“Yes. Plenty,” he said without apology. “And I don’t remember a single one of their names.”
A stab of jealousy coursed through her at the thought of him rutting with nameless women. He deserved more. Heck, so did the women, but she didn’t know them, and Jackson was right about one thing—she did know him. And he wasn’t a liar.
“Maybe Madison got it wrong,” she said quietly. “Maybe you were pulling away for other reasons, and she misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood, or deliberately planted rumors to make herself look better?”
“I don’t want to fight about Maddie right now.”
“Of course not,” he said, his voice a low purr. “Wouldn’t want to criticize big sister.”
“Oh, knock it off,” she snapped. “Despite making a huge show of not wanting to talk to her, you certainly managed to keep each other entertained for two hours at dinner tonight.”
His soft laugh tickled the hair around her temple. “Mollie, babe, don’t kill me for saying this, but you sound jealous.”
“Of course I’m not jealous,” she said quickly. “I care about you, Jackson, you know that, but you’re like my brother.”
He stiffened slightly. “Your brother.”
“That’s what you were,” she said softly. “For years.”
“Is that how you’re thinking about me right now?” he asked, easing toward her just slightly. “Do I feel like your brother?”
Mollie swallowed and looked away.
Very gently Jackson laid his palm along her jaw, turning her face to his. “Mollie.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her hands coming up and resting lightly against his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palms, the soft scratch of his chest hair perfectly rough against her fingertips.
He dipped his head slightly so his cheek was nearly pressing against hers. Not quite touching, but nearly.
She felt his breath against her shoulder. Knew her own breath was coming hot and fast against his throat.
One of them should move back, but Mollie’s body refused to cooperate.
Very slowly his other hand slid from the counter to rest against her hip, his fingers curving around to hold her, his touch possessive.
“Jackson, we really can’t—”
“I know.” He turned his head, and now his breath was on her lips. “I know that.”
She gave the smallest of nods, waiting for him to move away from her, because Lord knew she didn’t seem capable of pushing him.
Jackson’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, and Mollie’s breath hitched. He pulled back as though waiting for her to protest, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
He moved in again, this time his lips touching hers square on, and damn it. Damn it. Their mouths fit perfectly.
Moving slowly, he pressed all the way against her, deepening the kiss as her arms wound around his neck.
Mollie had been kissed before. Plenty of times. But nothing—nothing—compared to the feel of Jackson’s mouth against hers.
He coaxed her mouth open, deepening the kiss even further, and Mollie was lost. Lost in kissing Jackson Burke, a moment she’d entertained only in her wildest, most forbidden fantasies.
And the kiss was better than the fantasy. Better than anything she’d ever experienced.
His hands slid around her, his fingers toying with the thin straps of her camisole, and she was all too aware that it would only take the slightest tug and she’d be topless. In moments more, they could be completely naked. He could lift her onto the counter, and…
Jackson pulled back slowly, and Mollie barely withheld her whimper of protest.
He rested his forehead against hers as their gazes locked in bewildered want, both of them still breathing hard.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Mollie could only nod mutely. This was bad. Really bad.
“Mollie—”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “If you’re going to apologize, just don’t.”
His mouth lifted in a half smile. “Trust me, apologizing wasn’t on the agenda, but that was…that was a mistake.”
Her heart twisted, and she wanted to retort that the best kiss of her life had not been a mistake. That a kiss like that could only mean good things.
But of course he was right. The two of them…they couldn’t.
She closed her eyes. This was a mess.
He slowly leaned back, putting more space between them before finally stepping back. Wordlessly he turned away, reaching for the neglected water pitcher and pouring her a glass before handing it over.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded, then put the pitcher back in the fridge. The light from the refrigerator illuminated his perfect body for just a moment before he closed the door, his fingers still on the handle. He leaned forward slightly and rested his forehead against the stainless steel of the fridge door.
“Mollie?”
She froze in the process of taking a sip of water. “Yeah?”
“This can’t happen again.”
“I know,” she said, a little testily.
He gave her a small smile. “Sure was good, though.”
Mollie’s fingers clenched around the glass, tempted to hurl it at him. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to kiss her like that, then tell her it was a mistake, then tell her how good it was.