“Yes.” She kissed his chest. “But you’re so different from those men, when I’m with you I don’t even think of them.”

Jesus. He dropped his hands to her ass, stroked her, lifted her to tiptoes while pressing his face to the top of her head.

Sure, he wanted to f**k her. He wasn’t dead.

But he wanted to cherish her, too, to make love to her fast and hard. Slow and sweet. He wanted things raunchy, and he wanted things special.

Because she was special.

Separating the carnal from the emotional wasn’t easy, but she’d laid the ground rules, so he pressed her back and forced a smile. “Wait for me in the bed.”

She looked at his chest, lower to his abdomen. Her breathing quickened, and she nodded.

Thinking of her there, between the sheets, naked and anxious, would be more incentive than he needed to rush through the shower. “Be right back.” He left before he changed his mind and didn’t go at all. She needed to talk, and he needed to get a handle on things.

That meant getting a handle on himself, first and foremost.

No matter what it took, he would make this good for her.

CHAPTER TEN

HUDDLED UNDER THE QUILT, her back propped against a pillow on the headboard, Alani felt her anticipation expand with every second that passed. How Jackson had bared her, looked at her and touched her, both detached and hungry, left her thoughts and her feelings in turmoil.

Last night, everything had unfolded naturally, stemming from his claims of wanting her, needing her. Today, he was so different, like another man.

But he was still undeniably sexy.

Unable to help herself, she listened to every sound he made. She was so familiar with her house, with living alone, that she could track his every movement by sound alone.

Water running, water shutting off, the silence while he toweled dry, the opening of the bathroom door, footsteps in the hall leading to her bedroom…

Her heart threatened to explode with urgency, need, uncertainty.

That he was so different heightened everything; it’d almost be like making love for the first time.

How would it be, now that Jackson was back to normal? Last night, he’d been overflowing with words of love, caring, commitment.

Today, he’d accepted her offer to keep things noncommittal.

Her thoughts scattered when he stepped through the doorway. Naked. Already erect.

She couldn’t swallow, could barely breathe. She refused to look away.

He had the most amazing body she’d ever seen, with the attitude and capability to go along with it.

“Relax, babe.” He strode to the nightstand, a man uncaring of his nudity, without a shred of modesty—not that he needed it.

She suffered insecurities. But with good reason, he did not.

“All things considered,” she whispered, “relaxing isn’t easy.”

His mouth quirked. He put the black Beretta on the nightstand with that awesomely lethal-looking knife, his belt and the holster. “You wanted to talk, right? So we’ll talk.”

What in the world had she been thinking? She looked him over, wondering if she could wait, if she could prioritize the way she knew she should.

He planted his big feet apart. “You want me to stand here a little longer? I don’t mind you looking, you know. Hell, I like it.”

Did she want him to? She could spend all day soaking up the sight of him, but just looking wouldn’t be enough.

“Before you make up your mind, you should know that your wide-eyed, fascinated gaze makes me edgy, so the longer we do this, the shorter our conversation is going to be.”

She still said nothing. How could he blather on with so much nonsense when she could barely blink?

“Cat got your tongue? I guess I better take control of things, huh?” He lifted the quilt and slid into the bed beside her, facing her propped on a forearm. “First thing we need to do…” He tugged the quilt from her fisted hands and drew it down below her br**sts. “That’s better.”

For what felt like the longest time, he studied her, his gaze burning, his jaw twitching.

She didn’t know where to put her hands, what to do, what to say. Last night, he’d swept her away with romance.

Today, he scorched her with his raw sexual hunger.

It was a toss-up which she liked more.

“First question, woman.” Body relaxed, voice more so, Jackson said, “I’m doing my best, but this isn’t easy on me. So make it quick before my control snaps and I jump on you.”

Her gaze skittered over to the weapons and back again. Mouth dry, stomach taut, she gathered herself. “The way you handled things with Marc, how easy it was for you to level him…”

“That was nothing. He’s a sissy.”

Yeah, right. Maybe to Jackson, but to the average man, Marc was fit, capable and arrogant enough to give pause. His wealth made him powerful, yet Jackson had treated him like nothing more than a playground bully. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

“What do you need to know?”

Odd, that he’d put it that way: what she needed to know, versus what she wanted to know. Was that how he saw it? Did he see her questions as a requirement he had to fulfill? Would he tell her only enough to appease her curiosity?

He was as private as her brother and Dare, and God knew, those two sidestepped even the most mundane queries. “I don’t mean to push—”

“’S okay.” His legs shifted, and one hairy thigh slid over her knee, pinning her leg. “I have some questions for you, too.”