder. “Admit it, this was worth it just to feel the icebox.”
Though I was still wary about being here, I reminded myself that Jackson was the bogeyman, as long as he had that bow. So I closed my eyes too, and we just stood there for long moments.
Then I felt him reaching past me. “Jesus, chilled long-necks. Okay, that’s it, I’m on the lookout for three bears.” He snagged a couple of bottles, twisting off the tops. Pressing a beer into my hand, he led me into the biggest pantry I’d ever seen. “Find us something to eat, woman.”
I arched a brow, but did inspect the goods, enough to last two people for months—canned and boxed foods, airtight cartons and bags, fruit juices. After hastily stuffing my backpack with PowerBars—just in case we had to flee—I perused the shelves for dinner.
A jar of maraschino cherries had my mouth watering. I snagged them, as well as a couple of cans of black olives, a carton of Pirouette cookies, and a bag of giant pretzel sticks, making a picnic on the counter.
For our main course, we enjoyed beer and pretzels. For dessert, Jackson hit the cookies, while I dug into the cherry jar. When I dropped one in my mouth, my eyes rolled with pleasure.
“You like cerises, huh?” He eased closer to me. “I’ve got an envie for a cherry.” A craving.
Cajun innuendo, Jackson? “Here.” I smiled sweetly, holding one up by the stem for him. “Enjoy the only cherry you’ll get from me.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he nipped it from my fingers with his even white teeth.
Flustered, I took a swig of my beer. But he pressed his finger to the bottom of the bottle, tipping it until I’d finished it with a gasp.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” It was working. I’d always been a lightweight, and now one beer had me pleasantly buzzed.
“Sans doute.” Without a doubt.
Okay, he was definitely flirting with me. Because I was the only game in town and he was . . . strung tight? Had to be. Still the same old Evie here.
He finished his own beer, chasing it with a shot from his flask. “Let’s see what’s outside.” He collected his bow in one hand and my free hand in his other, then led me to a line of towering french doors.
We exited one onto a huge screened lanai that was like a wonderland, with gazebos and an outdoor kitchen. The moon was full overhead, lighting the area gently, until it looked untouched by the apocalypse.
Escorting me farther outside, he declared, “We are home, Evie Greene—”
He fell silent at the sight of a pool, sparkling in the moonlight. A filled pool.
Water. A death trap.
“Christ,” he muttered, darting his head around. “Moon or no, why ain’t we swarming with Bagmen?”
I pulled on his hand. “Jackson, we’ve got to go!”
“Stay here.” He strode to the side of the pool, crouching down to dip a finger. After tasting the water, he rose with a thrilled expression. “It’s saltwater, bébé.”
Salt? “Then they’d be repelled, right?”
He nodded. “And the water’s warm.”
“Where’d it all come from?”
Propping his bow against a lounge chair, he said, “Private well. Just like you had at Haven.”
But we hadn’t wasted it to swim. “Jackson, please. The owner could return at any minute!”
“Why would someone be out this late if he’s coming back?” Jackson kicked off his boots. “Finders keepers.”
“You’re not going in!”
In answer, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing rigid planes of muscles. Yes, I’d caught glimpses of him shirtless before—but this was the first time I’d utterly lost my breath looking at him.
His face and his broad chest were still tanned, his eyes seeming to glow in the moonlight. That onyx rosary around his neck glinted with his movements.
He was stripping before my eyes, yet I couldn’t look away. I bit my bottom lip. Any minute I would turn my back. Any minute . . .
As he began to unbuckle his belt, his stomach muscles rippled.
I grew weak in the knees. Any minute.
When he reached his zipper, he cocked his head and met my gaze.
I was frozen, could do nothing but stare. He raised his eyebrows at me in challenge, his fingers inching his zipper down.
A second after I’d finally found the presence of mind to turn my back, I heard his belt buckle ping on the tile floor, the rustle of his dropped pants. Eyes wide, I snapped, “This is foolish, Jackson—”
In the space of a heartbeat, he’d snagged my pack off my back, looped an arm around my waist—and hauled us both into the pool.
Chapter 27
I broke the surface, sputtering, shoving water out of my face. “Have you lost your mind? Ugh! I am not skinny-dipping with you.”
In a scandalized tone, Jackson said, “Skinny-dipping? Evangeline and her dirty mind.” He glanced down. I could see he’d left on a pair of dark boxer briefs.
“Oh.” Had I sounded disappointed? “Still, I’m not all right with this. We should be—what do you call it?—watching our six.”
“So you do listen to me on occasion? Who’d-a thought . . . Look, I’m not goan to let anything happen to you. I’ll hear anyone coming in plenty of time.”
When I remained unconvinced, he said, “I told you, no one can get the drop on me. Doan you trust me?”
I didn’t have much of a choice. “You couldn’t have let me remove my boots?” I dragged them and my socks off, flinging them near his bow.
“You’re right. I should’ve let you strip.” Then he splashed me in the face.
I sputtered again, but he was grinning. Not a smirk—a real smile. As I gazed at his lips, I found my own curling in response.
I pointed behind him. “Oh, look!” Then I splashed the back of his head.
He faced me with his eyes wide. “Now you’ve done it! You mess with the bull . . .” He chased me around the shallow end until I was squealing with laughter.
It felt incredible to act like normal kids again. To flirt and play.
The voices were blessedly quiet.
Just before he caught me, I dunked under, swam around him and yanked back on his ankles. He couldn’t have known that in another lifetime, I’d been a terror in the pool.
He acted like I’d tripped him, sinking like a stone. Once he broke the surface, he looked surprised—and delighted—that I was messing around with him.
I’d never seen this playful, grinning side of Jackson before, had never seen him without his customary restlessness. I recognized then that I’d never witnessed him happy until now.
And, damn, it was a good look on him. “You’re smiling.”
“I should be.” His wet hair whipped over his cheeks. “Best day I’ve had in a long, long time.” He began edging me toward the side of the pool, and I let him. Streams of water slid down his broad chest and rock-hard torso.
I want to follow those streams with my lips. . . . Okay, so maybe Jackson wasn’t the only one strung tight. “Um, best day?” When my back met stone, he kept easing closer until I could feel the heat coming off his body. I had to crane my head up to meet his gaze.
His grin turned smug as he said, “Got me a new bike, a jolie girl who’s sweet on me, and a mansion for us to live in.”
Then I realized that I had a very real problem—add it to my tab. Jackson Deveaux was nearly irresistible like this. “Sweet on you? Please.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“You smell like honeysuckles when you’re liking ole Jack.”
Oh my God. Just as I’d been told, I did smell like flowers. No wonder everyone had kept complimenting me.
“When you’re mad,” he added, “you smell like roses. Excited? Sweet olive. I’m still figuring out the rest.”
Even as he continued to stun me with his insight, I muttered, “Th-that’s ridiculous.” How was I going to hide my secrets all the way to North Carolina?
“Is it?” He inched even closer.
“In any case, it’s not like you are sweet on me.”
“C’est vrai.” That’s true. “But I do know that it’s slim pickings out there.”
I glared, unable to tell if he was teasing. “Melt my heart, Cajun.”
He reached forward, clasping the edge of the pool on both sides of me, boxing me in.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to kiss you for the first time.”
Heart stop. Form words, Evie. “Y-you told me something like that at my party, but I didn’t fare so well that night.”
“Me neither. God, I’d wanted me a taste of you.” His smoldering gray gaze was locked on my lips.
I wetted them, just as I had then.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve thought about almost kissing you? I remember every detail about you. I couldn’t tell if your eyes were blue or green. Your lips were so red—it was sexy, but I couldn’t decide if I liked it. ’Cause it wasn’t you, not really.”
That almost-kiss hadn’t been just a trick! He’d felt the same excitement and attraction that I had.
“Evangeline, you’re like . . . like a peekôn dans ma patte.”
A thorn in my paw. How appropriate. I guess that’s my nature, Jackson.
“And I can’t quite shake it, no.” His eyes were completely mesmerizing.
For the first time in months I wanted to draw—just to capture that look forever.
“Let’s take this off, cher.” When he reached for the hem of my soaked hoodie, I found myself raising my arms so he could pull it free, leaving me in my white cami.
Which was now see-through. I might as well have been wearing nothing.
When his gaze dipped, his lids went heavy and his Adam’s apple bobbed. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Mercy me.”
I’d never been looked at like this, had never been utterly certain that a boy was gazing at my body—while imagining how he wanted to touch it. My face and chest flushed with embarrassment.
Just when I was about to duck under, he said, “Non, you let me look.” His accent was getting thicker. “Waited a long time to see you like this.”
“But we’ve only been together a couple weeks.”
He grazed the backs of his fingers along my cheekbones, as if my face was made of delicate porcelain. “Uh-huh,” he murmured as he leaned down to gently press his lips to mine. His were so firm and warm. I could just taste the bite of whiskey.
He felt perfect . . . the kiss, right.
He parted his lips, coaxing me to do the same. Once I did, he leisurely stroked his tongue against mine . . . and again. Relaxed, wicked flicks.
Energy filled me, pleasure radiating. This was addictive—nothing meh about it.
Our tongues tangled, over and over, until I couldn’t stop a moan. I wanted more of him. I wanted this never to end. I needed more.
I was losing control; why wasn’t he? His kiss was sensual, but deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
As if he has something to prove?
Just when that thought arose in my foggy brain, he drew back with a cocky smirk. “There. Now that’s what I’m talking about.” He rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip. “You’re not laughing now, are you—”
“More.” I reached up, tunneling my fingers through his dark hair, clutching, dragging him back to me.
He rasped, “Evie?” just before our lips met again, our tongues . . .
I ran my hands down his back, over his flexing muscles. I couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t keep my body from moving against his. With each sweep of my palms, he deepened the kiss. So I did it again. And again.
Soon I was gasping and he was groaning. His hands cupped my waist, descending to my wriggling hips. He squeezed them, then reached for my ass, gripping me with splayed fingers, wrenching my body even closer to him. Was he shuddering against me?
No more control for either of us.
I loved his abandoned groans, loved that I could feel them because we were pressed so tight together. Just as he’d promised, we were breathing for each other—and still I couldn’t get enough.
For me, this was the game changer, a line in the sand. Life before our kiss; life after.
He wrapped his strong arms around me, hauling me up, crushing me against his solid chest. I dimly realized my feet weren’t touching the bottom of the pool any longer.
He broke away to kiss my neck, saying against my skin, “Tu me fais tourner la tête! Ton parfum sucré, tes secrets.” You drive me mad! Your sweet scent, your secrets. Heated licks followed. “Ah, Evie, you taste as good as you smell.”
I breathed, “Jackson . . .”
He pulled back, letting me slip back down to stand on my own. His voice was raw as he said, “If you want me to kiss you again, you call me Jack.”
I couldn’t think. I made some sound of agreement.
“Say it.”
My head tilted back, and I whispered, “Jack.”
He cupped my face with his callused palms, so that I stared directly into his eyes. There was something possessive in his expression, something masculine and . . . older that I had absolutely no idea how to decipher—all I knew was that the intent look on his face made my heart race. “You said you wanted more?”