Page 8 of Jaxon

“Not really. My mother died and my father…well he isn’t the best.”

She risked a glance at Jaxon, expecting pity or judgment, but found only understanding in his gaze. His hand covered hers, rough and warm, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That must have been hard.”

Rachel swallowed against the lump in her throat, overwhelmed by the simple kindness. When was the last time anyone had offered her compassion without wanting something in return?

“Yeah,” she whispered. “But I survived. Made me who I am today, for better or worse.”

“Who you are is amazing,” Jaxon said, his voice low and intense. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, sending shivers up her arm. “A strong woman, from what I’ve seen. Despite everything you’ve endured, you still have so much heart. That’s rare in this world.”

His praise made her cheeks flush with warmth. No one had ever seen her the way Jaxon did, recognizing her intrinsic worth behind the scars. She found herself leaning closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. His cologne smelled of leather and spice.

“Jaxon,” she breathed, nerves and desire warring within her. His gaze dropped to her mouth, eyes darkening with unspoken longing. Her heart stuttered at the realization that he wanted this as much as she did.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, “and I will. But if you want this as much as I do...?”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when Jaxon closed the distance between them in a kiss that seared her to the bone.

The kiss deepened, a tangle of lips and tongues that stole Rachel’s breath. Jaxon’s hand slid into her hair, tilting her head to take the kiss deeper. She clung to his shoulders, drowning in the sensations flooding her body.

Every nerve ending was alive and tingling. Her skin felt too tight, heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. But beneath the frenzied passion was a bone-deep tenderness in the way Jaxon held her. Like she was something precious, worthy of care.

When the kiss ended, Rachel blinked up at him in a daze. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with desire. But there was a question in his eyes, silently asking if this was okay. If he’d gone too far.

She smiled and stroked his jaw, rough with stubble. “You can kiss me like that anytime.”

Relief and heat flashed across his face. “I’ll hold you to that.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again. “Because I really want to do it again.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she teased.

Jaxon’s eyes gleamed with challenge and mischief. “Not a damn thing.”

He claimed her mouth again in a kiss that melted her bones. Her fingers curled into his shirt, clinging for dear life as she was swept away in a riptide of passion with no desire to break free.

Rachel lost track of time as they kissed, the world narrowing to just her and Jaxon. His hands roamed over her back in a slow caress, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathless. “We should head back.” His voice was rough with restraint. “Before I do something, we’ll both regret.”

She knew he was right, but disappointment flooded her. She wasn’t ready for this day to end. For the magic of this perfect moment to fade.

“When will I see you again?” The question tumbled out before she could stop it. Needy, clinging in a way that went against her usually guarded nature.

Jaxon cupped her face in his hands, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. “Soon, angel. Count on it.”

6

The next day at work, Rachel found herself distracted and jittery. Her date with Jaxon had been thrilling and intense, igniting a passion she’d never known. But in the harsh light of day, doubt crept in. What was she getting herself into?

During their lunch break, Rachel pulled Tess aside. “I have something to confess. I went on a date last night.”

Tess’s eyes lit up. “With who? Tell me everything!”

Rachel bit her lip. “It’s Jaxon Jones. President of the Green Devils MC.”

All traces of excitement fled from Tess’s face, replaced by concern. “Rachel, those guys are dangerous. What are you thinking?”

“I know, I know.” Rachel twisted her hands together. “But there’s something about him. A woundedness I recognize.” She thought of the shadows she’d glimpsed beneath Jaxon’s bravado. “And the way I feel with him—alive, and free.”

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