A Kiss for Luck (4 page)

Clara was still shuddering from the pleasure pulsing through her when Jackson clasped her tightly to him and flipped onto his back, reversing their positions. He 25

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brought his knees up behind her. Taking the invitation, she sat up and leaned against his long legs as she tried to regain her breath.

Her eyes were closed in sated bliss and her head fell back when Jackson’s thumb fanned over the tip of one breast. Her skin was incredibly sensitive after three intense orgasms and her nipple tightened as another pulse of pleasure zinged through her body, going directly to her pussy, causing her to clench around him involuntarily. She blinked, looking down at Jackson through heavily lidded eyes when he moaned.

He was staring at her in a mixture of hunger and awe while his hand trailed between the valley of her breasts, over her stomach and then gripped her hip. He pulled her tightly to him as he thrust up in a counteraction that created a totally different type of friction, sending new ripples of pleasure through her.

Feeling languid and lazy, her eyes closed and her head rolled back again. She used the support of Jackson’s legs behind her to rest against as he continued to pull her hips forward with one hand, still thrusting into her and creating the most decadent waves of ecstasy. “Mmm, so good,” she said with a breathy sigh. She didn’t know if it was the position they were in or the fact she was so relaxed and sensitive after her previous climaxes, but she was really enjoying his slow movements. “I like it like this.”

“Me too,” Jackson said in a voice gravelly with sex, pulling her against him again to emphasize his words. “You’re fucking gorgeous over me.”

Her eyes opened to look down at him, a surprised smile tugging at her lips. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve always said you were beautiful,” he said, still looking at her with a darkened, lust-clouded gaze. “You just never believed me.”

Clara fell over him then, her hand resting on the comforter by his head. She moved her hips, taking him deeper, making the friction between their bodies almost unbearably intense as they both moaned. She smiled again when Jackson’s eyes rolled back, his features etched in deep pleasure.

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“You’re beautiful to me too,” she whispered, soaking in the vision of him so lost in the bliss of making love to her. She wanted to say more, to tell him that he always haunted her dreams, that just his presence was enough to make her want him, but she stopped herself and leaned down to run her lips over the exposed line of his throat.

“Fuck, Clara.” Jackson’s head lolled farther to the side as she ran her tongue along his neck to the sensitive place behind his ear. “That feels good.”

His large palm was spread over her lower back. He pushed her against him and thrust upward, making the breath hiss out of her when he hit an extra sensitive place inside her. Their low moans filled the air, mingling together while they moved in a lazy, languid rhythm, slowly building the tension until they were both breathless and gasping with every tiny movement.

Clara buried her face against his neck, still nipping and sucking at the skin there, not caring if she left a mark as she felt herself rise to a precipice once more.

“Touch yourself again,” Jackson rasped, his voice so low it sent shivers over Clara’s body. “Let me watch you.”

Clara sat up, gasping as Jackson gripped her hips once more, pulling her hard against him. He was just so large, both thick and long, stretching her and going so deep she could feel him touching her cervix. The ache was so intense it was almost painful, and despite her earlier climaxes, she found herself desperate for release as she leaned back, one hand resting against his thigh as the other slid between her wet curls.

She traced the line of his cock at the point where his body joined hers, feeling him hard and wet from her, and savoring his low growl as a shiver ran over his body when she touched him.

Clara shuddered when she saw him staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes, watching what her fingers were doing, being so captivated he actually leaned up on one arm to see better.

Knowing she was turning him on, that she could so easily hold him rapt with her actions caused even more lust to wash over her. Conscious of what he really wanted to 27

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see, she raised her fingers higher and started rubbing against the sensitive nub between her folds.

Jackson was always in her mind when she did this to herself, but having him beneath her, watching her while he was buried deep inside her made the act a thousand times more passionate. Her head fell back as she rocked over him, touching herself, the dual stimulation causing her to gasp out loud.

She squeezed her eyes shut when pleasure spread through her again, making her call out his name when he roughly pulled her hips against him, thrusting into her faster.

Bliss was still pulsing through her system, but she opened her eyes anyway when Jackson tensed beneath her, his back arching as his body shuddered. “God, Clara,” he said through clenched teeth.

Jackson would never know how gorgeous he was to her at that moment, with his face etched in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell heavily back against the comforter. Even if everything went to hell in the morning, and Clara knew it probably would, she felt the moment being burned into her brain, saving it in the secret place that was just for Jackson.

The insecure teenager she used to be reminded her once again that this could never last, that guys like him didn’t really want girls like her. More so the broken woman her husband had left her cynically assumed that even if Jackson thought he loved her, life could evaporate the passion and love quickly. Tears stung her eyes as she fell over him, breathless and sweaty, too sated to bother to get up and go to the bathroom. Jackson’s hand ran slowly from her shoulder down to the curve of her back. It was a sweet caress, one from a man who had always meant so much more to her than just a friend. She had to bite her lip to stop the sob trapped in the back of her throat, and she reached up to wipe at the stray tear before it hit his bare shoulder.

She rolled off Jackson knowing he probably wanted space to breathe. Her eyes were still watery and she was so emotional she turned from him, curling on her side and 28

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looking out her window as she listened to Jackson’s breathing fall back to a normal pace.

He rolled over, a strong arm wrapping around her from behind, his voice a whisper against her skin. “Will you sleep here tonight?”

“Sure,” she squeaked, the tears obvious in her voice. She cleared her throat, fighting for strength to hide the vulnerability from him. “I-I mean, yes, sure. I’d love to stay here.”

He was silent for a moment, as if wanting to say more. He finally leaned forward, placing a kiss against the back of her bare shoulder. “I hope this year is good to you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, his voice aching. “You deserve it, Clara Bow. I want you to be happy. I want it more than anything.”

She bit her lip, not knowing why she was so emotional. She had to take a few quivering breaths before she whispered, “Ditto.”

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For a doctor Clara slept deeply and Jackson sat there wishing he could learn that trick. He was too conditioned to wake on a dime. Even if he weren’t he wouldn’t be doing a whole lot of sleeping with Clara curled up naked next to him.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and brushed her dark, curly hair from her face. He studied her beautiful features relaxed in sleep like a man starved. This was something he had dreamed of since ninth grade when he had sat in Clara’s living room attempting to comprehend the algebra his parents paid her to teach him. Yet the reality of how much he had confessed to weighed on him. He should have kept his hands to himself and his mouth shut. Even if the sex was incredible it wasn’t worth losing his best friend over.

He had always been attracted to women like Clara—brilliant, successful, self-assured women who made things happen for themselves. He saw those traits in her when they were both teenagers, an intelligence and bold independence that made her so very different from the ditzy, shallow girls he dated because he knew there would never be any pressure on him to be witty or make clever conversation. The girls he had dated usually didn’t care about anything other than his abs and his ability to open a beer with the muscles on his forearm.

They whetted his appetite and distracted him through high school and college. Had even sustained him through the first year of Clara’s marriage when his unhappiness over losing her to a man he loathed had left him lonely and desperate for a distraction from the pain.

He groaned, wishing for what had to be the millionth time for a change in preference as far as women went. With an acute attention deficit disorder and dyslexia, he had never been brilliant enough to appeal to someone as well educated as Clara for 30

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anything other than a drunken roll in the hay. He couldn’t go to medical functions and conferences and blend in like Frank did.

Not that he thought Frank was good for her. Jackson hated that bastard. He was a condescending prick, one of those who somehow sensed Jackson’s insecurities around intellectuals and preyed on them like any good bully would. The guy was such an asshole Jackson and Clara had nearly stopped being friends when she’d married him.

But ultimately Jackson was a little too much of a glutton for punishment to let Clara go.

Now here she was, naked in his bed and he fought the urge to run away because the reality of him not being good enough for her was making him sick when he knew now how amazing it really was. Better than any fantasy, she wasn’t just beautiful, brilliant and successful, she was also wildly passionate, yet oddly innocent in a way that had him hard and aching for her.

Knowing what a rare commodity a deep sleep was to Clara, Jackson got out of bed because the temptation of waking her and loving her while she was sated and not aware enough to realize the error of her ways was too much.

In an attempt to keep quiet, he padded naked out of his bedroom. He tugged on his jeans in the living room and then sat staring at the fire that had died down to glowing embers of red in the semidarkness of the room. Desperate for some sort of relief from the anxiety, he eyed the bottle of wine Clara had abandoned.

Drinking it straight out of the bottle, he discovered it wasn’t quite so good stale and warm. It also wasn’t near enough to cure the heartache. He found himself restless quickly. Not good at sitting still, especially when faced with a riot of emotions he didn’t want to have to deal with, he tugged on his boots and pulled on his pants, shirt and jacket before he could search for something in his cabinet that would wash away the pain more effectively than wine.

The cold hit him in an arctic blast once he walked out of the lobby of his apartment building. He pulled up the zipper of his leather jacket, tucking his hands deep into his pockets as he breathed in the icy air and tilted his head back to feel the snow against his 31

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face, watching the snowflakes sparkling under the glow from the street lamps as they drifted down to earth.

The cold and a brisk walk was probably what he needed to get his head on straight.

It was certainly a better solution than getting drunk off his ass and having Clara find him passed out on the couch in the morning.

“Jackson!”

He stopped on the curb, turning around to look back toward the entrance of his apartment building. He gaped when he saw Clara step into the cold, snowflakes landing in her curly brown hair that fell past her shoulders. She wore only her old blue robe and his green bedroom slippers, but she seemed to shine like a wanton angel under the burnished yellow glow from the street lamps.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, rushing back to her without thought, wanting to get her out of the cold when she had so little protection against it. His boot caught on a patch of ice and before he knew it he was flat on his back, staring up into a dark sky with just a streak of morning gray showing in the distance. Robbed of breath, he managed to choke out a shallow, “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?”

Jackson blinked and found Clara blocking his view of the night sky when she leaned over him. Her hair tickled his face as a wrinkle of concern marred her forehead.

Still trying to breathe, he reached up before he could help himself, rubbing the pad of his finger over the unnatural line and gathering strength from the connection. The shock of the fall finally cleared from his lungs and he said, “It’s freezing. We need to get you inside.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, grabbing his hand and making an effort to pull him up.

Clara had been his best friend for a long time. She had seen him at lower points than this but he chuckled self-consciously anyway. “Only my pride.”

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“Yeah, that was pretty uncool,” she said, laughing with him as he stood. She seemed unwilling to let him go, holding onto his arm as he dusted at his now cold, wet and considerably dirty jeans. “Certainly not your usual standard of white knight chivalry.”

“I’m fine. Let’s head back in. It’s freezing. What the hell were you thinking?”

Jackson wrapped his arm around her to keep her warm. Hoping he wouldn’t get her dirty, he tugged her close as they started walking back to the apartment. She leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against his jacket as she whispered, “I stand corrected.”

“‘Bout what?” he asked, reaching out to open the front door to the apartment building.

“You’re still a white knight. Always chivalrous.”

“Sorta fucked it up,” he said, gesturing to himself now dirty and covered in melting slush. “What were you doing outside anyway?”

“Oh,” she said, reaching out to push the button on the elevator. “You always walk when you’re anxious or upset about something. I woke up and found you gone. I figured you took off. I was worried about you.”