Page 18 of Kiss Marry Kill
She turned off the music and put her phone down, feeling her cheeks warm. “Maybe some other time.”
Jax finished off his coffee, absorbed in his thoughts, then stood by the sink washing the mug. “Thought about you a lot,” he said, with his back to her.
She looked up, afraid she heard wrong. “You did?”
“A lot.”
And the butterflies were back. She went to reach for him, just like he’d done to her, but pulled her hand back. She wanted to touch him so badly. But she was hesitant. He was there to help her, not to start things up again.
She started to confess that she thought about him too, but instead she found herself asking, “Why didn’t you come find me? You’ve been here months, you could’ve called.”
“And found you married? Or in a relationship?” He shook his head somberly, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched together, and she wanted him to turn around. Force him to have this conversation eye to eye. Except she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Maybe he didn’t want to see her again. He’d come to her rescue out of some sort of obligation, otherwise she’d never have seen him again. And if the confident man couldn’t bring himself to turn around, she couldn’t bring herself to make him.
Pondering his words for a moment, she recalled that the thought of him married or in a relationship was something she thought about often, and it always left her feeling depressed and full of regret.
He dried his hands and turned around to look at her.
“You were the most carefree, laid-back person I’d ever met,” she said. “I didn’t know people like you even existed. How could I not have thought of you?” she asked. He ran his palm down his face again, a gesture she remembered. It was what he did when he was unhappy or worried.
And then he changed the subject. The badass Marine was apparently back. She wanted to finish the conversation but her house was a priority right now, not her stupid lovesick heart. “I have to start setting up the security in your house. I also need to read the old police reports and later we need to talk more about Ryan. Also, I read you have a tour coming up, which I’d like to discuss. But first I’m having my team check for prints, I don’t trust the cops’ work. My guys are waiting for me at your house. It’s better if you hang out here today while I go. Is that cool?”
She didn’t like this serious version of him, mostly because he was obviously trying to avoid talking about the past. Plus, he needed to realize a lot had changed. She wasn’t a pushover or someone who could easily be steamrolled. He needed to consult with her, not make demands. “Please keep me in the loop, don’t hide anything from me or make decisions without advising me first. I have a bunch of calls to make and some work on the new album to do anyway. Do your thing. Money’s no object, I want the best, Jax.”
“Even if you were destitute, I wouldn’t do anything but, Meg,” he said. “Help yourself to anything. There’s food in the fridge.” He pulled out a card. “Here’s my number. Don’t leave the house. If you need anything you call me, okay?”
“Okay, Jax. Thank you,” she said, and he turned to leave. She reached for his forearm and stopped him. “Last night . . . it was a weird night, I didn’t get to tell you, but it’s really good to see you, Jax. Really good.”
He put his big paw over her hand on his forearm and squeezed a little. “It’s really good to see you too, Meg.” Then he let go and walked to his room but before he slipped inside he turned and added, “and Meg?” She looked back. “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, before closing the door behind him. Her heart flipped and her stomach turned as she felt her lips curl up in a smile.
With those final words, Jax left and Megan tried to immerse herself in writing but being stalked, threatened, and reunited with her ex-hookup meant she wasn’t in the mind-set for writing music. Especially when said ex was still devastatingly attractive. After two hours of doodling hearts and musical notes on her notepad and reliving the roller coaster of a night, Megan finally gave up.
I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, sweetheart.
Damn. His parting words still sent a shiver of pure warmth through her. The man she’d met last night was certainly complicated. Rough, caring, tender, hard. Just who had Jackson Irons become? Megan looked around the large expanse of space trying to find something that could shed some light on this new Jax. Unfortunately, there was nothing. Everything in his house seemed to serve a purpose, nothing was there just because it was pretty or decorative.
Hesitantly, she opened his bedroom door and walked inside, feeling guilty about invading his privacy. She sat on the edge of his big wooden bed and ran her hand over the navy blue bedspread. He had two pillows, another large television, and a chest of drawers. Not one single knickknack. Not a photo. Nothing about the house said home. She laid her head down and looked up at the wooden ceiling fan spinning around and around.
How incredible it would feel to wake up next to him.
Even if the house wasn’t a home, she felt comfortable and safe there. She turned her head and sniffed the pillow. It smelled just like he did.
She felt like a fool.
Laying on his bed. Smelling his pillow.
What the hell was wrong with her?
What if he came in and found her on her bed?
Quickly, she stood up, smoothed the comforter, and gently closed his bedroom door again. Reality set in quickly when her ever-beeping phone lit up with the latest wave of new missed calls, texts, and emails. Everyone was worried—her label, her PR team, her manager Glen, her friends and family. But she put off most of her family and friends by sending them quick texts assuring them that she was fine and she’d call them all tomorrow, not wanting to deal with them just yet. Her parents would ask a relentless stream of questions that would lead to an argument, and her friends would worry and try to coddle her. She didn’t want any of that right now. She was still shaken up from last night and didn’t want to relive it by having to recount the story. Those sweet words Jax had said just before leaving that morning were what she preferred to relive.
As for her label and PR, she declined any interviews until she was safe and back at home. In response they spoke in detail about the upcoming tour, which took her mind away from the hellish events of the previous night.
By eight that evening she was tired and hungry and eager to see Jax. Funny how she hadn’t seen him for five years and now, after twenty-four hours, her anxiety over not seeing him was so high.
Would he just disappear again?
That thought made her restless and annoyed at herself. She didn’t need him. She’d done very well for herself without him. But just because she didn’t need him, didn’t mean she didn’t want him.
