Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders (3 page)

“You’re beautiful.” His tongue traced from the tip down to where the tear culminated at the small of her back. She hated the scars and even though her dress today covered most of them, he knew she’d covered herself with makeup. Not only that, but all of the girls in the wedding party had gone and had their hair done in a style that was pinned up. She’d not gone with them to the salon, choosing instead to wear her hair down. He knew why. She hid behind the veil of her hair, which was beautiful and thick, but she did hide. She even had bangs, bangs he loved, but he didn’t like it when they covered her eyes. Her gorgeous, bright eyes that protected him in his dreams.

He slid the straps back in place. Nuzzling behind her ear he whispered, “You’re a survivor, an exquisite dark copper haired sexy woman with smooth dewy skin and bewitching blue eyes. It’s a crime to hide any inch of your beauty. I want all of you.”

He turned her and saw her eyes bigger than he’d ever seen them. He’d need a life raft to escape their depths.

“You don’t play fair. You’ve stripped me bare, but you won’t confide in me about the death of your parents. I love you Jackson, but it hurts me when I see you in pain, keeping all your worries and deadlines to yourself. Talk to me.”

He wanted to talk to her, but whenever he tried the words wouldn’t come. He felt his mouth working, but there was no voice to be had. He wanted to be strong for her. Didn’t want to burden her with the stress in his life. It wasn’t fair to her. If she weren’t with him she’d be so much better off, but he was selfish and kept her tied to him. Every waking day he was afraid she’d realize he was a disaster and leave him. It was his greatest fear. Greater than the loss of his parents, greater than not being able to pay his bills, greater than failing medical school. “I want to tell you and I will. Please. Just give me more time.”

She nodded and placed her palm to his jaw. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

His forehead went down on hers. “That means everything.”

The mood was too heavy and he sought to lighten it. “I don’t understand the concept of lingerie.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He bent and kissed the corner of her mouth. “It’s designed to be worn, but all I want to do is rip it from your body.”

“Oh, don’t do that. I want to keep it.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I want you to keep it too.” Lifting the hem, he pulled the delicate fabric over her head until she stood before him in just a sheer thong, blushing across her cheeks. She was stunning and smiling at him with that dimpled smile that made his breath hitch. “I will never get used to how beautiful you are. It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time, every time.”

He bent and took her mouth. Gently, he massaged her lips in his. She opened to him, her tongue seeking his. Soft moans escaped her throat and her hands explored his back.

“Jackson”—she whispered—“please, I need you.”

He guided them down to the bed and slid off her underwear. Sliding slowly into her soft wet heat had him exhaling deeply. In their chaotic world the only time he was able to fully let go was when he was inside of her. Their connection made it possible for him to feel complete and secure; her fate was his fate. No matter what, in that moment, they were one. She couldn’t slip away from him.

He needed to be with her for as long as possible so he set the pace with slow, rhythmic movements. Her fingertips skimmed from his neck down to his back. The light touch captivated him as she moaned and seemed intent on plotting every peak and valley he had. Her eyes closed and he took her in as he did every time. Memorizing her every breath, sound, and motion, he wanted to freeze time so that they could be like this forever.

He bent and placed his lips on hers, kissing and gently massaging. He pulled back to observe the drunken effect he had on her—her ice blue eyes darker by a shade and heavily draped by her eyelids and lashes. “Three words … they’re not enough to express what I feel for you.”

“And three million words”—she gasped a breath into her body—“still wouldn’t be enough.”

He took a perfectly formed little nipple into his mouth and pulled, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from her. He released her and rubbed his cheek over the erect tip basking in the sensation.

“No, three million words wouldn’t even make a dent.” He slowed the rhythm of their connection until beads of sweat popped up on his brow from holding back and she moaned for more.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but she’d been content to let him feel her for a while before blue lasers pinned him in place. “I need …”

He placed a sensual kiss on her swollen lips. “I’ve got you.” He knotted their fingers together and rested their hands above her head. Gradually he increased the pace of their love making until they were both ready to come together somewhere in the clouds.

It had been forty-five minutes. His girl was patient with him and he loved her, irrevocably.

Chapter 3

After he’d thoroughly
loved her and they’d showered, Clara sat at the bar in their little apartment while she watched Jackson in the kitchen as he rummaged through takeout menus in the junk drawer.

Suddenly he stopped and stared at her. “Hey, I got you something.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I almost forgot. Let me go get it out of the car.” As he walked past her he kissed her lips and handed her the pizzeria menu.”

He got a lot of enjoyment out of giving her little surprises and she’d learned to graciously accept them, but it didn’t change the fact that they didn’t have much money.

She had her job at Moretti’s Italian restaurant. It had started off as summer employment only, but when she’d transferred to Louisiana State University they’d asked her to work thirty-two hours per week. A few weeks later Mrs. Moretti became too sick to make the house mozzarella and so their son taught Clara the process of making fresh cheese. She discovered she loved using her hands to work with food. Now she was responsible for making all the mozzarella they used in the restaurant and what was sold in the store. She’d make batches of cheese in the early morning hours before class and she’d return after class to work the cheese counter in the store. She loved it but Mr. Moretti was a tough boss. Jackson had wanted her to quit so many times she’d lost count. It was true, Moretti was not a nice man, but she overlooked his demeanor because the poor man had been in much pain since his wife had died.

“Close your eyes,” she heard Jackson yell from the front door.

She pivoted on the bar stool and waited for whatever he had planned.

“Keep them closed.”

She was smiling and tapped her foot with excitement. Cold ceramic was placed in her hands. Her fingers traced the fluted edge. She squealed, “I know what it is.”

“What?”

“The pie dish.”

Jackson kissed her nose. “Open your eyes.”

“Oh my God, it’s pink. My favorite color!”

“It’s a special edition for breast cancer awareness.”

“Thanks, Cracker Jack. I love it.”

“Your delicious chicken pot pie deserves a proper dish.”

“Oh, I’ll make you one soon.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Order a pizza and I’ll cue up “The Last Walk Home” on the DVD player.

Just as she was about to order pizza for their date night her phone lit up. It was Mr. Moretti calling.

“Hello.” She heard his slurred words, but couldn’t decipher their meaning. “Mr. Moretti?” His nightly ritual included a few passes at the corner bar. Luckily, he lived in a rental directly above the bar. Her eyes collided with Jackson’s smoldering gaze. She mouthed to Jackson,
He’s drunk
. He slightly cocked a brow, not even marginally shocked. The line disconnected and she shrugged. “I hope everything’s okay.”

Her phone rang again. “It’s Moretti’s son.”

“Hello.”

“Hey Clara, I’m so sorry to bother you, but it’s somewhat of an emergency. The delivery was delayed. They’d told me the truck would arrive early in the morning, but it’s at the restaurant now. It would take me an hour fifteen to get there, but they won’t wait. Would it be possible for you to accept the delivery?”

She liked Lucian. He’d had to deal with the slow and agonizing illness that took his mother and then after her death, his father’s total desolation.

“I’m sorry Clara. I would ask my father but he’s …”

He didn’t finish the sentence so she interjected, “No problem. I’ll head over there right now.”

She watched Jackson’s jaw twitch from its tightly fixed position. He’d give himself a migraine. She hung up the phone, jumped up, and slipped her feet into flip-flops. “Forty minutes tops. Order the pizza, I’ll be back in a flash and then we can start the movie.”

“If you think I’m letting you go alone to an empty restaurant at night then you don’t know me very well.” He stood. “I’ll drive.”

Hands clasped, they rode in silence to the restaurant. The delivery truck was waiting when they got there. They exited the car and Jackson followed her to greet the man in the truck. He stepped down from the truck and approached her with a nod. “How you doing.” He passed her a clipboard and indicated where she needed to sign. His lips formed into a nasty smirk as his eyes traveled over her tank top and down the length of her. She suddenly regretted not throwing on a pair of jeans instead of the short knit shorts she wore. His mouth parted, his tongue tracing his bottom lip as his hand landed on her shoulder.

She crossed her arms across her chest and looked around for Jackson, but his hands were already on the creep. He had him pinned against the truck with his hands twisted in the guy’s shirt.

“Make the delivery.” Jackson slammed the man’s body against the truck before releasing him. “Keep your eyes off her if you want to keep your spleen.”

When he released him the man huffed out some expletives. Jackson stood by watching every movement, jaw ticking and his stance dripping with power and charge. She hated the circumstance, but loved to watch him exert his dominance, especially where she was concerned. She fought off a shiver thinking what may have happened had he not been there.

She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “How about I go inside and prepare a pizza for us.” He nodded his assent, but never removed his focus from the deliveryman.

While the pizza baked away in the oven, she prepared a caprese salad using mozzarella she’d made yesterday. She sliced deeply into a tomato as warm hands caressed her from behind, sliding over her waist and across her stomach to pull her back.

“The delivery is secure.” He set the invoice on the counter. “I got the guy’s name and truck number. I was thinking of reporting him, but I’d fear retaliation and, unlike this time, I may not be around.”

He turned her around to face him. “Thinking what may have happened had I not been here had me more scared than I’ve ever been.”

She kissed his chin. “But you were here.” Pushing a stool up to the counter she pointed, indicating he should sit. She put a plate of salad in front of him and handed him a roll of silverware.

With a white towel draped over her arm she presented a large pepper mill. “Care for some freshly cracked pepper sir?”

A smile erased any leftover traces of his agitation from the delivery ordeal. “Please miss.”

She heard his knife and fork scrape the plate, followed by moans of satisfaction. “Mmm, you’re worth so much more than eight dollars per hour. This is the most tender mozzarella I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.” Using the fork in his hand he gestured at his salad. “Knocks this salad out of the park.”

“I don’t think Mr. Moretti has more than eight dollars to give me.”

“No, I don’t guess he would if he’s drinking it away every night.”

“Jackson, his wife died. It hasn’t been so long ago.”

“I know baby.” His brow creased. “Your altruistic nature is just one of the things I love about you.” He kissed her cheek as he patted her butt.

She brought the pizza to the table and they devoured it.

“Mmm. Superb.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You have very talented fingers.”

They ate until they were full and then she started the cleanup process. He watched her as he delighted in a slice of Tiramisu. She packed him two leftover slices of pizza for tomorrow’s lunch and grabbed a pre packaged side salad from the fridge.

She hollered from her bent over position at the refrigerator, “What dressing do you want for your lunch salad?”

“Italian.”

She pulled a picnic package of utensils and a white sack from beneath the counter. Smiling, she wrote a love note on the napkin and laid it on top of the styrofoam containers, wishing she could be present when he read it.