Fighter by Tijan

Author:Tijan [Tijan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

After the fight, Jax informed me he wanted to shower, and to be honest, that was fine because I needed time alone to regroup. The whole night had been one long adrenaline ride, and I was exhausted—though I was still debating whether to fall asleep or jump him and have wild, crazy sex.

When we got to my family’s cabin, I was still caught between those two possibilities, so I grabbed a box of wine and headed for the screened-in patio. I was on my second glass when I heard the shower cut off and footsteps leaving the bathroom a moment later.

I held my breath. He was coming my way. Waiting…no, he went into the bedroom. At that image, a whole new fevered rush surged through me: Jax. Bed. Wet. Dripping.

My hand clenched around the wineglass, and I dumped the rest of its contents down my throat. As I leaned forward to fill it right back up again, I reached for the fan on the wall with my other hand. I was hot and bothered. The fan started up on the lowest setting, but that wouldn’t do. I switched that thing so it was blowing on high and right in my face.

Then I felt him.

I sat in one of the leather chairs. The doorway was right behind my shoulder, and he didn’t say anything. But damn, I could feel his presence.

My blood pumped faster. I needed another fan. I realized I was squeezing my wineglass and forced myself to loosen my grip. I didn’t need shattered glass stuck in my hand. Then he’d have to hold it, help me clean the wound, peer close, breathe on it—I sat up straighter in my seat. Stop thinking, Dale!

I finally looked up. Yep. He was staring right down at me. I expected a knowing, cocky look, but instead there was something serious in his eyes. He could see right into me.

Fuck. I didn’t need that. My loins were already on fire, and that just dumped kerosene on them. My mind began to turn off. I felt myself standing, pushing out of the chair…

Then he said, “Box wine, huh?”

“Yeah.” I slumped back down, hoping I’d passed it off as just shifting positions. That word came out like a raspy, garbled moan.

He tossed something in my lap, and I looked down to see a small box wrapped in newspaper with a red ribbon around it. “What’s this?”

He moved to sit in the other leather chair. “Something I left here last summer.”

Last summer? “You mean…” The night I ended things with him. That night?

He burst into an abrupt laugh. “Yep. That night. It was an early birthday present, but everything went to shit, and I forgot it. But now, with all you’re doing to help me and in the Christmas spirit…” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, but looked out toward the lake. “Merry Christmas, Doily.”

Shock rendered me speechless for a moment. He’d remembered my birthday. Two months ahead, too. “I’m sorry, Jax.”

He waved me off. “Trust me, it’s fine.

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