“Jackson!” Never in her life had she done so much screeching. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Suffering. You gotta tell me something here, Alani. Please.”
Frustrated, she snapped, “Can’t you turn it off for just a minute? We need to talk.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Red-eyed and a little shaky, he still sounded and looked on the make. It was there in his voice, the set of his hard shoulders, the probing way he watched her. “Since the day I laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted to get you out of your panties. You know it, because I wasn’t shy about it.”
“Certainly not.” He’d been overwhelmingly obvious.
“And now it seems like I finally did, but damn it all, I can’t remember it. Before you can expect me to concentrate on anything else, you gotta put me out of my misery.”
Her mouth pinched; she forced herself to face him again. “Okay, so maybe you don’t remember, but still you know.” He wasn’t an idiot. Waking up with her naked, wrapped around him, smiling like a satisfied sap, had to be a pretty good clue.
His gaze stroked over her features. “I’m assuming.” His interest settled on her mouth. “I’m hoping. But I need the details.” He caressed her shoulders. “Damn, woman, do I ever need the details.”
Yes, to some extent he probably did. That’d only be fair. But she’d be judicious. She’d tell him only the basics. All the rest, her overblown moans and begging, the things he’d done to her, the things she loved him doing…no way would she tell him any of that.
Not looking at him helped, but just a little. She swallowed and whispered, “You…we…”
“Had sex?”
Sex didn’t quite cover it, but she nodded and took a breath. “Yes.”
Muscled arms came around her once more, cuddling her close, his hold somehow pleased and possessive. “It was good?”
Could Jackson Savor be insecure about his performance? Actually, that’d make sense for anyone who couldn’t remember. She nodded.
He growled low, “Did you come?”
She tried to lurch away, but instead she found herself turned into him, her breasts against his chest, his heartbeat matching her own.
As if he already sensed the answer—and liked it—he got that seductive, lazy look about him. “Did you?”
Face hot, she nodded. “I…yes.”
Mouth curling the smallest bit, he whispered, “A wimpy little come, or a really smokin’ hot, screaming orgasm?”
Memories battered her, wearing her down until her mouth went dry. Rather than admit too much, she settled on saying, “Um…not wimpy.”
He expanded on a deeply indrawn breath. “Did I go down on you?”
Oh, lord. She felt it all again, that insane spiraling of pleasure, growing tighter and tighter, the touch of his cool hair and rough jaw on the insides of her thighs, his velvet tongue, the gentle bite of his teeth.
The tugging of his mouth as he sucked on her most sensitive flesh.
Her breath labored, and…she nodded.
Jackson’s muscles bunched, his nostrils flared. His voice going thick and hot, he asked, “Did you come then, too, darlin’? With my mouth on you?”
Her orgasm had been so incredible, she’d wept. But she couldn’t bring herself to be that explicit. She licked her lips and, in a mere breath of sound, admitted, “Yes.”
Putting his forehead to hers, Jackson groaned like a man in agony.
Alani touched his chest. Heat, strength, safety. He was all of that and so much more. But why couldn’t he remember? “Were you sick, Jackson? Is that why you can’t remember?” Looking at the morning in a new way, she realized he’d been seriously ill.
And she’d stormed out on him.
Flushed with shame, she cupped a hand around his neck. “Are you all right now?”
“All right? Hell, no. I’m tortured by what I can’t remember.” He covered her hand with his, lifted it to his mouth to kiss her palm. “After all that time of me wanting you so bad, and you turning me down flat, how the hell did I finally manage to win you over?”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WASN’T EASY for Alani to accept that he truly couldn’t recall a single detail. She’d suffered so much angst over her gullibility, over behavior that, for all intents and purposes, no longer mattered.
Except that she wanted to do it again.
Unwilling to expose her heart, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“C’mon, darlin’. Something swayed you.” He tried a strained half smile. “Help me out here.”
Because Jackson looked so agonized, she tried to give him the simplest of truths. “It doesn’t matter anymore, but it was the things you said as much as anything you did.”
“Yeah?” He brought up her chin, leaving her no choice but to look into his deep green eyes. “Like what?”
He kept touching her with an implied intimacy, stroking, nuzzling. She’d just spent hours coming to grips with the idea that she’d succumbed to a one-night stand, yet he acted as though they’d just begun a long affair.
She discounted everything he’d said last night, but still…did he want more?
If so, how much more?
He trailed his fingers over her cheek, around her neck, over her bare shoulder.
She shivered. Jackson might be sick from whatever had taken his memory, but he was still the quintessential primal male. Always.
At least…that’s how he always was with her.
Was he like that with every woman? Probably. Even Dare’s and Trace’s wives had noted Jackson’s good looks and sex appeal.
Shaking her head, Alani refused to think about it. “It was just…things you said. That’s all.” Things he’d promised, commitments he’d insinuated. “I guess it’s the stuff guys say to women when they want to talk them into bed.”
That made him frown. “Like what? Compliments? Big deal. When have I ever not complimented you?”
Sure, Jackson did a lot of sweet-talking—while on the make. “No, this was different.” This had felt more genuine, wrought from emotion and not just lust.
“How?” His attention drifted to her chest. “I bet I told you how damn sexy you are.”
Resisting an eye roll wasn’t easy. Later he had called her sexy, but at that point they’d already been on a heated path to lovemaking and she’d felt sexy.
She wasn’t sure she could pinpoint the moment that she’d known she would sleep with him, but that day he’d been different. Not more intense, because that wasn’t possible. Jackson was always intense.
But from the second she’d walked in the door, he’d looked at her, touched her and spoken to her differently.
He’d spoken from his heart—or so she’d thought.
Renewed embarrassment made her defensive. “Actually, you said I’m pretty.” And that was both sweeter and more touching than claiming her “hot” or “sexy.” Those sentiments had been expressed by the men who’d taken her, the men who’d manhandled her, restrained her, touched her, the men who’d planned to—
“Hey.”