End of Day (Jack & Jill #1) (41 page)

“See something you like, Sergeant?”

He grabbed his messenger bag from the backseat. “Yes. I just wish everyone else weren’t seeing it.”

“Are you grumpy today?”

Head shake. “I have some work to do. Maybe I’ll call you later.”

Jillian watched him with confusion as he went in the house. She followed him.

“I said I have work to do.” His words carried an edge as he set his bag on the counter.

She moved toward him.

“Stop.” He held up a flat hand.

Jillian stopped. “Um…” she sniffed one of her arm pits “…I put deodorant on. I wasn’t going to stay. I just wanted to give you a reason to call me later.” She gave him a sexy grin and continued toward him.

“Jillian,” he warned, retreating a step.

“Do you want me to beg?”

“No. I want you to go home.”

“Kiss me.” She inched close as the worried look of discomfort deepened along his forehead.

He grabbed her arms, holding them to her sides, and gave her a quick kiss. Then he turned her around and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “Now off you go.”

“Aric James!” She whipped around and shoved him against the wall.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

She jumped back, eyes trailing up and down his body until landing on his hand pressed gently to his ribs. She slid his shirt up. “Your ribs are bruised.”

“Brilliant, Dr. Knight.”

“What hap—” Her eyes grew wide. “Jackson. He did this, didn’t he?” She turned and AJ grabbed her arm.

“Stop. He was looking out for his sister.”

“I gave you permission to hit me. Did you give him permission to do this?”

“No, but he earned my respect. If you were my sister, I’d beat any guy a breath away from his last for laying a hand on you. I think he let me off pretty easy.”

“Did you hit him back?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t a fight. It was an understanding.”

“An understanding?”

“Yes. I understand that I answer to him when it comes to your wellbeing.”

She fisted the collar of his jacket. He winced as he bent down to her.

“You two Neanderthals answer to me, not each other. Got it?” She kissed him hard, feeling the pain in his ribs through the reluctance of his lips. “Now, take something for the pain or sex later is going to make the infamous blow job seem like a trip to Disneyland.” Pivoting on her signature air of confidence, she waltzed out the door like a queen.

“We’re not having sex la—” The door shut before AJ could finish his not-so-confident declaration.

Of course they weren’t having sex later, but ruffling his grumpy feathers had become her new favorite pastime.

*

Jillian always told
Jackson everything—eventually. And what she attempted to bury in her emotional tomb that she’d take to her grave, he knew that stuff too. Though out of respect, he kept that knowledge to himself. She needed that illusion of control and he gave it to her. It kept her on the right side of sanity—most of the time. AJ was the wild card. Jackson wasn’t sure where he fit into Jillian’s level of sanity. Her asking to be punished, no matter her reasoning behind it, was a hard limit. Jackson never crossed it, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to let anyone else get away with crossing it.

“Where are you, dick face?” she yelled as the door slammed shut.

And so it began. Her love for him was so touching.

He pumped through pull-ups in the doorway to his bedroom. There was no need to answer. She’d smell his sweat and pain like a bloodhound.

“Mother fucker!” He fell from the bar, landing on his side in fetal position, gasping for his next breath through the intense pain radiating in his stomach and groin. “Below the belt…” he gritted through his teeth “… not … cool.”

“Yeah, well lucky for you, once you stop gagging on your testicles you’ll be fine. AJ’s ribs are going to be sore for weeks. What is wrong with you?”

Every nerve in a guy’s body connects to his balls. It was both a blessing and a curse. Once the nausea and lightheadedness faded, all that was left was the dull ache.

Jackson fought his way into a sitting position against the wall. “For reasons that have somehow slipped my mind at the moment…” he continued to grimace “…I feel responsible for the evil demon that is my sister.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward, looking down on him with said evil demon’s glare. “AJ has PTSD and suffers unimaginable migraines. I’ve hit him in the nose twice, broken it once, and left an embarrassing and most regrettable collage of claw and bite marks tattooed over his body. I think it’s best we refrain from any more bodily harm before he slaps a restraining order against both of us. Agreed?”

Jackson nodded. Jillian turned to leave.

“Jill?”

“What?”

“I think you’ve had enough too. Don’t let him hit you again. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she whispered.

Jackson’s phone rang. It was on his bed, ten feet away. A
long
ten feet. He crawled through the pain to answer it.

“Yes?” he groaned.

“Hey, pookie. My mom’s out of town. Want to have a playdate?”

It was a good possibility that any girl inviting him over for a playdate might be too young for him. That and Mr. Snuffelupagus was not feeling so pookie that night.

“Sorry, Dahlia, I’m a little under the weather right now.”

“Oh dear … need me to come over and take care of you?”

“No, no, no … I’m good. I’ll call you.” He ended the call and rested his head against the bed. “Dammit, I’ve
got
to keep my dick out of that girl’s mouth and cut her loose.”

*

Hallmark really needed
to make a
Sorry I Beat the Shit Out of You
card. The Knights would have purchased them in bulk. In lieu of the nonexistent poetic gesture, Jillian opted for breakfast in bed delivered to AJ, at the ass crack of dawn since that’s when he awoke.

She retrieved the well-hidden key under his planter and let herself inside.

“Your lack of conscience or morals when it comes to breaking and entering is disturbing,” AJ mumbled from behind the morning paper. At five a.m. he was already showered and dressed.

“I brought you breakfast in bed as a peace offering for Jackson’s irrational behavior. So if you wouldn’t mind getting naked and under the sheets, I’ll set this on a plate and surprise you with it in about two minutes.”

AJ folded the paper and tossed it aside. Taking a sip of his coffee he made a quick assessment of her attire—black lace panties, a grey and white polka dot tank top, and her favorite red rain boots.

“I’m fairly certain whatever you managed to throw together for my breakfast is the opposite of a peace offering.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over her body.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, the only thing you’ll be eating for breakfast is me.”

He raised a brow like a sexy accent to his sly smile. “I already know you taste better than anything in that bag.” He shoved the newspaper on the floor. “Hop up and spread ’em.”

She sighed. “Nice job calling my bluff. Actually, it’s cinnamon coffeecake—”

“Oh Lord … I bet you actually put coffee grounds in it, didn’t you?”

She set the bag on the table and straddled his lap. He tensed, bending as far back into the chair as he could to keep a safe distance between her and his ribs.

Pinching his lips together like a duck’s, she narrowed her eyes. “As I was saying … it’s cinnamon coffeecake that Greta made for Jackson while I was gone. Apparently she was under the impression I do the cooking and therefore he was going to starve if she didn’t offer him sustenance until I returned.

AJ jerked his head to the side, freeing his mouth from her grip. “I’ve had Greta’s coffeecake, it’s the best. Now…” he grabbed her hips and lifted her off his lap with a small, painful grimace “…move your rump so I can have some.”

“Rump?”

AJ pulled the foil off the coffeecake. “It means ass or buttocks.”

Jillian leaned her hip against the table, arms crossed over her chest. “I know what it means. You sounded like an old man using that term. It wasn’t sexy.”

He shrugged then hummed—
that
sounded sexual, but it wasn’t about her rump … it was Greta’s food porn. “Need I remind you that I am older than you, but I’d rather you not call me an ‘old man.’ And I’d imagine you don’t come across the word rump much in the fake meat aisle at the store, but it’s a meat term, like rump roast.”

Jillian picked off a chunk of the crumble topping and popped it in her mouth. It was orgasmic. “So you like rump roast?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well then, I’m going to take rump as a compliment coming from you. I do believe in your
older
-man way you just told me I’m a fine piece of ass.”

AJ grinned around his fork as he slid it from his mouth. Sexy. As. Fuck. Jillian’s panties fainted to her ankles.

“Did you hear about Matthew Green?” AJ nodded toward the newspaper.

Jillian froze. “Who?” She cleared her throat to mask the shakiness of her voice.

“Edwin Harvey? He died over a decade ago, but surely you’ve heard the name. He was a serial killer from San Diego. I think he killed over fifteen young women—stalked them on the internet. Anyway, he had an accomplice, Matthew Green, who disappeared. He’s been on the FBI’s most wanted list for years. He was found dead at a rest stop in Wyoming. It was the rest stop we stopped at late Wednesday night. His body was found early Thursday morning.”

“W-what are you saying?” She swallowed hard.

AJ chuckled. “Just that it’s crazy. What are the chances that we were so close to crossing paths?”

Jillian shook her head. “Yeah … crazy.”

Day

L
uke and Jessica
looked at the two queen beds and then each other.

“What’s my safest bet?” Sleeping in the same room with the woman he desired to the point of physical pain was not going to be an easy feat for Luke.

She pursed her lips to the side. “Hmm … I’d say the one closest to the door. If you get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom you won’t accidentally bump my bed and startle me. That might not end well.”

“My prostate’s not sixty years old, but good plan anyway. What about in the morning? I didn’t pack a pool stick.”

She laughed. “I wake fine to alarms, voices, serenading … just don’t touch me.”

“Serenading?”

“Yes.”

“Any requests?”

“Tony Bennett,
I Left My Heart in San Francisco
will do just fine.” She grabbed her toiletry bag and squeezed past him to the bathroom.

His dick twitched just from the brief brush of her arm against his. He. Was. In. Trouble.

“So if you could live anywhere in the world you’d choose San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She mumbled over her toothbrush. “I’ve lived there my whole life and it feels like a physical part of me. If I ever leave it will not be willingly and my heart will seriously be ripped from my chest.”

Luke loved the city by the bay too, but he’d never felt a physical connection to it beyond his address … until he met Jessica.

“What about you, Jones?” She stepped out of the bathroom wearing lacy panties and a pink camisole top that hid absolutely nothing.

Not good.

“If you could live anywhere in the world where would you choose?”

Her bed.

“Uh … it’s hard…” he was hard “…to say. I haven’t traveled the world. I probably haven’t been to paradise yet.”

Her bed.

“Well, let me know if you find it.”

He wouldn’t have to tell her, she would know.

She slipped under the covers. “You’re staring, Jones.”

“You’re half naked, of course I’m staring.” He gripped the back of his neck and groaned while grabbing his bag and escaping to the bathroom.

He prayed for her to fall asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with an awkward goodnight situation, but … no such luck.

“Pajama pants? Really?” she teased.

“They’re lounge pants and I don’t usually sleep in them, except when I’m traveling.”

“What do you sleep in at home?”