his hair. Watching as the water finally ran clear, he shifted his mind back to Jax, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between them and wishing he had the willpower to walk away now instead of watching her walk away later.
But instead of coming up with a plan of defense, as would be prudent, more and more he felt himself leaning into whatever was happening between them. His heart, which had been brutalized by Tiffany years ago, had recovered and was strong enough to fall in love again. And no matter how much of a bad choice Jax Rousseau seemed to be in theory, his head and his heart (and his dick, for Lord’s sake) wouldn’t admit it.
He liked her.
He liked her a lot.
And as far as he could tell, the whole game of “Did she or didn’t she?” was over. She liked him too. He was certain of it.
So he’d sort of tacitly decided that without taking advantage of her or pressuring her, he’d take what he could get…and when it was over—when she returned to Hollywood or New York or wherever her bold and glamorous destiny would take her—he would have an eternity to get over her. For now? He just wanted to enjoy her. He’d endured two years of hell; he’d earned a little bit of heaven.
After shaving and running a brush through his thick dark-blond hair, he stepped naked into his bedroom and tugged on a clean pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a white button-down shirt, which he rolled up at the cuffs and tucked into the jeans. Pulling his pewter medal of St. Michael, the patron saint of cops, from his dresser drawer, he put it around his neck for the first time in over a year, slipping it beneath his T-shirt and whispering part of the policemen’s prayer—“Give me a cool head and a stout heart…”—as he slid his feet into black loafers and grabbed a black leather belt from his closet doorknob.
As he threaded the belt through the loops of denim, he thought about having a drink to calm his nerves but chastised himself as a fucking coward for the idea. Grabbing his keys from a hook by the door, he pulled it shut behind him and headed for the gates of Haverford Park to wait for her.
***
Jax pulled up in front of the Englishes’ estate, unsurprised to see Gard standing by the front pillars, his body tall, masculine, and graceful in jeans and a white shirt. What did surprise her, however, was her reaction to him.
Her heart instantly sped up.
Her breathing quickened.
Her skin flushed.
Her toes curled.
She sighed.
Merde but she had it bad for this man.
He approached her Mercedes S-Class sedan, whistling low as he opened the door and swung his body into the passenger seat.
“Bon soir, Duchesse,” he said, grinning at her.
“Hi,” she said, ridiculously happy to be around him again.
“There have been many times I wished I could get behind the wheel of a car again, but none of those moments made me want to cry as much as this one,” he said, reaching out to caress the dashboard before him. He slid his glance back to her. “This is one fine automobile, Jax Rousseau.”
“It’s not mine,” she said, butterflies filling her tummy. “It belongs to my mother. I’m just borrowing it.”
She watched as he reached for his seatbelt and buckled himself in, the dark-blond hair on his tan forearm golden in the light of the setting sun. His arms were strong and muscular, corded with veins and muscle. Manly hands. Rough hands that would chafe her soft skin if he touched her. As if her thought could influence the movement of his hand, it suddenly rose, the backs of his fingers stopping when he reached her chin, resting there for a moment before gently lifting her face and forcing her eyes to meet his.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“You smell like lemons and rosemary.”
“Is that…?”
“…okay?” he said softly. “I love it.”
“Good,” she whispered, mesmerized by the closeness of him, longing for more from him.
“Listen, now.” He drew closer to her, his chest leaning over the bolster between them, his drawl low and serious when he spoke again. “I’m goin’ to kiss you, Duchess. And this time, it’s not goin’ to be a blip or a mistake or just a kiss. Got it?”
His eyes, almost black and wide with hunger, searched hers for a refusal, but he wouldn’t find any. She’d been dreaming of