True for You(17)

Because I’ll never be enough for him.



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Jackson

The generators finally kick on, and with it, the few lamps I’d turned on when we’d settled in the living room.

Bliss jumps—again—then settles back down in the large club chair in the corner.

I’ve never seen her so anxious. Well, except for the time Violet caught us on lying on the sofa with my hand down Bliss’ pants. Another minute or two longer, and I’m pretty sure that beautiful girl would have exploded in my arms.

But we didn’t get that, and Bliss thought for sure she would be fired. That hadn’t happened, and not only because of me taking responsibility for my actions. Violet refused to let Bliss leave.

“Any requests?” I ask Bliss.

She licks her lips, and then shakes her head, curly hair falling out of her loose bun. “No.”

“Do you want me to stop?” I hadn’t thought to ask her if she minded if I played. Having a guitar in my hand settles me, gives strength to my soul, and grounds me in ways that I can’t get from any other thing… or person. “There are a ton of books to read in the cabinet under the television.”

“I’m not a g—big reader.”

“Too bad. My housekeeper and her daughters love to read romance, so I usually order a bunch and have them delivered before they stay here in August.” Yeah, the quieter Bliss becomes, the chattier I get. Maybe I should start emulating her.

“Your housekeeper lives here?” She glances around, like Donna will appear at any moment with a mop and bucket.

“For two weeks in August she does, before school starts for her youngest. He’s five. I buy him new toys for the beach each year. David is hell on buckets and shovels.”

Her gaze fixes on me. “You buy books for her and her daughters? And toys for her son?”

Jealousy doesn’t exist in her tone or even on her pretty face. There’s awe and wonderment. I duck my head, unable to hold her gaze, because I don’t want her assigning qualities me to that I don’t deserve.

Shrugging, I pick out a new melody on my guitar. “Her husband died two years ago, in Afghanistan, and they moved to Sweetland looking for work. She cleans a bunch of houses year round, including mine, but I thought it would be nice for her to actually stay in one of them.”

“You hire someone else to clean up after her, don’t you? And you pay her while she stays here,” she says, and I feel my cheeks grow hot. I don’t want this to matter to her, and I don’t want her digging deeper. She won’t find a buried treasure—all she’ll find is me.

“Maybe.” Cute feet, without toenail polish, appear in my vision. I look up.

Bliss is looking down, a serious expression on her face. She kneels beside me, sitting on her calves. Her hand covers mine where it rests on the neck of my guitar. Her touch is soft, yet firm.

“I never got to say thank you,” she says, and my brows crease together.

“Why would you say thank you?”

A small smile graces her lips. “For saving me.”

I saved her? “From what?” Or is it a who? Then I remember her words, the morning after we married. You made a promise to me, but I guess holding you to something that you don’t remember isn’t fair.

“Everything.”

Then she leans in, pressing her lips to mine. I stop playing, my hand going to her face and cupping the side. She doesn’t owe me anything, and I sure as hell don’t want a pity kiss or screw. But I can’t help but asking, “Are you sure?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

With a groan, I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to the back of her neck. Her hair tickles the back of my hand. When I feel the first touch of her tongue against mine, I completely lose it, practically throwing my guitar to the side.

I lower Bliss to the floor, settling between her thighs and resting my arms on either side of her. Our lips fuse, and my brain screams at me to stop. But then she rocks against me, where my cock is hard, and my eyes water. Brain function ceases.

“Damn, you taste good,” I murmur with my next breath.

“So do you.”

“Kiss me,” I beg, unable to comprehend how much I want Bliss. How much I want this one simple kiss.

Her fingers tangle in my hair and the kiss goes from simple to burning need. Suddenly, I’m kissing her like my life depended on it, like I’ll never kiss her again.

Tongue gliding over tongue, small kisses to the corners of my mouth and my chin. I turn my head to the side, biting on my own damn lip when she licks me behind my ear. “Oh hell.”

“Should I stop? Should we stop?” She asks each question after each kiss. “Oh God, I don’t want to stop.”