Only when we burn

Chapter 2:Wings and Anchors

Jackson arrived just as I was about to heave my weekender bag off the floor. "Here, let me get that for you."

He smelled like he always did after a morning shave, spiced citrus and something deeper, muskier, like danger wrapped in cashmere. He looked maddeningly good, too, in a crisp white polo T-shirt, grey wool trousers with a dark blue sports jacket and that effortless confidence that made people do a double-take. Even I, supposedly used to him, did a double-take.

"You tied up all your work stuff?" I asked, passing the bag over.

He nodded. "For the weekend, at least." A small smirk. "Though I might've left a trail of chaos behind."

I smiled. There is always chaos when Jackson leaves, broken hearts scattered like breadcrumbs in his wake. A glance at my phone showed it was already past midday. "Aarti's late."

"She'll be here," Nate called from the living room, his tone easy. He was slouched into the couch, watching the football like he didn't have a care in the world, a beer resting loosely in his hand.

"Did she call?" I asked, walking over and tapping on his shoulder.

"Nope." He shrugged, took another swig, and focused on the game again.

I sank down beside him. Jackson followed, sitting on my other side. The air between the three of us wasn't exactly tense, but it wasn't flowing either. Jackson's gaze lingered on the screen even though he wasn't really watching. Nate cleared his throat. The silence wasn't awkward, just... loaded. I grabbed both their hands and set them gently in my lap, studying them. One smooth, the other calloused. Different histories. Different kinds of love.

God, I just wanted this to be easier.

These two meant everything to me, my anchor and my wings, and I was desperate for a future where I didn't feel like I was always trying to stitch them together with invisible thread. I didn't need them to be best friends, just… comfortable. Able to sit in a room together and laugh at the same dumb joke. To not make me choose which side of the couch to sit on depending on the vibe. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

I sighed quietly, the kind of sigh that didn't announce itself but still said too much. Nate's leg bounced. Jackson cracked his knuckles.

And then, thank god, the intercom buzzed.

Nate stood and stretched. "Aarti's here." He walked over quickly to open the door for me. Aarti swept in like a glitter bomb, bright yellow sundress spinning as she twirled. "Did you guys miss me?" she beamed, almost smacking Nate with her overnight bag as she flung her arms wide.

"Oh my god, tone it down," Nate grumbled, but he was already smiling.

There were hugs, exaggerated cheek kisses, and the usual Aarti whirlwind of perfume, noise, and colour. Suddenly, the room felt lighter, as if someone had cracked open a window. The four of us piled into the elevator and headed toward the helipad.

And just like that, everything was better, easier and warmer.

***

Once we were buckled in, the rotor blades started up, drowning out most conversation. Aarti and Nate were chatting in the back; laughter muffled the rotor noise despite their headsets. I nestled into Jackson’s side, letting my head rest on his shoulder as the helicopter lifted off.

Through the curved glass, the city shrank beneath us, tiny cars, tiny lives. Then came endless stretches of rolling hills and sun-soaked fields, the silver threads of rivers weaving between them.

Jackson kissed the top of my head. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I kept my eyes closed. “What are Henry and Maria doing this weekend?”

"Maria's already in Seine Valley, helping prep the food for the weekend. She flew out yesterday to coordinate with the catering team." He shifted slightly, adjusting his headset. "Henry's with his kids this weekend, it's his custody weekend."

I blinked up at him. "Henry has kids? Your driver and head of security has kids?"

"Two. Christopher and Eva. Christopher's eight, Eva's six." Jackson's expression softened. "He doesn't get to see them as much as he'd like since the divorce."

I snorted. "You know all this about your staff?"

He gave me a look. "Henry's not just staff, Bella. He started working for my dad when I was in college. I've known him for over a decade. He's been looking out for me longer than almost anyone." His voice grew quieter, more serious. "When people are family, you pay attention to what matters to them."

"Speaking of family," I said, my stomach doing a small flip, "your mom's going to be there all weekend, isn't she?"

His grin was immediate and wicked. "Missing her already?"

I groaned and buried my face against his shoulder. "Jackson, she caught us making out last time. And I was half-naked. That's not exactly the foundation for a warm relationship."

"She thought it was hilarious," he laughed, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. "Trust me. Besides, this weekend will be different. Lots of guests, lots of distractions. The 4th of July celebration is always huge at Seine Valley—tastings, fireworks, the works."

My nerves weren't settling. If anything, they were getting worse.

He must've felt my tension. "She'll love you, Bella. Just be yourself."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered. "You weren't the one standing there in your underwear, or lack thereof."

His eyes darkened, and I felt the shift in his energy immediately. His fingers grazed my thighs, moving higher until he stopped just short of where my shorts met skin, slow and possessive. I swore the air around us thickened with heat.

I groaned. "Jackson, we have company."

"So?" he whispered, brushing his lips over the corner of my mouth. "It's nothing they haven't seen."

I tried not to smile. I failed.

When he kissed me, his hand slid to the back of my neck, and suddenly the world narrowed to warm breath, soft mouths, and the faint scent of his cologne.

A loud groan came from behind us. "Oh my god," Aarti muttered. "Can you not make out directly in front of us? Some of us are trying to survive the flight without needing eye bleach."

Nate chimed in, dry as ever. "I already see his abs every morning. Do I have to watch his tongue now, too?"

Jackson broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. "They're just jealous," he murmured.

I laughed, breathless. "Of what?"

"Of us," he said simply. Then, with a wink in their direction, he added, "Sorry, can't help it. She tastes better than breakfast."

Aarti fake-gagged. "I hope your pilot doesn't crash from secondhand nausea."

Jackson's hand found mine, fingers lacing effortlessly. I squeezed once. Just enough to say: I'm nervous. But I'm here.

And he squeezed back. Always.

***

We landed in a paddock beside the vineyard, the same one as last time. The familiar scent of the vines and warm earth greeted us as we stepped off the chopper and ran towards his house. For a brief second, Jackson went still, as if caught in a memory. He shook it off quickly and led us up a winding stone path to his cozy, sandstone cottage tucked among olive trees. The place was all honeyed light and wooden beams, with jasmine crawling up the porch posts.

"Guest rooms are down that hall," Jackson said, showing Aarti and Nate to their doors. "Both doubles. Crackers and wine in the fridge, but save your appetite, party kicks off at five."

Aarti's eyes gleamed. "Wine?"

"You're literally in a winery, there's always going to be lots of wine," Jackson deadpanned, steering me toward our room.

"Race you to the cheese!" she yelled. Nate followed her out, shaking his head.

Jackson guided me to our bedroom and shut the door behind us with a soft click, his eyes already darkening. He didn’t say a word. Just stepped forward, hands threading into my hair as he pulled me into a bruising kiss that made my knees buckle.

“I missed you,” he growled against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. His hands roamed low, rough palms finding the dip of my waist, then slipping beneath my top to glide over bare skin like he’d been starved for the feel of me. "I don't like sleeping without you."

“I missed you too,” I whispered, breath catching as he backed me into the wall.

His lips were everywhere: my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone. I tilted my head back, gasping when his teeth grazed the spot just below my ear. My top was tugged over my head and flung aside before I even registered the loss of fabric. His fingers unclasped my bra with the kind of skill that made me arch into him.

“Still perfect,” he murmured, thumbs brushing over my n*****s, making them pebble instantly. I moaned and tugged at his shirt, needing it off. He obliged, peeling it over his head, revealing the warm, solid muscle I could never get enough of.

We stumbled toward the bed, undoing each other piece by piece, his belt, my shorts, then his trousers. The way his hands slid down my thighs to take my underwear with them made me shiver uncontrollably. I stood there in nothing but skin, trembling not from nerves, but from sheer need.

Jackson sank to his knees in front of me, lips tracing fire across my hipbone. One of his hands gripped the back of my thigh while the other coaxed my legs apart. His mouth found me without hesitation, tongue slow and devastating, until my head fell back.

I gasped, fingers curling into his hair. “Jackson…”

He didn’t stop until my knees gave out and I was shaking. Then he rose, eyes hooded with want, lips glistening. “Lie on the bed,” he rasped.

I did, breathless, body thrumming with tension. He climbed over me, settling between my legs, the weight of him perfect. He kissed me again, slower this time, letting me taste myself on his mouth as his hips pressed into mine. I felt the thick, hard length of him slide against me, teasing. He didn’t rush. He pushed in inch by inch, stretching me until we both gasped.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he groaned into my neck, beginning to move—slow at first, torturous, rolling his hips in deep, controlled thrusts that made my toes curl.

I clung to him, nails raking down his back, meeting every thrust with desperate hunger. He shifted angles, hitting something inside me that made me cry out. His name fell from my lips in a whisper, a prayer and a curse, until we were both lost to it—heat and friction, sweat-slicked skin, tangled sheets.

When we finally shattered, it was together, my body locking around his, his hips stuttering, the sound he made raw and wrecked in my ear. We collapsed in a heap, limbs tangled, breath ragged. His hand found mine and squeezed.

Outside, the voices and luggage wheels rolled down the hallway. But inside this room, time had stopped.

"Did you see the size of that cheese wheel?" Aarti's voice carried clearly through the walls.

"You literally squealed," Nate replied, laughing. "I thought you were going to hug it."

Jackson and I looked at each other and burst into quiet laughter, realising how close our friends had come to interrupting our stolen moment. He pressed his forehead to mine, grinning.

"Good timing," he whispered.

"Always is with you," I whispered back.