Savor the Danger
Page 43

He breathed harder. “So I was right. You’re with him now?” He jerked his head toward Jackson.
To her relief, Jackson again said nothing. When she glanced back at him, Alani found him searching the distant area beyond her backyard. She frowned and turned back to Marc. “We’re dating,” she fibbed, because that sounded better than saying they were in lust.
“If it’s the same type of dating we did, does that mean you haven’t slept with him?”
Enough already. Alani put back her shoulders. “That is none of your business. I meant it when I said it was over.”
Marc took a fast, forceful step toward her.
Alani flinched, waiting for Jackson to attack.
She glanced back again in time to see him seat himself at the table, his expression bored. Odd. And almost insulting.
“I want it to be my business.” Marc paid Jackson no mind. “That’s what I need to talk about with you. I know I…I screwed up.”
She did not want to have this conversation in front of Jackson. “It really had nothing to do with you, Marc.” He wasn’t Jackson, so no matter what he did or didn’t do, it never would have worked out.
Marc denied that with a shake of his head. “I rushed you, and I’m sorry for that. I should have shown more patience.”
Jackson cracked his knuckles and yawned loudly.
Knowing Jackson to be unpredictable, Alani concentrated on ending the conversation, and fast. She took Marc’s hands. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Marc. I’m sorry, but it just wasn’t there for me.”
“I don’t buy that.” He tugged her closer, his voice now intimate. “We had fun. You were warming up to me, you just needed more time.”
Jackson made a sound of impatience.
And his tone generous, superior, Marc added, “I didn’t realize at the time that you had sexual hang-ups.”
Alani’s eyes flared at hearing Marc say such a thing.
“But we’ll work around that.” He lowered his voice, sounding more intimate. “I have some ideas.”
“Tobin,” Jackson said with disbelief, “you are seriously whack-a-doodle, you know that?”
Whack-a-doodle? That was his reaction? Bemused, Alani stared at Jackson.
He shrugged. “Well, he is.” And then with insistence: “You do not have hang-ups.”
True enough. With Jackson, she had no inhibitions, sexual or otherwise.
Marc’s mouth touched her neck. “Give me another chance, Alani.”
A wave of revulsion landed her firmly back in the here and now. “No.”
He resisted her efforts to put space between them. “If you give me another chance, I can help you.”
Help her? “You are whack-a-doodle!” Oh God, now she sounded like Jackson.
“When you want me to intervene,” Jackson told her lazily, “just lemme know.”
“Fuck you!” Marc said.
Jackson raised a brow. “What do you say, honey? Couldn’t I muss him up just a little?”
Alani groaned. For whatever reason that suited him, Jackson had allowed her to handle this situation when she knew it went against the grain for him to do so. Like Trace and Dare, he was a man who would intervene for any woman facing a pushy suitor, but for a woman under his protection, it had to be doubly tough to stand aside.
Marc, being an astute man, should have realized his precarious position. Apparently, he did not.
Time to take charge. “I do not need—”
“We’ll go slow, babe, I promise.” He put his mouth to her temple even as she strained away from him. “I’ll ease you into things. You’ll love it.”
“You will shut up.” She gasped. “Right now.” Her face burned. Her stomach jolted—in disgust. Marc had never appealed to her sexually. No man had until Jackson. “I do not have hang-ups.”
“She doesn’t,” Jackson confirmed.
“And,” Alani said loudly, before Marc could react to Jackson’s jibe, “I don’t need your help.”
He caressed her upper arms. “But you were so squeamish about everything.”
If being utterly disinterested counted as squeamish. She slapped his hands away. “What is wrong with you? How dare you talk about this here, now?”
“With me listening in, she means,” Jackson offered helpfully. “Crass, man. Really crass.”
“You’re not helping, Jackson.” God save her from the male species.
“You won’t let me help.”
“Can’t you go inside?”
He snorted. “I can take him apart, that’s what I can do.” At his leisure, Jackson unfolded himself from the table and stood—tall, broad-shouldered, oh-so-imposing, in front of them. Sporting a hilarious, pleading face, he implored, “C’mon, Alani. Let me hurt him. He’s begging for it.”
Marc bunched up like a junkyard dog. He snarled and set her aside. “Why don’t you try?”
Alani felt she had to be fair. She stepped in front of Marc. “Just so you know, he will destroy you. And given how you’re behaving, I might let him.”
“I’m not a slouch.” He flexed his hands. “I can handle myself.”
“I never said you couldn’t. But don’t let Jackson’s laid-back attitude deceive you. He would love to fight right now, and you truly wouldn’t be a match.” Not in any way. “You should trust me on this.”