Free Winter Fire: A Red Hot Winter Story by Jess Dee Page A

that to Jenna. I won’t.”
    “This isn’t about Jenna. It’s about sex. And love.”
    “And betrayal and guilt. Been there. Done that. I won’t do it again.”
    “Even though you want it? You want me—and Jackson?”
    She gulped. She did want them. Both. Garreth for another night of erotic pleasure. Jackson forever. “I…” I what? What could she say? “I…”
    “I what?” he prompted.
    “I…” She shook her head, at a complete loss. She couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t, because, God help her, she wanted everything Garreth had predicted to happen. She wanted to fuck Garreth, and she wanted Jackson to come after her, to make love to her. At the same time. And she wanted Jackson to openly declare his love for her. To stake his claim. To tell her she was his and they never had to be apart again.
    She shook her head helplessly. “I, er, I need the bathroom. Please excuse me.”

    Jesus Christ and holy fuck. Rachel was aroused. Garreth, the stupid fuck, had pulled her away from the table and fed her some crock of shit. Whatever the bastard had told her had worked.
    Rachel’s cheeks were flushed and her nipples poked at the black stretchy top she wore. She looked as though she were about to jump Garreth right there, at the bar.
    But she didn’t. Instead she stumbled off her chair and walked away. Headed to…?
    Jackson didn’t stop to check. Acting on instinct, he got up and followed her.
    She rounded a corner, in the direction of the kitchen. And bathrooms. And a door leading out to what had to be the back of the restaurant.
    A second before she pushed open the door to the Ladies’, he caught her back against his front and without saying a word, steered her towards the door leading outside.
    She gasped and twirled her head to see who’d taken her captive. “J-Jackson? What on earth?”
    He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His blood boiled. Rage ran through his veins. It was one thing that she’d fucked his housemate when she didn’t know who he was. It was another thing altogether getting aroused by Garreth, in front of him, when the truth had been laid bare.
    The scent of rain hung in the air. Icy air ripped the breath from his lungs. It stung his cheeks and made his eyes water. He didn’t care. The second they were outside, he swung Rachel around, pressed her flat against the wall and crushed his mouth to hers.
    Holy smoke.
    Dear God.
    Her lips. Her full, ripe lips. Kissing him back. Pressing against his with the same urgency he felt. They did him in. Stripped away whatever self-control he had left. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, losing himself to her taste.
    Twelve years he’d loved her. Twelve years he’d tried to deny himself.
    Why? What for?
    So she could sleep with his housemate? Fall in love with someone else?
    No fucking way. Rachel was his. They’d both known it from the start. They’d both tried to deny it and never succeeded.
    And this here was the very reason they’d failed. The passion that flared between them was too real to deny. The love that blazed just refused to be extinguished.
    He pressed himself against her, chest to chest, groin to hips, thighs to thighs. His cock, already hard from watching Rachel with Gazza, now ached with repressed desire. He burned for her. Burned for them. Bled for what they should have together—but never could.
    Rachel was his. She was born to be with him. He was born to be hers. Distance and time had done nothing to dim that knowledge.
    She moaned in his mouth, ground herself against his erection.
    Frigid wind sliced over the back of his neck, but holding Rachel in his arms had him so fucking hot he barely felt it.
    Something wet touched his lips. Wet and salty.
    Tears?
    Though it almost killed him, he pulled away from their kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. The ache is his groin increased, but he shoved it to the back of his mind. He brushed his thumb against her cheek and found it wet.
    “You’re crying.” The