His teeth are gritted. His eyes are fierce. His tone is venomous. I have to admit that it does give me pause. But not for long. What I do realize, however, is that it might be best not to make light of this. He obviously takes it very seriously.
“Look, you’re not going to scare me off, so stop trying. If you’re uncomfortable with this then we’ll stop.”
He squeezes my fingers so hard I fear the fragile bones might snap. I bite my lip to keep from yelping, determined not to back down from him in any way. I’m going to meet him head-on if it kills me.
“That’s the problem, damn you! I don’t want to stop!”
He flexes his hips and grinds into me as his mouth descends onto mine. He pumps his length into me in two short, savage bursts, as if he might be trying to punish me for wanting him. Or maybe punishing himself for wanting me. But it doesn’t work. I meet him, thrust for thrust, raising my hips into his, opening my lips for his provocative tongue.
Finally, with a guttural sound that reminds me of the tiger that’s in his eyes, he tears away from me and rolls off the bed, dragging me across the sheets and into his arms. Once his hungry mouth meets mine again, he doesn’t stop kissing me. Not when he leans down to get a condom from the nightstand and not when my back is pressed to the shower wall and he drills his body into mine. Jasper never stops kissing me. And it occurs to me, somewhere deep down, that I never want him to.
—
I lie in bed thinking about last night. After Jasper finished trying not to want me, we bathed each other and then he stepped out to get dressed and leave me to my nightly preparations. Nearly half an hour later, I exited my bedroom to find him gone, the house empty. I was too exhausted to go looking very far, but something told me before I even looked out the window that I’d find him at the water’s edge. And I did. I left him to his thoughts in favor of falling onto the tangled sheets of my bed and drifting straight into a dreamless sleep.
My first thought upon waking was of Jasper, of this complicated, broken, multi-faceted man who shows so little yet feels so much. I’ve always had a weakness for flawed men. It seems that I gravitate toward the ones who are emotionally unavailable for some reason. Ambitious, womanizing, cheating men who clean up pretty, but never really change. But Jasper . . . he’s a different animal.
An animal.
A tiger.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin to describe him. I’ve never met a man less emotionally available, but at the same time, I’ve never met someone who’s more brutally honest about who and what he is.
From what I can tell, his flaws are so inextricably interwoven with loyalty and dedication, it’s hard to see where good stops and bad begins. Or even if there is such a clear, black-and-white way to view him. All in all, he’s probably the strongest, most determined person I’ve ever known, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more in need of saving. It’s that paradox, that strength overlying a shattered soul, that draws me. Maybe even more than the magnetism with which he has held me since the second I met him.
I roll out from beneath the covers and head for the bathroom. After splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth, I wander to the kitchen where I find an empty mug on the counter and a fresh pot of coffee on the brewer. I pour a cup and go in search of the man who dominates my every waking thought.
I’m not surprised when I find him standing at the lake’s edge again. Something about his expression last night made me think he’d be here. Something about his expression this morning makes me think this place haunts him.
I walk up to stand beside him, cupping my hands around the steaming mug rather than touching him like I want to. I’m still not always sure how to proceed with him, how much of me he’ll welcome. Unless we’re in bed. It’s easy to see that he wants all of me when it comes to sex. He doesn’t want to leave any part of me untouched, unscathed. He wants it all. And I want to give it to him.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say into the quiet morning.
He grunts. I sigh, ready for another battle of pulling teeth to try and get him to open up. Slipping on my thick skin, I step over in front of him, putting myself between him and the lake. That’s when I see his face, full-on. I see the pale complexion, the dark circles, the drawn mouth. “Jasper, are you okay?”
His dull eyes flicker down to mine. “I’m fine. Why?”
I reach up to brush the smudge under one eye, like it might rub off, like it might be made of something other than misery. “Did you sleep? You look awful.”
“Thanks,” he says snidely, one side of his mouth twisting up into a humorless grin.