Page 51 of Love Me Knot

I give myself an emotional ass kick and yank open the closet door. The sight in the hallway surprises me, though it shouldn’t. I point a finger at Jackson, who’s leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. “You. Round up the team leads. We’re going out for beers.”

At his raised brow, I correct myself. “Beers and an espresso martini.”

Jackson pushes off the wall and offers me a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Three hours later, I sit around the large table in the back of the Taphouse, waiting for bodies to trickle in. Fortunately_or unfortunately, I’m not sure which_they all seem to show up at the same time.

Jackson, Duck, Fish, and Devil make up the SEALs. The PMCs in attendance are Kai, Bash, Birdie, Aaron, and Sadie. They fill the empty seats, all sharing a similar curious expression. I’ve already ordered a round, thanks to my excellent memory. It arrives as the team is getting settled.

“What the hell is that?” Kai asks of my froufrou cocktail.

“It’s a drink, you Neanderthal.”

Though I try not to, I glance toward Jackson to see him smiling. Then, I purposefully seek out Bastien. Birdie’s hand rests on his arm as her man studies the group. He’s pensive at best. I don’t feel much like practicing my comedian routine, but for my friend, I’ll do it. “Bash, you look like Spatch shoved his foot up your ass and left the shoe.”

His eyes widen comically just before they roll. Bastien cracks a smile, but it’s relief I see in his eyes. “You’re such a pain, Yeet.”

The group stills at him using the name I’ve always hated. Instead of being incensed by its embarrassing origin, I see how it could be part of what endears me to these people. With this in mind, I stand and take a little bow. Yeet, it is.

The crew gets a good laugh, and I rap my knuckles on the table to shut them up. “Alright. Knock it off. We deploy in one hundred and fifty hours. Jackson and I have worked out the scripting. I’ve got some thoughts I’d like to get feedback on without dealing with a room full of opinions.”

Over the next two hours, we walk through all likely scenarios until the group feels prepared for anything. Confident in our plans, the group heads out until the only ones left are Birdie, Bash, Jackson, and me.

Bastien wears a hangdog expression and opens his mouth, probably to apologize again. I cut him off. “Bash, don’t. You and me, we’re fine. Even if we weren’t, it would be my fault. Not yours. Now, take Birdie and get out of here. You look like you could use a blow job.”

Birdie’s face turns red, but she grins. Bastien groans, trying to hide his own smile. “For the love of Christ.”

He hugs Jackson and finally pulls Birdie toward the door. I’m now alone with Jackson. Well, as alone as two people can be in a bar. I’m still less than poised around the SEAL leader and don’t know how to exit gracefully. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

When Jackson’s only answer is a cocked brow, I shuffle my feet. “Right. See you later.”

I turn tail and skitter away, but Jackson has no intention of letting me run. He shadows me outside, following me all the way to my car. Twitchy nerves trigger my standard defense mechanism. “You lose your truck or something?”

Jackson doesn’t ruffle at my mocking tone. He takes it in stride with a grin on his face. Bracing a hand on my trunk, he steps toward me. “You’re a brave, amazing woman, Chelsea Danforth. You did yourself proud tonight.”

He leans in like he means to kiss me again. The last time was sooo good that I’m tempted to let him. A big part of my brain still worries that he’ll kiss me one time, and I’ll finally turn into the frog I know myself to be. I duck out from beneath Jackson’s arm and escape to the driver’s side door.

Again, Jackson doesn’t get heated. His response is a wicked chuckle. “Running will do you no good. This thing between you and I, it’s happening.”

Jackson advances on me with the grace of a deadly predator. “Don’t try to deny you want it. We both know it would be a lie.”

The streetlight filters through the trees, painting his face in sinister slashes. The effect lessens when he backs up a step. “I’m a patient man, Chelsea. You’re only scared of yourself, and I’m gonna help you kick that fear.”

Jackson turns to leave but then tosses over his shoulder, “And then I’m making you mine.”

Jackson walks away, leaving me reeling. The wind kicks up as if to put a fine point on his dark promise, and my answering shiver has me diving into my car.

For the rest of the week, I remain suspended in the same state of shock. The SEALs don’t come back to the compound for training. I’m torn between being relieved and disappointed because of it. I’d gotten used to Fish and the guys. Even Jackson is absent, given Knot’s and O’Reilly’s approval of our revised scripts. He doesn’t have a reason to be here, which means I don’t have an excuse to talk to him.

The night before we deploy, I’m in my equipment locker, checking the bag with my dress and ensuring my shoes are pristine. These things, not to mention the borrowed jewelry, are the most expensive things I’ve ever worn. A delicate Venetian mask matching the dress lies on the garment bag. I lift it to my face and study my reflection in the mirror. Time to be someone else again.

Jackson

Keep moving, asshole.

Every step away from Chelsea is a battle. She took my words to heart. Even though the woman was terrified, she gathered her courage, assembled the group, and even stood up for herself when she went off script with the martini.

Chelsea is trying. And dammit, if that doesn’t make me want her even more. I clench my fists, fighting off the desire to turn around and wrap them around her luscious thighs. Soon. I’ll have her soon. It’s only a matter of time.

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