Page 36 of Inevitable Love
“So,” she starts quietly, “when I was in high school, my parents had this grand plan for me and my sister. The best colleges, the best programs, and then we were to fold ourselves into their law firm and carry on their legacy. Only, I didn’t really want to be a lawyer. Guess I never really fit in, even in my own family. My sister was the scholar, not me. I liked cooking and wasn’t into the constant hustle that my parents and sister seemed to thrive on.” Twin lines appear on her forehead, and she’s quiet for a long moment.
I hold my breath, feeling an odd sense of foreboding. It takes everything in me not to bristle. Part of me wants to find whoever hurt her and make them pay.
“Then, something bad happened, and through that bad thing, I realized life is too short to be stuck in a career that doesn’t make you happy. So I ditched their collegiate plans and used the money my grandma had left me and went to culinary school. I used the rest to start the bakery.”
Does she realize how inspiring she is? “That’s fucking amazing.” I knew her in high school; she was only two years behind me. But back then, she’d strictly been my little sister’s best friend, and I’d been a stupid, self-absorbed teenager, trying to cope with my own bullshit, and ditched town as soon as I could. I hadn’t known the details of her life.
“Yeah.” She lifts a shoulder. “Well, it cost me my relationship with my family. They act like being a baker isn’t good enough. I mean, my perfect sister is now a partner in their firm, fighting big, important corporate legal battlesand winning million-dollar cases. My greatest decisions hinge on if I want to change up my menu—definitely not life-altering nor earth-shattering stuff.”
She’s staring down at her hands like she does when she goes deep in thought. The next thing she’ll do is start picking at her nails. I place my hand over hers to stop that action before it starts.
“Mags. You don’t need their validation. You are a successful entrepreneur.” Does she not see how courageous it was for her to step out beyond their expectations? My pride in her triples.
“But if I do well with this reunion, it might mean more catering gigs, and that could mean expansion,” she continues, like my words didn’t even register.
“If that’s what you want, that’s fine. But is it?”
Her voice turns sad. “I guess I just want them to be proud of me.” The words are soft, but they pierce my heart so completely I’m cupping her cheek and turning her face to mine before I can stop myself from kissing her. It’s a simple touch of my lips to hers, but I’m trying to say so much more than a single kiss can express. I need her to know she’s perfect just as she is.
She doesn’t pull away, and one kiss turns to two as her lips part, allowing me to slip my tongue inside. She tastes like strawberries, she smells like my soap, and even the thrill of kissing her is magnified because I know I shouldn’t. She’s off-limits. She’s not for me. I’m nowhere near good enough for this woman—even my sister would agree with that.
Two kisses turn into me setting aside the pillow and bowl without losing her mouth. I pitch myself over her, shifting her until she’s stretched out under me on the couch, settling my weight on her, feeling her arms wrap around me.
She is all I see, taste, feel, and it’s so right, so incredibly intoxicating.
“I should go,” she pants against my cheek when I sip at the line of her jaw.
Sliding my fingers into her hair, I lean more of my weight onto her. “Stay.” It’s a demand, a request, and a prayer, all rolled into one four-letter word that comes from somewhere deep within me.
“Jackson.” She rolls her head away.
I circle my fingers around her wrist, holding her hand against my chest. “Mags, please.”
A knot forms in my throat when she finally meets my gaze. Channeling that part of me that kicks to life when I’m faced with a raging fire, I want to say and do the right thing, anything that will keep her from walking out that door. Adrenaline has my heart thumping so hard she can probably feel it where her fingers trace circles on my skin.
“Hear me out,” I say. “We are obviously attracted to each other. Can’t keep our eyes and mouths off each other. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t get you out of my head.”
She doesn’t move a muscle other than staring at me while her tongue sneaks across her lower lip.
“Stay with me tonight,” I plead. “You can’t tell me you don’t wish you could remember every vivid detail of that night. I know I do. Let’s have tonight, get it out of our systems.”
The fact she doesn’t immediately push me away and run out screaming gives me some hope.
“You know that never works in a romance novel, right?” she quips, one brow rising.
Fuck yes. If she’s tossing out jokes, we’re out of the deep stuff. Also, she hasn’t dumped me off the couch on my ass, so maybe there’s hope.
“Just one night? And then we go back to being friends?”
I let my mouth answer for me, let my hands roam up her side, under the hem of her shirt. Let my fingertips trail the smooth, soft skin above her waistband. Splaying my fingers across her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
Her moan is all the response I need.
Chapter Thirteen
Maggie
Jackson’s mouth is… everything. Holy shit, this man can kiss.
