For the Love of Jazz (10 page)

“Leave, Annie.”

Instead, she cocked a brow at him. “What’s my favorite color?” she asked.

Blue
, he thought, even opened his mouth to answer before he clamped his lips shut.

“My favorite food?”

Strawberry shortcake.
“How in hell am I supposed to know? I haven’t seen you in years, sugar.”

She smiled serenely. “Why do I like rainy days?”

So you can curl up with a book and munch on popcorn.
Brows lowered, he stared at her.

She shrugged and said, “You like the color green.”
Green, like her eyes.
“You love steak and potatoes, sour cream only. You don’t like butter. Rainy days don’t bother you but you always liked the sun better. When it rained, you were supposed to stay in out of the rain. And that made it easier for Beau to find you.”

Shame slid through him, hot and greasy. He’d always done his best to hide from her whenever he took a pounding. It was humiliating looking at anybody, but it had been so much worse with her. All the years since then hadn’t done a damn thing to lessen that shame, either. She caught his shoulder as he turned away. “You think I don’t know what he did to you? To your momma? I was young, Jazz. Not blind. I knew. I’m the one who saw you go into the barn that first time after Beau nearly beat the life out of you. I told Alex about it because I didn’t think you would want Daddy to know.”

Whirling around, he shrugged off her hand. “I don’t need sympathy, Annie.”

“I haven’t any for you,” she replied evenly. “If my heart breaks for the little boy who was beaten black and blue, so be it. But what I felt about that little boy has nothing to do with why I am here now.

“I do know you,” she whispered, reaching out, laying one small, neatly manicured hand on his rigid arm. “You were my hero, Jazz. And I wanted to talk to you; we were friends, of a sort.”

“We were never friends, angel. I was friends with your rich brother and you were the nosy, little brat who had a crush on me,” he snapped. “Go home to Daddy, Annie. You want to talk to somebody, go talk to him.”

In the fading light, he saw the delicate color wash out of her cheeks and hurt bloom in those green eyes. And then she blinked, and as easily as that, a mask fell. She shrugged, carelessly. “Your loss, Jasper,” she told him, turning on her heel and heading for her car. The denim drew tight across her hips as she dug into the hip pocket for her keys.

Before Anne-Marie could reach for the handle, hard hands closed over her elbows, twirled her, pinned her against a heavy, male body. Against her back, she felt the cool, smooth glass of the window and the heat of the metal door against her legs. She raised her head, looked into those deep brown eyes that had haunted her dreams for years on end.

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” he whispered as he lowered his head to hers.

Oh.

Oh, my.

There really could be thunder and lightning bolts…

The ground seemed to open up beneath her feet, leaving her clinging to Jazz for balance. He nipped her lip and when her mouth opened, his tongue swept inside, tasting her, savoring, diving deep for more. His hands slid down the length of her body, plastering her against him. Against her belly, she could feel the thick, hard length of his erection. The feel of it did something to her insides, turning her all molten and soft—empty. Too damned empty.

Anne-Marie rose on her toes, pressed against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Desperate to get closer, she arched up against him, feeling the heat and power of his body against the softness of her own.

“Damn it, Annie. We shouldn’t do this.” Dragging his mouth away, Jazz stared down at her.
What in the hell am I doing?
he thought, dazed. He jerked his arms away from her, staring down at her. She raised one hand to her lips, touched them lightly. When her tongue darted out, slid over first her lower lip and then her upper, Jazz groaned.

What in the hell was he doing?

Alex would have killed him for even thinking what he was thinking, much less putting his thoughts into action. Desmond would have laid into him with a dull scalpel. By touching her, he betrayed both of them more than he already had.

Awkwardly, he opened his mouth to apologize but then the words froze when she took a single step toward him. And then another, and one more until she was close enough for him to see the wild pulse beating a tattoo under the thin skin of her neck. She pressed one finger to his lips, wrapped the arm around his neck, and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to the vee of skin bared by his simple, cotton button-down.

His eyes closed and his hands came up to cup the back of her neck, holding her against him.
Sweet Anne-Marie. God, I love you.
He had dreamed of her over the years, dreamed of a woman who had been just a child when he had left. Dreams that had kept him company at night, even after he’d married Sheri. Guilty dreams that he had denied having, dreams that felt so real, waking from them was almost painful.

Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, but Jazz always had. He’d fallen for her as a boy and those feelings had only strengthened in their years apart. Now, she stood in his arms, pressing herself against him. Totally and completely willing—and eager. He could see an answering hunger in her eyes, feel it in the way she leaned into him when he touched her. It was every dream he had ever had, and every nightmare. Because finally he could have her, but only for a while.

Jazz would never be able to hold her. He would never deserve her. But damned if he wouldn’t take whatever he could get before she walked away. He held her pressed tightly against him as she trailed a line of butterfly kisses up his neck.

“Why shouldn’t we do this, Jazz?” she asked, reveling in his taste. He tasted hot, erotic, forbidden. Like whiskey and chocolate. Her hands itched to touch him until with a sigh, she gave in, running her hands down his arms, up his sides, learning the long, lean body by touch.

She hadn’t come out here for this. Not intentionally.

But Anne-Marie had fallen in love with Jazz McNeil the first time she laid eyes on him at the tender age of ten. And she had always known there would be no other for her. The one time she had tried to use another man to forget about Jazz had ended in miserable failure and she never once again tried.

Nothing had changed that, not the sixteen years of separation, not the knowledge that he had been driving the night Alex had died. Jazz was it for her and he always had been.

Rigidly, Jazz stood in her arms and tried to think of the reasons they shouldn’t do this. There were reasons. He just couldn’t, for the life of him, think of them as she pressed another kiss to his collarbone, going up on her toes and pressing another whisper-soft kiss to his jawbone. It was torture, the satin soft feel of her mouth on his skin. He wanted to cradle her head between his hands and kiss her again, taste her, hold her open while he gorged on her.

Then he wanted to lean back and watch as she used that pretty rosebud mouth in other ways. Even the thought was enough to make him go cross-eyed with lust and when he lifted his hands to her waist, they were shaking.

She’s so tiny
, Jazz thought. Her waist was slender, so narrow he could nearly span it with his hands. Slender, almost delicate, like some kind of fairy princess and yet so strong. He could feel the strength in her hands as she clasped his shoulders, reaching up against him.

“Take me inside,” she whispered, lifting her head so she could stare at him.

“Anne-Marie…”

“Don’t tell me we shouldn’t do this. Don’t tell me anything. Just take me inside, Jazz. This is what I want.”

Hell. How could he argue with that? Especially not since it was something he’d been waiting half of his life for. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he boosted her up. She weighed less than nothing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking them over his hips. Through the layers of the clothes, he felt the heat of her sex and he groaned. Jazz made one last attempt at sanity, pressing his lips to her neck as he whispered, “Anne-Marie, this is not a good idea.”

Brushing her lips against his, she replied, “I think it’s a great idea. And I’m always right, didn’t Alex tell you that?” Then she covered his mouth with her own, burying her hands in his hair so she could hold him close.

His mind went blank and he couldn’t think. There were reasons why they shouldn’t do this, he knew there were. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single one. Thoughts of the betrayal he was committing fled his mind, chased out by the wonder of a dream come true.

She was here, with him, wrapped around him. With quick, light hands she touched him. With a soft, sweet mouth, she tasted him. No. No, he couldn’t let her go, not tonight.

With a groan, he fisted a hand in her hair and tugged her head back, covering her mouth completely. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, seeking out her sweet, addictive taste. She met him without hesitation, kissing him as deeply as he kissed her.

He started up the stairs to the front door, taking them by memory as he lost himself in her. She tasted of home, of cool nights, of long lazy summer days, of innocence and youth.

The bedroom up the stairs was too far away, too many steps. Instead, he wheeled to the right and took her to the couch, sitting on the couch with her in his lap. Molding the back of her skull in his hands, Jazz tore his mouth from hers, angling her head back, exposing her neck, pressing his lips to the pulse beating wildly there. The scent of her rose to haunt him as he lifted his head to stare at her. She smelled like honeysuckle. Jazz found himself craving a deeper taste. He wanted to press his lips to her skin and seek out the pulse points, find out if that teasing scent was stronger there. Perfume? Or was it just her?

His hands were shaking as he pulled her shirt from the waistband of her shorts. Slowly, he pulled the top off of her. She shook her hair back as he threw the shirt across the room. The lacy confection under the simple top made him smile. The white lace was so sheer, he could see her nipples through it. He stroked one and watched it stiffen under the lace. “I knew you weren’t as practical as you always pretended to be,” he whispered, running a finger along the edge of her bra. The smooth flesh roughed with goosebumps and her nipples strained against the lace.

Hands resting on the tops of her thighs, staring at him out of calm eyes, Anne-Marie smiled and let her head fall back as he cupped her breast in his hand. Delicate, soft, smooth. The rose of her nipples pushed against the lace of her bra and with a groan, he lowered his head and nipped gently at her through the webbing.

She shuddered, her hands reaching up to curve over his shoulders while his raced over her. He settled them on the couch, shifting Anne-Marie around so that he could undress her without completely letting go. In under a minute, she was sprawled across his lap wearing nothing more than a lacy bikini that matched the bra he had tossed over the back of the couch.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing his knuckles against the underside of her breast.

Smiling up at him, Anne-Marie murmured, “Thank you.” Running a hand through his heavy black hair, as she had always wanted to do, she told him, “You’re not too bad yourself.” Her head fell back, a tiny hum of pleasure inside her throat as his hands cupped her breasts.

“Anne-Marie…”

Through slitted eyes, she watched as the hesitancy once again entered his eyes. Slowly, she shifted until she was able to stand. And just as slowly, she rose to her feet, her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, mouth swollen. Her tongue darted out to lick at her lips as she knelt in front of him.

“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be with you, in some way.” She reached for the button of his fly, smiling as his belly jumped under the light brush of her hands. “I didn’t come here for this. But I know that I would have, sooner or later.” With her head tipped back, she looked at him and traced the length of him through his boxer-style briefs. “I don’t believe in wasting time.”

His breath whistling between his teeth, Jazz let his head fall back as her small, quick hands raced over him. He jolted when she pressed her lips to his belly and damn near vaulted off the couch when she slid her hands into the back of his jeans. She tugged his jeans and boxers down as far as she could and then she bent over him.

Jazz swore as Anne-Marie took him in her mouth. His field of vision narrowed down as she slid her mouth down and then back up, lifting up just enough to lick the head of his cock. Then she closed her lips back over him and Jazz almost whimpered at the sight as she started to take him in and out of her mouth, smooth, shallow strokes that sent him hurdling towards the edge. She wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, holding him steady. Her mouth, red and swollen, stretched around his flesh and she took him deeper and deeper until the head of his cock nudged the back of her throat.

She hummed a little and the vibration of it had him jerking in reaction. She lifted up just a little and Jazz sagged back against the cushions, trying to catch his breath. Before he had a chance, though, she slid back down and when his cock bumped the back of her throat again—she swallowed.

He arched up with a shout, fisting his hands in her hair. He shuddered, sweat forming on his body and the urge to come burning down his spine and settling in his balls with a heated fury. “Stop, Annie,” he groaned when she lifted up and started that same slow glide all over again.

Anne-Marie lifted her head up and smiled at him. Voice husky, she murmured, “No.”

This was power. Anne-Marie might not have taken any other lovers since her failed attempt in college, but that didn’t mean she was a scared, shy near-virgin. Near-virgin, maybe, but there was no way she would let fear or shyness intrude, not here, not with Jazz. The length of his sex throbbed. Under her hands and mouth, he felt both hard and silky smooth. Iron covered with silk. She scraped her teeth over the tip of his penis and then took him back into her mouth, taking him deeper and deeper. When she lifted back up, her eyes were watering, her mouth felt bruised, and she was riding high on the fact that she was making him shake.