Jackson
I’m on my feet and following her before the door has the chance to swing closed.
Which means I nearly take off the waiter’s head as I plow through.
He has a bottle in his hand—of fucking pinot grigio, just like what I ordered all of a minute ago—and I almost knock him and the expensive as fuck wine down.
Because I got the good shit.
Because Claire deserves the good shit.
And now she’s hurrying through the dining room, taking a sharp left, and disappearing from sight.
Shit.
“We’ll be right back,” I mutter to him and race after her, turning the corner and catching a glimpse of blond hair just before a door slams shut behind her.
I reach for the knob, twisting it and pushing it open an inch.
I hear her gasp but keep nudging it inward, carefully so I don’t hit her. “Just me,” I murmur.
“I—”
But, by then, the door’s wide enough for me to slip inside, to see—
“What the fuck?” I breathe.
To see Claire hunched in the corner, her hands over her ears. “I’m fine,” she says as her knees give way and she sinks into a crouch, a tiny ball of huddled human. “I’m fine. I just need—”
Not fine.
She’s so not fine.
And maybe I should wait, maybe I should give her space.
But…
I can’t.
I need to touch her, to hold her, to make sure she knows she’s safe.
So, I move toward her, scoop her up, and carry her to the counter next to the sink, thankful that this restaurant is expensive as shit and so it’s clean. Then I reach to the door, make sure it’s shut, it’s locked—so no dumbass can barge in like I did.
“I’m fine,” she says again as I turn back to her, and I don’t bother to dignify that with a response, don’t bother to do anything but move to her again, but wrap her in my arms, planting a hand in the center of her back, and drawing her to me.
“Bullshit,” I say, able to feel her trembling. “You’re a beautiful liar, but you’re still a liar. Tell me what prompted the sprint to the bathroom. Because it sure as shit isn’t an upset stomach.”
Silence.
Then a stunned blip of laughter.
“No,” she admits with a long, shuddering exhale. “It’s not an upset stomach.” Another breath and then she pushes lightly at my chest.
I drop my arms.
I don’t want to, but I hear it in her voice. The strength returning. Her spine straightening. Knowing whatever threw her is being pushed aside.
“Gonna clue me in?” I ask, and yeah, it’s less a request and more an order, but…I said what I said.
“No,” she says, shoving my chest, pushing me backward, and she says it so matter-of-factly that the word takes me a moment to process.
In that moment, she’s moving toward the door.
I catch her arm, draw her back, dragging her hand away from the knob. “Nice try, kitty cat.” I spin her in my hold, pin her in place with my gaze.
“Are you going to tell me about what I found out?” she whispers. “And why it made you hate me?”
A cold-ass bucket of water over my head.
My hand drops to my side.
Her smile is small and…sad.
“Fuck, I—”
“No,” she says, guilt intruding in on her expression. “I’m being a jerk. I—” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I guess…I guess I’m still struggling with this— After my date—”
Rage in my belly. “That guy was a dick—”
“It’s not him—” She presses her lips together. “Okay, so it’s not all about him. I can’t lie, him taking a look at me and GTFOing freaking stings, but I…” A sigh. “That’s not why I—”
“Why you ran away from wine?”
“You know I like pinot grigio,” she murmurs.
I touch her cheek, heart squeezing. “I pay attention, and so do you.”
She drops her chin to her chest. “Yes, but…”
“What?”
“I just keep waiting for the bubble to burst. Like”—she throws up her hands and exhales, pacing away—“how is this real life? It’s got to be a dream, and I’m going wake up again and you’re not there and—”
“You’re going to wake up and I’m not there?”
She flushes.
“Kitty cat,” I say silkily, snaking a hand around her middle and drawing her flush against me. “Do you have something to tell me?”
“You mean besides the fact that this day has been fucking perfect and I can’t believe it’s real and I’m scared that I’ll never have anything to compare with it ever again?” she asks, her tone tart, her palm pressing to my chest.
Trying to escape. To avoid. To prevaricate.
But I won’t let her.
No fucking way.
“You’ll have something to compare it to.” Lots of somethings, because I’ll make sure of it.
“I—”
“You’ll wake up and I won’t be there?”
Bright red cheeks. Teeth pressed into her bottom lip. Eyes that are slipping away from mine. “I dream about you sometimes.”
I grin. I shouldn’t but…
“Is that all?”
Her cheeks grow brighter. “Y-yes?”
“Kitty cat,” I warn.
Her chin lifts. “Fine,” she snaps, “I’ve dreamed about you and thought about you and used my vibrator to make myself come to those thoughts and dreams, okay?” She tosses up her hands. “Is that a crime?”
“No, sweetheart,” I tell her, drawing her closer, tracing a finger over the flush on her cheeks, one at a time. “It’s just something I’m now desperate to see.”
“O-oh,” she whispers, and I can feel her trembling, can see the desire creep into those pretty brown eyes. “Do—”
“Do I what?” I ask, dick twitching, desire making my hands shake as I tuck her hair behind her ears, as I stroke a finger along her throat. I want to lift her back onto the counter, want to kiss and touch her until she comes. Want to tease those fantasies out of her and diligently act out each and every one.
But this is her first date. Ever.
And we’re in a bathroom.
And we have a chef waiting to serve us an amazing fucking meal.
I want her to have everything she’s ever wanted. I want to spoil her, treat her with such fucking care that she doesn’t question it, that she expects it from the men in her life.
Men in her life.
The thought makes my blood boil.
But I shove that down, clamp a lid onto the jealously, the rage at the thought of another man touching, stroking, loving her.
“I’m here because I want to be,” I tell her. “I’m here because I’m lucky enough that you agreed to let me take you out. I’m here because”—I cup her jaw, tilt her head up so our gazes are aligned—“you’re wonderful, kitty cat, and I’m desperate to spend time with you, as little or as much as you’ll give me.”
I get to watch the beauty that appears in her eyes at my words.
Not the disbelief from when we talked in that empty room.
Not the edge of surprise and uncertainty that’s been clinging to her irises all day long.
Not the hurt from my sharp words and asshole behavior, doing my fucking best to push her away.
This is…
As though I’ve peeled the layers back and managed a glimpse of the woman beneath.
A confident, beautiful woman who’s maybe finally begun to understand how truly wonderful she is.
A gorgeous, sexy woman who trails a hand down my chest, allows her body to sink against mine.
A stunning, amazing woman who shocks the shit out of me by grabbing two fistfuls of my hair and…
Kissing me senseless.