As the days passed, the memories of Jackson's passion wouldn't fade for Rose. In fact, it seemed to her that the images in her mind only grew sharper. At work, at home, at the grocery store—all she could think about was Jackson's ardor. On Thursday, she sat in her office bouncing a pencil on her desk and stared into the void. Suddenly, she blinked and fanned herself with her hand. This was becoming ridiculous. They were just simple kisses.

Kisses so passionate, she practically levitated when she thought about them.

She groaned and rested her head in her hands. She wanted to trust him, but she was walking a knife's edge, and any little push could cause her to fall one way or the other. She didn't want to get hurt again. But she couldn't get him out of her mind.

Her desk phone rang.

"Yes?" she said into the receiver.

"Mr. Brar is on the line for you," said Jas from reception.

"Thank you." Rose sat up and righted the hem of her blouse. "Put him through."

There was a soft click on the other end of the line, then Sukh came through, greeting her warmly. "Hi Rose. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Rose looked down at the pencil in her hand. "No. Not at all. What's up, Sukh?"

"Well, I looked into that issue you asked me about. And I think I found something." He hesitated. "Something odd. But I don't have the means to prove it."

She cocked her head. "Oh? Odd how?"

"You know how I told you the airline's lease payment seemed unusually low?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

Sukh went on, "I pulled our financial reports. I went back a few years, actually, and I noticed something kind of suspect. The airline's lease payments have gone down over the years."

Rose leaned forward in her desk chair. "How many years?"

He paused. "Well, they started going down right around the time Alex Decker got into office."

She let out a low whistle. "I see."

"But here's the thing, Rose. I can't verify the reports are true. Before we do anything else, I think we should call up Maple Airlines headquarters and ask them what they pay the Town of Dogwood. But in doing so, we might raise the alarm before we're ready to."

Rose leaned back in her chair. "That is a predicament. I think I see a way around it. I'll need a few days, though."

"Sure thing. You'll keep me in the loop? This affects my bottom line, too. But I don't think we should make any accusations without knowing the full story."

"I agree, Sukh. I'll keep you apprised. Great work."

"Thanks, Rose. Let's hope this doesn't end in flames. For either of us."

She said her goodbyes and hung up, then narrowed her eyes as she stared pensively at her blank office wall.

"That sleazy rat," she muttered.

Either Maple Airlines was getting a smoking deal thanks to Alex Decker, or the numbers were fudged. Either way, she needed to find out. And she knew just the man to ask.

The thought of seeing Jackson made her stomach do flips. She wasn't sure how she was going to interrogate him about the airline when they couldn't seem to be in the same room together without arguing or making out or both. She huffed and picked at her fingernails nervously. This wasn't going to go away. She had to face it—both this thing with Jackson and the problem with Decker. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that she could fight her own battles.

She stood and grabbed her bag, then made her way into the front office.

"Jas, I'm leaving for the day. Please take messages for me."

Jas smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mayor."

As Rose stepped outside, the hair on her arms stirred. She scanned the sky and saw dark clouds hanging low over the mountains. She rubbed her arms uneasily. Lightning was always a worry during Dogwood summers when the grass was tinder dry. A forest fire could start in the blink of an eye.

She got into the Bronco and grasped the wheel. It was time to get some answers. She needed to see a man about a lease.

***

Jackson sat in the treehouse, his legs dangling through the opening in the floor. He tilted his head back and drank deeply from a can of soda, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around at the treehouse walls, a feeling of satisfaction in his gut.

A distant rumble broke his concentration. He heaved himself to his feet and looked out the window. There were thunderclouds in the sky. He pulled back and rubbed his neck. He should get back to the Creek House. It was a bad idea to be out in the open when lightning could strike anywhere. He glanced out the treehouse window and chewed his lip, waiting for the next rumble, but nothing came.

His phone vibrated in his hand. It was a message from Denny.

Rose is wondering where you are.

Jackson raised his brows. He typed back with tentative finger strokes. Tell her I'm at the treehouse.

Denny texted back, What treehouse?

Just tell her.

He waited, but nothing further came from Denny. Jackson surveyed the treehouse, looking at his handiwork critically, then brushed the sawdust off his jeans. His hands shook as he tidied up the tools that were strewn all over the floor. He'd brought a blanket up in case he needed a siesta, and it sat folded in the corner covered in dust. He toed it up against the wall, under an unbroken stretch of roof, then exited the treehouse to wait for Rose.

As he waited, he watched the storm clouds move in. The wind picked up, ruffling his hair and pushing the storm clouds closer to the Creek House. Jackson stuffed his hands in his pockets and started to walk. It was a bad idea for Rose to come out here. They should both be inside. Perhaps he could meet her on the way.

He hadn't gone very far when he spied her. She wore a jewel green dress that brushed her knees as she walked alongside the creek toward him. She raised her hand and waved.

"There you are," she called out.

He trotted up to her and stopped. "Hey."

Rose looked up at the sky. Her bare lips looked soft and plush and pink in a way that made him hunger for her.

"I heard thunder," she said, oblivious to his perusal.

He cleared his throat. "Me, too. We should go back to the house."

"Yeah, maybe." She peered around him and gasped. "Oh my God. What did you do?"

She maneuvered around him and toward the treehouse. He caught up to her, pressing his fingers together nervously as she surveyed the structure.

"You fixed it?" she asked.

He looked down at his dusty hands. They'd become callused from working with a hammer.

"Sort of," he said.

She put her hand on the freshly remade ladder. "You did this all by yourself?"

He nodded.

She smiled at him. "This is amazing. You're amazing."

Jackson blushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. The awe in her dark-eyed gaze was like helium in his chest. He could have floated away.

A flash of lightning split the cloud-dark sky, distracting him. He squinted up at the purple-grey clouds and counted the seconds under his breath. Rose was doing the same, much as they had done as kids when summer storms rolled over the mountains. Thunder made her nervous, and the counting had soothed her. A rumble split the air.

"That was close," he murmured.

She bit her lip. "We should get back to the house."

"I don't know if we should cover that kind of distance in the open right now. This storm is about to break." He pointed up at the treehouse. "What do you think?"

The first pellets of rain hit the grass, turning quickly into a torrent of water. Rose pressed herself against the cottonwood's trunk and surveyed the storm, her brows knitting together. Another fork of lightning lanced the sky, followed closely by a peal of thunder.

"Jackson," she pleaded over the roar of the water.

He nodded. "Let's get inside."

He ushered her up the ladder. Rose climbed quickly, even in her pretty dress, then pulled herself up through the hole in the floor. Jackson averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to prevent himself from getting an eyeful of her smooth, tanned legs. He followed. Once inside, he pulled the blanket out of the corner and dusted it off.

"Here," he said. "We can sit on this."

Narrow rivers of water poured through the holes in the roof. He found a dry spot and spread out the blanket. Rose sat, folding her legs under her, and he took a seat beside her.

"Damn," she said, wicking water off her arm. "I think we're stuck here for a while."

Jackson looked out the window at the downpour of rain. Another fork of lightning rent the sky, followed by close rumbling. The air was stuffy and warm. It was a true summer storm.

"Yeah, I guess we are," he said.

Rose arranged her dress over her thighs. "It still makes me nervous. Is that silly?"

"Not at all."

She nibbled her lip. "Listen, I came here to ask you something."

Before she could go on, lightning flashed, illuminating the treehouse momentarily. Rose's eyes reflected the light, then thunder rumbled so low overhead it rattled the plywood walls. Rose jumped. He put his hand on her back, scooting closer to her.

"It's okay. We're okay here."

Her eyes were wide. "Are you sure?"

"Safer than we would be outside, I can tell you that much. Don't worry. I'll text Denny and let him know we're waiting out the storm."

She shivered. "Okay."

"At least we're not lost in the woods." He smiled encouragingly. "Not this time."

She looked at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Right. I forgot about that. When we went into the forest behind Dad's place and that storm rolled in."

He grinned. "The only time we ventured in there. God, I thought we'd never get out."

She chuckled. "We really were lost. I got in so much trouble for it, too. I blame you, of course."

Jackson pressed a hand to his chest. "Me?" Then he laughed. "No, you're absolutely right. That one was totally my idea. I'm sorry."

Rose's eyes shone with mirth. "It's funny to look back on now, but at the time..."

"You were so mad at me." He whistled. "I thought you'd never forgive me."

She bumped his leg with her knee. "But I did, didn't I?"

His voice lowered as emotion made his throat tight. "Yes, you did."

She inhaled slowly and held her breath for a moment before exhaling. He couldn't help himself; he let his knuckles trail down the curve of her back to her waist, brushing the soft curves of her body. She sighed.

"That's nice," she whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he lifted his hand again and trailed his fingers down her back again, a gentle, testing touch. Rose closed her eyes and made a small sound of pleasure. He suppressed a shocked moan. Maybe it was the magic of the treehouse. Maybe it was her worry about the storm. But she leaned into his touch as though she wanted more.

"Does no one touch you like this, Rosie?" he whispered.

She smiled and opened her eyes. Her black lashes shadowed her gaze. "No, Jackson. No one touches me like this."

He turned his hand and let his palm curve around the dip of her waist, then stroked her skin through the thin fabric of her dress with his thumb. "And this?"

She shivered visibly. "No. No one."

Jackson trailed his fingertips down her side, tripping over the folds in the silky fabric of her dress, feeling the smooth curves underneath. Rose took a breath that trembled. He stretched out his fingers and let his palm graze her hip before his hand came to rest on her thigh. He gave her leg a gentle squeeze. She sighed audibly. He barely pushed down a moan of triumph. She was like a flower opening to him, almost vibrating under his tender touch. He couldn't believe his luck.

"Well, that's a shame, Rosie," he murmured. "If I lived in Dogwood, I would touch you all the time."

Her eyes darkened under her lowered lashes. "Is that so?"

"Yes, if you allowed me to, I would do my level best to make sure you never got out of bed."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "That sounds very distracting."

"I know a few things about distractions." He stroked her thigh. "You, for instance."

"I'm a distraction?"

Jackson growled and eased closer to her. Their legs touched.

"Yes, Rosie," he said. "You are. I've been distracted since I got here. When I saw you at the airport, I wanted to take you in my arms right then."

Her cheeks grew flushed. "I wouldn't have guessed." Her eyes widened. "Oh! The airport—"

Thunder pealed, rattling the treehouse. Rose yelped and clutched Jackson's hand tightly. He shifted his weight and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking.

"You're okay, Rosie. We're okay."

She laughed breathlessly. "I'm sorry. This is so dumb."

"No. It's okay to be scared."

"You used to do this when we were children, too. Hold my hand when it stormed."

"Yes, I did." He kissed the top of her head, lingering in the scent of her hair. "Do you know why I held you?"

She shook her head. Her hand rested on his chest.

His breath hitched in his throat. "I held you because I would do anything for you, Rosie."

She exhaled in a rush, as though he'd knocked the wind out of her. Her arms snaked around his back. She pulled herself closer to him. She pressed her face into his chest and breathed for a moment before tilting her head back to look up at him.

"I'm still upset," she said quietly. "My feelings are hurt, Jackson."

"I know. I'm sorry. I wish you'd let me soothe the pain."

She hesitated. "Soothe how?"

A smile curved his lips, and he stroked her cheek with thumb. "Like this."

She let out a soft sigh.

"More?" he murmured.

She nodded, and her voice came out in a whisper. "Yes."

He dropped a delicate, soft kiss on her mouth. "More?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes. Kiss me again."

"Oh, Rosie," he moaned. "You don't have to tell me twice."

***

Rose leaned into Jackson as his mouth found hers. With her eyes closed, she was aware of the scent of sawdust that clung to his clothes, and she breathed it in deeply, then sighed against his lips. It reminded her, in some way, of that day long ago. The sweat on his skin. The heat. The cloying summer air. And the way she had wanted him to touch her—the way he was touching her now.

She moaned softly and lifted her hand, finding his copper tresses and tangling her fingers in the strands. He responded by deepening their kiss.

"Does this soothe your pain, Rosie?" he whispered against her mouth.

She whispered back. "I don't know. I can't think with your hands on me like this."

"Do you want me to stop?"

A smile quirked her lips. "No."

"Thank God."

He recaptured her mouth. His hands slid down her back, kneading and grasping, pulling her as close to his body as was possible in their awkward seated position.

"Oh, Rosie," he breathed. He tilted her head back and showered the delicate skin of her throat with kisses. "I've wanted this for so long. I've dreamed of you. Tell me when to stop, and I will."

She tightened her hands in his hair. Stopping Jackson couldn't have been further from her mind. His mouth and hands were causing a landslide of desire inside her. She was buried under the delicious sensations. She pushed away the complexities that lingered between them. She wanted more.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" she gasped.

"Then I won't." His voice was rough. "I want you, Rosie. I've waited for so long."

She was melting under his ministrations. Shivers of need made her tremble. He touched her as though he knew all the places that made her melt. His palms were callused, his fingertips roughened by working on the treehouse. The sensation was thrilling. He was hungry for her, she could tell, and it awakened a hunger in her, too.

"I need you," she whispered. "Please."

He growled a curse under his breath and wrapped his hands around her waist, tugging her onto his lap in one smooth, strong motion so that Rose found herself straddling his muscular thighs, her knees pressed into the soft blanket. She giggled breathlessly.

"What's so funny?" he rumbled.

"You would never have executed that move when we were teenagers."

He chuckled. "I don't think I had the frame of reference for it at sixteen. I'm sure I would have figured it out, though. I thought about you a lot." He tugged on her hips. "I still do. And I have way more moves in my repertoire now."

She threw back her head and laughed. As she let her head fall forward again, she drew her hands over his strong shoulders and up his neck to cup his face. He looked at her with blazing lust in his eyes.

"This feels like the first time," she whispered.

His eyes shone. "Yes. It does." He pulled her tighter against his body. "More?"

Rose closed her eyes and moaned at the pleased heat that thrummed through her veins.

"More, Jackson." She opened her eyes to look at him. "Hell, all of it."

He paused for a moment, his eyes as stormy as the weather outside the treehouse, then he deliberately turned their bodies, laying her down gently on the blanket and bracing himself above her. He stroked the hair that framed her face, his touch suddenly gentle and questioning.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she breathed.

He buried his face in her neck. "Oh, Rosie."

He kissed the tender skin near her ear, making her tremble. She buried her hands in his hair. To hell with the realities that awaited them outside the treehouse. This moment belonged to them alone.

"I'm yours," she whispered.

He lifted his head. "Are you?"

"Yes." She met his gaze openly. "I always was."

Something broke in his gaze, as though the last vestiges of his walls came tumbling down. As he lowered his head and kissed her face—her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her closed eyelids—Rose's heart softened, then broke, but even as it was torn asunder, Jackson remade it with his touch. He stitched it together with his lips, hands, and body until it felt new.

The act of giving herself to him felt natural to Rose. As they moved together, peals of thunder rolled across the sky, but she wasn't afraid. She was safe inside with Jackson, and she didn't want to be anywhere else. She was home.