My hands flatten on his shoulders, and I give him a little shake. “Jasper. Look at me.”
His eyes don’t move, and panic nips at all my edges. I gently remove his hat, tossing it onto the passenger seat. It’s too hard to see him from beneath the brim, and deep down, I know that’s the whole point of why he always wears it.
He’s constantly trying to blend into the background, but even when he’s hiding, I see him.
I slide my palms over the tops of his shoulders and up the sides of his sturdy neck until my fingers weave themselves into the hair at the back of his skull. Spearmint and eucalyptus. The scent bowls me over every time. It’s a shot of electricity to my senses. I realize that if he’s washing his face with that bodywash he probably uses it as shampoo too.
The tips of my fingers move of their own accord, massaging the base of his skull. Am I taking freedoms I might not usually? Definitely. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and this whole petrified-wood-on-the-side-of-a-mountain act has got me stressed.
I press my forehead against his, trying to force his line of sight up to my own. “Jas. I’m right here. You kept us safe. Everything is okay. You did so good. Thank you for always looking out for me.”
He blinks once, and it’s like he pulls away a layer of dark shadow that covered his irises. Where they bordered on black just moments ago, they’re back to the soft navy I know so well—soft like velvet, high-lighted with streaks of denim, and little sparks of brightness where the light reflects.
“Sloane.” He sighs and warm breath hits my throat. He doesn’t move his forehead, but he does move his hands. They shape my waist and I feel them tremble.
All I do is continue to rub at the back of his head, soothing him in the only way I know how.
“Are you okay?” His voice is gritty and wavers slightly on okay.
I nod, rolling my forehead against his. “I’m good. I’m all good.”
He pulls back, and as if he doesn’t believe me, his hands take inventory of my body. They roam down, squeezing at my hip bones through my thin leggings. They slide over the tops of my thighs, and he watches raptly, like he needs to see it and feel it to believe it.
Me telling him isn’t enough.
His breathing turns ragged, and the tremors that started in his fingers take over his arms as well. When he looks into my eyes, I nod my head, trying to reassure him. But it doesn’t stop him. His fingers start back up my legs and his hands splay on my back, big enough that they cover it entirely.
“Nothing hurts?”
“Nothing hurts,” I confirm, staying deathly still, not wanting to break whatever moment this is right now.
He needs this and so do I. But in two very different ways.
When the heat of his touch rounds over my shoulders, I give in to my body and let my lashes flutter shut for one brief moment. I bask in his gentle hands, gliding up my arms in unison, checking every spot like I’m the most precious glass doll.
“You’re safe.” I’m not sure if he says it to me or to himself.
But I affirm it anyway. “I’m safe.”
When he gets to my wrists that sit on either side of his neck, he grips them and finds my gaze again. He breathes in for four seconds. And out for four seconds.
And we just exist in each other’s eyes.
Locked. Loaded.
“Are you sure your nose doesn’t hurt?” He asks about my nose, but he’s looking at my lips. My tongue darts over them as I try to calm my rioting nerves. This moment feels intensely intimate.
I’ve had a lifetime of intimate moments with Jasper, but none have felt like this with the air around us thick, heavy, and hot.
Pushing us together somehow.
His finger dusts down the bridge of my nose. It’s barely a touch. It’s a whisper. “Does it hurt, Sloane?”
I watch his lips press together and come apart to form the words. And god, I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I want this moment to never end. I want Powerless to live in this truck, in the snow, at the top of a mountain with him and never leave.
My lashes flutter, and I tip my chin down incrementally to keep our lips from being lined up, to keep myself from doing something that will embarrass me—or worse, ruin us.
We’re so damn close. Close enough that he . . . presses a soft kiss to the tip of my nose and steals my breath in the process.
My eyes snap to his. Wide. Shocked.
“I’m sorry I threw that at you.”
All I can manage is a nod. My mouth is dry. I hear ringing in my ears. My eyes are sucked into his midnight sky.
He leans forward again and kisses my forehead. My fingers grip his hair and I move in closer. I tilt my head as though I could nuzzle into him, as though I could crawl into him and curl up in his chest. I want him to be as connected to me as I am to him.
He inclines his head, eyes searching. A silent question.
And I nod my response.
Then his lips are on my cheek. His hand slides around to the back of my head, and he cups my skull.
We’re so close. So latched on to one another. Like neither of us wants the other to pull away.
Jasper drags his lips along the top of my cheekbone, his stubble rasping over my skin, dotting it in tiny fires that I never want to put out.
He kisses the corner of my jaw and when the tip of his tongue flicks out, I moan. Shamelessly. Desperately.
He tugs me closer. His strong arm wraps around my waist, and he clamps me to him.
“Jasper,” I whisper.
In response he fists my hair and tugs my head to the side, dragging his hot mouth down and then back up my neck. I squeeze my legs tighter on him, hearing only the pounding of my heart in my ears and the deep groaning sound that vibrates from his chest.
“I can’t ever lose you,” he growls.
“You won’t,” I reply quietly, right as the tip of his nose traces the shell of my ear.
“I might.”
“Nev—”
Before I can say never, he cuts me off with, “Because I think I’m about to fuck everything up between us.”
And then he kisses me.
His lips mold to mine and his fingers weave into my hair as his grip turns soft.
I go still with shock—utter disbelief—and when I do, he stops, pulling away as his warm palm slides down over my throat to look me in the eye.
“I’m sor—”
I cut him off by launching myself back at him. And he doesn’t miss a fucking beat.
He doesn’t kiss me like a friend. He kisses me back with equal fervor. He kisses me like he wants to consume me.
And he does.
His hands are hot brands on my body, touching and squeezing in places I’ll never forget. His lips are warm and firm. He’s gentle but he commands me. He tilts my head the way he wants it. He sets the pace for our languid kisses until he takes on a more demanding pace.
Until his tongue slides into my mouth and his teeth nip at my bottom lip.
And me? I turn to putty in his arms. I’ve been lost to him for years, but today in a quiet truck, in the middle of a snowstorm, I let myself get lost in him.
He takes and I give.
I take and he gives.
I roll my hips against his and he groans out, “Sloane.”
The hand in my hair tightens, and I feel the dull burn of him tugging against my scalp. His opposite hand moves lazily down my rib cage, coming to rest at my hip, long fingers splayed casually over the curve of my ass, his thumb rubbing against the outline of my thong.