Awaken to Pleasure Read Online Free PDF Page B

the robe and into the shirt. It came almost to her knees and she had to fold back the cuffs several times before her hands poked through the sleeves. But, for some reason she didn’t want to face, it comforted her to be wearing Jackson’s shirt. She crawled into bed, craving sleep.
    Instead, fear hammered at her temples, creating an excruciating headache. Whimpering in pain, she sat up, aware that her suffering was stress induced. She needed to release some of the pressure by asking for help—by asking Jackson? Out of the grip of the illogical terror that had bewildered her after the call, she knew that her fears that he’d take Lance’s side were groundless. Jackson Santorini might be dictatorial and dominating, but unlike her tormentor, he had honor.
    Life had forced her to be strong, but this time there were so many burdens on her that she felt as if she would collapse. Despite that, her heart rebelled against asking Jackson. She remembered how his family ignored him, except when they needed his help. Becoming another burden chafed, but she’d do anything to protect Nick. Including asking the help of a man who made her wish for impossible things.
    Afraid that her courage would desert her if she delayed, she jumped out of bed. It was only when she was standing before Jackson’s bedroom door that she remembered her only clothing was his shirt. Her knuckles had hit the wood by then and it was too late. The door swung open before she could retreat. Jackson stood in front of her, wearing a pair of white boxer shorts.
    Captivated by the view, she lost her train of thought. His thickly muscled wall of a chest, covered with a sprinkling of black hair, was only the start. Ropes of muscle ran across his shoulders and arms, and his abdomen was ridged in a way that told her he carried no excess flesh. His thighs looked like tree trunks. She’d been right—the man was muscled everywhere.
    He shifted and she jerked her head up, aware that she’d been staring. But, how could any red-blooded woman resist indulging herself with such a prime example of masculinity? Especially a woman who’d been shown time and time again that this masculine power would never be turned against her. She expected to see amusement in those dark eyes, but something else awaited her.
    Desire.
    Hot, rippling desire.
    Scorching desire.
    She was familiar with desire—Jackson inspired dreams of such erotic power they left her drenched in sweat. But she was even more familiar with desire in men’s eyes. After she’d turned fourteen, her mother’s boyfriends had looked at her with eyes hot with wanting. Then there had been that…she didn’t like to think about that much. It still made her feel dirty and used.
    “Cara.” Jackson’s husky whisper sent shivers racing through her, but she couldn’t move away.
    He tipped up her face with a finger under her chin and then bent down to press his lips gently against hers. Instinctive defense mechanisms kicked into place and she stood still, not fighting but not responding either. Frustration gnawed at her stomach as she realized that despite her age and knowledge of Jackson, childhood terrors still had a stranglehold over her.
    He broke the kiss. “My apologies. I did not realize that you did not accept my kiss.”
    So formal, she thought, so icy, when his lips had been warm and soft. She felt suddenly bereft but knew it was her own fault—the fruit of cowardice. “I accepted.”
    He braced his right hand on the doorjamb, his face expressionless in a way she hated. “Like a statue. I won’t touch you again if that is what you prefer.”
    That option didn’t sound good to her. Nibbling on her lower lip, she looked down at the lush grey carpet and thenback up. “I don’t deal well with men wanting me.” While she didn’t trust Jackson’s desire, she trusted his intellect. He would never judge her for her fear, not when he’d been hurt so much by others. “I…had some bad experiences when I was