“What?” I pulled my arm away, and his chin lifted, eyes back to mine. “I’m not hiding in this townhouse or anywhere. And it’s not because I don’t realize what’s going on, but I need the money.”

His hands curled around the back of my knees again. “Calla . . .”

“I seriously need the money. Over a hundred thousand in debt, Jax. I’m not making a crap ton of money, but I’m making something. I can’t afford to chill out in the Jax Relocation Program.”

His lips twitched “Jax Relocation Program?”

My eyes narrowed.

He chuckled and some, not all, of the anger eased out of his expression. “I like the sound of this program.”

“I’m sure you do,” I retorted dryly. “I just . . . I need to be more careful, more aware of my surroundings and stuff. I mean, I’m sure Mo didn’t look too harmless in the bar. I need to pay more attention.”

“So did I,” he agreed firmly.

I started to deny it but figured there was no point. Some of the hardness was still in his face and I remembered the near-murderous fury in his eyes when we’d been at the bar.

As I watched him, something shifted in his eyes. The color was still dark, but it was warmer, hotter. It was late. Or early. Depending on how one looked at it. And there was a lot we needed to talk about, namely Aimee with an i and two e’s and his “you got to trust me” solution to her feeling him up like he was tenderized meat.

Yeah, we really needed to talk about that.

But as he stared up at me I could tell what he was thinking—I could feel what he was thinking. And after almost being kidnapped and after finally opening up to Teresa and Avery, the very last thing I wanted to do at four something in the morning was talk about Aimee, her wandering hands, and how that made me want to turn into a rabid kangaroo and kick her head off her shoulders.

I did need to talk to him. It was serious, and he was right, there would be some miles between us in the fall, and I needed to trust him.

And I did.

Sort of.

My brain sighed, literally sighed.

But then my body did a happy sigh when Jax’s hands moved up my thighs, reaching the hem of my shorts. One side of his lips quirked up in that sexy half grin.

Okay.

We could talk later.

Not giving my brain a chance to argue that that was a bad idea and I was tossing girl power or whatever crap to the side for some bow-chick-a-wow, I grabbed the sides of his shirt and tugged up. Wordlessly, Jax backed off and lifted his arms. In no time, he was shirtless and my hands were on his hard, rough chest, and once again I wondered how I’d gone so long without knowing what a man’s chest—Jax’s chest—felt like under my fingers.