South Island PD: Dark Blue Part 8

Her beautiful, happy face stood in stark contrast to the haunted, tired mask Kate Sanders' had been. Even after all his years of living as a victim of it, Jackson still didn't understand how someone could abuse someone they'd sworn to love that way.

G.o.d willing, he'd never personally experience the depths of whatever depravity was necessary to lash out that way. He'd rather eat his Glock than live like the puny tyrant his father had been: a raging, self-absorbed a.s.s who'd lived for whatever high he could get his hands on.

"At least now I know it wasn't just me," Belle said.

"What wasn't just you?"

"When you wrote me that speeding ticket, I wondered if you were always such a harda.s.s. Now I know you are. I'd be willing to bet there are officers who would've turned a blind eye to a call like the one you responded to, but not you. You did the right thing, even though it meant arresting one of your own. In comparison, my little speeding ticket seems insignificant."

That made his face heat up. "Listen, about that ticket"

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head. "Truth be told, I admire your consistency. I think you have more backbone and integrity than the average cop."

"You know, most people I give tickets to would like to see me fed alive to sharks."

Her att.i.tude toward the ticket boggled the mind. He was used to being argued with, pleaded with and cursed at. Belle didn't lower herself to any of those levels. h.e.l.l, she'd just paid him a compliment.

One that made him feel ten feet tall, even sitting down.

When their dinner arrived, they left the conversation about Sanders behind.

Instead, they talked about things that didn't quell his appet.i.te: the rebuilding of an iconic island pier, how Belle's parents had downsized as empty-nesters, moving to Summerville, and what her brothers had ended up doing with their lives.

Jackson didn't have much to say when it came to family. He was an only child, and his mother's liver had given out years ago after a lifetime of drug use. His father was in prison. He skirted those details with small talk, bringing up how horrible traffic would be the first weekend in September, during the annual South Island Fest.

It was all normal stuff, and he was more than happy to discuss it with her. Just hearing her voice and watching her lips move was a pleasure. But it wasn't what he really wanted to talk to her about.

He wanted to ask her why she'd changed her mind about him, why she'd agreed to this date and whether she was glad she had. She was obviously aware that he'd changed done something with his life since they'd last met, and he wanted to know whether it was enough to make him desirable to her, for more than just s.e.x.

He suspected it might be, since she'd obviously been uncomfortable the other night when she'd thought that was what he'd shown up looking for. If she didn't want that, why would she agree to go out with him unless it was to pursue what they hadn't years ago: something more than just a half-night stand.

Despite the logic of his reasoning, he wanted to hear her say it to know for sure.

Because every word she spoke and every look she gave him stirred a growing hunger, one that food didn't diminish. She was back, and he was certain: she was even lovelier than when she'd left. He wanted her for real this time, with strings attached.

He wanted the chance to truly make her his, not just to make himself her first.

CHAPTER 8.

Belle slipped off her sandals after dinner and left them in the sand, just in front of the dunes that separated the beach from the parking lot that stretched beyond it. Jackson took his shoes off too, and together, they walked the same beach they'd admired during dinner.

It was dusk and the sky was a steely grey streaked with sh.e.l.l pink and fiery orange. All those colors reflected on the water, s.h.i.+fting and glittering here and there as the day died. The sand was starting to cool, and little crabs skittered across its surface, ghost-like.

They walked without talking for a while, but it wasn't silence. Noise was all around them: the cras.h.i.+ng, rus.h.i.+ng surf and the wind in their hair. A few locks had escaped from her knot, and they whipped around her face. Jackson's strawberry blond hair had been cropped so short that the breeze barely affected it.

It'd been a little longer back when she'd known him before, but the short cut suited him. It was masculine and carefully shaped, just like his body.

He'd always been big and broad shouldered, but he'd definitely filled out. Lots of cops lifted weights, and he was clearly no different. Just looking at his muscles made her want to reach out and touch them, feel how firm they were.

She fantasized about that as they walked along, just out of the water's reach. Meanwhile, she watched him so closely that she noticed the moment he stopped in his tracks.

When he turned to face her, her heart picked up pace. The evening light didn't dull his eyes a bit.

"I'm glad you called," he said, his gaze locked with hers. "I don't know what made you change your mind, but I'm glad you did."

"What do you mean, change my mind?"

"I made you uncomfortable when I stopped by your place the other day, but you haven't given me that impression at all today."

"I'm not uncomfortable. And it's not that I didn't enjoy seeing you the other day I was just caught off guard."

Her face was warmer than the evening accounted for, and the sea breeze did nothing to cool it.

"I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression I wasn't trying to be sleazy by showing up at your place."

"You weren't sleazy."

"I'd never make those kind of a.s.sumptions, or use you like that," he added, his gaze finally wavering. "I mean, not unless you asked me to."

She couldn't help the smile that sprang to her lips. "You never used me. If anything, it was the other way around."

Although her heart had ached when she'd left the island the next day, she'd still been glad to leave her virginity behind. She'd felt more confident, not having to feel as if s.e.x was a mystery or worry about being totally inexperienced anymore.

Leaving Jackson behind had been a different story that had hurt.

"I'd like to go on thinking we both got something out of it," she said.

"Mmm." His serious expression had her biting her lip to keep from smiling too widely. "I think we can agree on that."

He took one of her hands in his their first touch in half a dozen years.

His hands were large and a little rough with calluses, just as she remembered. Heat radiated from her fingertips up her arm and into the rest of her body, concentrating in her core and winding her nerves tight. When she inhaled, the influx of breath was in time with the roar of the receding ocean. In that moment, the possibilities that spanned between her and Jackson's bodies seemed every bit as vast and powerful as the sea.

When he leaned in, she rocked up onto her toes to make up for the several inches of difference in their heights. His pull was gravitational; she met his lips with her own without thinking.

He had a crop of stubble like she'd noticed during the traffic stop a rough, golden shadow that scratched her jaw as he placed a hand on her waist and buried the other in her hair.

All of it the way her scalp p.r.i.c.kled, the heat of his mouth and pressure of his touch against the small of her back was mind-meltingly good. After all the fantasizing she'd done, after years of looking back with longing, giving in to the gravity between them again was a breath of fresh air.

Sea spray splashed her ankles, but it didn't stop them. When the kiss ended, it was because he'd pulled away. Holding her gaze, he slowly and deliberately untangled his hand from her hair and let his fingers slide from her waist.

The look in his eyes sent a frisson down her spine. So did the intensity of their color, a nuanced interplay of light and darkness. There were more shades of blue in those eyes than in the entire sea.

Water lapped over her feet then washed away, leaving her toes sunken in the sand. She stood firm, unable to look away from the man who'd played such a brief but unforgettable role in her life who'd given her a taste of something she'd been craving ever since.

Standing so close to him with his taste and heat on her lips felt surreal.

"I've been dying to do that since you rolled down your window alongside the bridge the other day," he said.

"Imagine the consequences if that was caught on dashcam."

"I'd enjoy rewatching it."

"I bet you would." She laughed, and he s.h.i.+fted his gaze to the sea, turning to face it.

She felt the absence of his attention like she felt the breeze; it was all around her, roaring in her ears and cooling her skin.

"What is it?" She couldn't tear her gaze from him. Unwavering, she admired the gorgeous silhouette his broad, strong frame cut against the dark water.

He shot her a questioning look before turning back to the sea.

"What's got your attention out there?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm pretending to be distracted."

"Why?"

"This is me being a gentleman. I don't want to risk this escalating like it did last time I kissed you on the beach."

She bit her lip again to keep from laughing, but a tiny snort escaped her.

"I haven't had much practice, okay?"

She stepped up beside him and watched the waves roll in.

"You didn't seem to mind the way things escalated last time."

"I knew you were leaving the next day it was my only chance. I couldn't resist."

She moved a little closer to him.

"You're making it harder than it has to be," he said when her shoulder brushed his arm.

"That's what she said." The words were out before she could second-guess them.

She felt the tremor in his shoulder, sensed his laughter before it burst free.

She laughed too.

They turned their backs on the water after that, trekking through the sand together and retrieving their shoes. There were no more kisses, but he held her hand until they reached the car.

Then he took her home.

"Do you want to come in for a little while?" Belle asked after unlocking her apartment door. "I can make some coffee. I've got ice cream in the fridge, too."

Jackson's mouth watered at the thought of her, not coffee or ice cream. He wanted to step inside like he wanted his next breath, but he wouldn't let himself. She'd met his kiss breath for breath on the beach; it would be too easy to seek out another, to see if her pa.s.sion would match his during much more than just a kiss.

He wasn't in the habit of putting off things he wanted, of counting on there being a tomorrow. Maybe it was his job, or the way he'd grown up, but the knowledge that any good thing might be s.n.a.t.c.hed away from him at any time was always in the back of his mind.

He'd wait to pursue anything more with Belle, though. He'd do it for her sake. She was more than just a quick f.u.c.k to him, and he didn't want her to doubt it.

If he stayed, she'd wonder about his motivations later, even if she enjoyed the night.

"Thanks, but no," he said. "I'm gonna head home."

Her lips tilted at the corners, as if they were being pulled down by their own luscious weight. "Oh, okay."

Then again, he didn't want her to think he wasn't enjoying her company, either. He'd enjoyed the evening more than he could remember enjoying anything in a long time.

"Look, Belle, I don't want you to think I'm only here to get you in bed, so I'm going to prove it by leaving."

"You can't have a cup of coffee or a bowl of ice cream without it ending up in bed?" She arched an eyebrow.

"That would depend on how you felt about it," he said, holding her gaze, "but if it came down to my willpower, then no I don't think I could."

Color highlighted the shapely arches of her cheekbones. "Maybe you've got a point. I had a good time, though. I'm sad it's over."

A hollow, clenching feeling filled his chest. "So am I, but I'll see you again soon."

She leaned against the doorframe. "When?"

"Whenever you want me. I'm working days right now, so my nights are free."

She nodded. "You have my number now. Will you call me this time?"

"You can count on it."

He didn't dare kiss her goodnight. Not with her front door wide open and warm light spilling out, reminding him of her invitation to enter.

Instead, he forced himself to walk away. The empty feeling in his chest increased as he approached his car, and it felt as if there was cement in his shoes. Turning her down sucked, but he knew he'd done the right thing.

Why did the right thing always feel so miserable?

Belle should've been glad when Jackson left. That kiss on the beach had sucked her in like a riptide, leaving her to tread water in an ocean of desire. Who knew what would've happened if he'd come into her apartment after that?

For all her reluctance to approach anything casually, for all her scars and hard-earned wariness, he tempted her in ways she hadn't antic.i.p.ated.