“No. We work hard. Why not have little treats now and then.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Indulgences are good for the soul, Lauren.” He lowered his voice. “What about date number two for tomorrow night?”
Was I truly going to continue this with him?
“I’m not sure . . .”
“Are you serious?” He sounded annoyed.
I took that as an opening to bite back. “I do have a life, you know.”
He sighed, and I could hear his exasperation.
“I don’t doubt that, Lauren. Maybe you’ll be able to squeeze me into your busy schedule”
I could clearly see where it was heading, and if I was going to find out the truth without getting into a shouting match, I had to watch my attitude.
“Lauren?”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I guessed that. Look, it’s been a long-ass day. Would another day work better?”
“No. Tomorrow works. What time?”
I heard his voice relax.
“Does seven work for you?”
“Yes. Where should I meet you, Jackson?”
“I’ll pick you up, personally.”
“I’ll see you at seven.”
“Sharp.”
I could tell he was pleased, as I thought, Small-town girl falls into Hollywood player’s trap, again.
When I told Ashley about my date—as promised—she insisted I borrow her little black dress.
Blake passed me in the hallway. “You look . . .” He had nothing to add as he examined my dress.
“Thanks, I think.”
“You have something to cover that up, right?” Blake patted his chest, signaling I had too much cleavage showing.
The dress’s neckline was quite revealing. Ashley was far more endowed than I was, and my breasts barely filled out the front. I ignored him, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
“Saucy.”
I jumped at Cary’s voice as he peered over the refrigerator door, displaying a coy grin. The one that made grown women giggle like schoolgirls, and apparently, made one speechless.
“Um, thanks. When did you get back?”
“This afternoon. Mamaw’s cooking dinner for us tonight.”
“Uh-huh. She does love cooking for her boys.”
Blake walked in. “That, and she wants me home. She’s on that, I’m going to go to hell, kick again. One of her church members saw me with a girl at a club. When I asked why they were there, she went off about me chasing around ‘fast’ girls.”
“You mean skanks,” I corrected.
“Funny, Lauren. Anyway, Mamaw doesn’t know the ladies come to me.”
“Ha, you’re fooling yourself, Blake. She’s only sparing your feelings, and not calling you out for the manwhore you are.”
Cary spit out the water he was drinking.
Blake gave us the evil eye. “Whatever.” He snorted, leaving the kitchen.
Cary grabbed the nearest dishtowel, and as he walked closer to me, I thought I could watch him walk all day.
I breathed in deeply, willing myself to control my train of thought. I had pledged to myself to lock out all non-brotherly feelings pertaining to Cary from my heart. However, that was a whole lot easier when we weren’t in the same room.
“New dress?” He leaned over to kiss my cheek.
The softness of his lips brushed over my skin as the warmth of his breath seared my flesh.
My hand instantly touched the spot. “I borrowed it from Ashley.”
His blue eyes perused down my body before flickering back to mine. “I like.”
Our eyes stayed connected for several, silent moments.
I looked away. “What are your plans for the evening?” The shakiness of my voice betrayed me.
“Hmmm . . .” Cary hummed, as that smirk crept upon his lips. “We’re having a mates’ night out. Sorry, no women allowed.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, I have a date.”
“You do?” He took a step back and lost the grin.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you think I’m dressed up?”
“I wasn’t thinking, but with who?”
“Why do you care, all of a sudden, who I go out with?”
“I always care about what you’re doing, Lauren, and who you’re doing it with.”
I blurted out, “Jackson Cruz.”
His eyes darkened.
“The first date went well, I see.”
“It was fine.”
“How could you go on another date with that—?”
“Don’t. It’s only a date.”
He reached over me to grab his cup all while glaring. “Where is he taking you?”
“Some place in the Quarter.”
“You don’t know where you’re going?”
“I do. I forgot the name. He’s picking me up.”
“You aren’t driving?”
“No, I’m not driving. What’s with the fifty questions, and your tone?” I gave him a pointed look, as I repeated slower, “Jackson is picking me up.”
“Is that safe?”
What was going on here? He was typically overprotective, but that was overkill.
“Cary, I’ll be fine. Thank you for being . . . you.” I smiled, trying to shake the thought he sounded jealous. “Everyone knows I’ll be with Jackson. If anything happened—and it won’t—they know where to find him. And why would you think something might happen?”
“I’m not saying that, Lauren. I want you to be smart about being with him.”
As he stood there glaring at me, I sat down at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. I didn’t need a lecture; I was already nervous.
“Lauren, you know you’re like my little sister.”
I hated when he said that. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“Obviously,” he said, giving my dress the once-over again. “Lauren, I’m not trying to act like an arse.”
“Then don’t. I know you care . . . a little too much, Cary.”
I wished he cared enough to actually . . .
The doorbell rang, and I jumped out of my seat. Cary scowled at me as I grabbed my purse and opened the door.
“Hi,” Jackson said, with a huge grin. “You look great.” He took my hands in his and squeezed them.
“Yes, she does.”
Cary stood behind me, his hand placed firmly on my lower back while he glared possessively.
The fact I liked it was another issue.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jackson growled.
Cary leaned closer toward him. “I was just asking Lauren that same question about you.”
“Cary!” I scolded. “Jackson, Cary’s a long-time family friend.”
“Lauren, it’s okay.” Jackson caressed my hand. “I’m used to Cary sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Cary chuckled. “Afraid I’ll tell Lauren the truth about the snake you really are?” He pulled me back as Jackson leaped at him.
“Hey, man!” Blake jumped in between them. “What the hell is going on here?”
“We were just leaving!” I hissed at Cary, grabbing Jackson’s hand, heading toward his car.
“Can you explain what just happened, please, Jackson?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Cary Baine?”
I wasn’t sure if Jackson meant to be yelling, but it startled me for a moment. “It never came up. Why does it matter?”
He was about to answer me, but stopped himself and opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
We drove in silence for a while, and at one point, I wanted to ask him to take me home.
“Lauren, I need to apologize for what happened back there.” He blew out a breath through gritted teeth. “I was caught off guard, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“How do you and Cary know each other?”
“From around.” That was his curt answer.
“That’s obvious, but
how do you know Cary?”
“We worked for the same studio, at one time.”
“And this hostility between the two of you happened because . . .”
“Cary and I were friends, once. Something went down that I don’t want to discuss, if that’s all right with you. How do you know him, Lauren?”
“Cary’s father was my dad’s closest friend, and Cary and Blake are also close.”
Jackson glanced over at me. ”Something you should have mentioned to me.”
“That has nothing to do with us.”
“I thought I was the only . . . star you knew?” He smiled tightly.
“Cary isn’t a celebrity to me. He’s family. I’ve known him almost my entire life, and before Cary was, well, Cary.”
“You two never . . . he seemed awfully protective of his friend.”
That was what I was thinking.
“It’s just Cary.”
“Just Cary, huh?” His question had a strange tone.
“Yes. Just. Cary.”
As Jackson and I drove closer toward the city, the mood finally softened. We spent the remaining time talking about our workday. We spoke about his issues with the new stunt they wanted him to try. I spoke about how being a catering assistant wasn’t as simple as I thought. It was just normal conversation—between a movie star and a commoner. Several times, I wanted to bring up the topic of Zara, but each time I chickened out.
We drove up to a quaint hotel in the French Quarter. Even in at dusk, I could see it was old, yet elegant, and nicely represented the charm of the area. The warm, humid breeze, and the aromatic infusion of flowers that outlined the hotel, overpowered the air. Jackson gave his keys to the valet and instructed him to leave his car close.
When we stepped into a well-lit lobby area, I noticed Jackson’s expensive-looking, dark-gray suit, complemented with a crisp, white, button-down shirt that had two buttons undone at the collar. A hint of red peeked out of his cuff, before the black steel chain bracelet popped out.
He led me through the entrance of a small room that appeared to be a library, where a jazz quartet played. Servers dressed in white dinner jackets passed trays of drinks and appetizers.
We approached a desk. “This is a private club for members only,” the host informed a couple in front of us. She glanced at Jackson and immediately escorted us to a dark room. It had to be another one of his “perks.”
As I glanced around, I made a mental note to thank Ashley for her recommendations, because her black cocktail dress was perfect, as was her advice to wear simple silver jewelry.
The area used to be known for its “whites only” clubs. Not too long ago, a club such as this one never would have allowed a Puerto Rican and a Creole to enter, no matter how famous.
“I thought drinks before dinner?” Jackson asked, eyeing me to see if I would accept his offer.
“Sounds good, but so you know, this is not going to become a habit.”
“You know in France the drinking age is eighteen.”
“I know, but we aren’t in France.”
“With all the French that’s spoken here, we could pretend.” He smirked.
“But we’re not, and here I’m breaking the law.”
He leaned in and whispered, “For some reason, Ms. Moreau, I think you enjoy being a bit naughty.”
Chills pricked my spine as he placed his hand on the small of my back and led us to a cocktail table.
We sat in silence while we waited for the bottle of wine Jackson ordered to arrive. He looked as if he had something on his mind.
I cleared my throat. “You seem preoccupied. Are you still upset with me for not telling you about Cary?”
The moment I said Cary’s name, I wanted to take it back. The animosity Jackson had toward him was all over his face. “It’s been an all-around stressful week,” he said, not answering my question.
“Sorry.” I looked away.
“Why are you apologizing? You’re making it better.”
“I’m sorry your week was so hectic, but I’m happy to help.”
When the wine arrived, I took several large sips. I needed liquid courage to ask Jackson about his relationship with Zara. My thoughts did wander to Blake and his many excuses when he started drinking.
Jackson stood and reached for my hand. “Are you ready for dinner?”
Holding Jackson’s hand felt both weird and nice at the same time. I was surprised I was actually comfortable with it.
“We aren’t eating here?” I asked as we passed the dining room area.
“I planned something more private.”
We walked from the main floor, up three long flights of stairs, to a secluded floor overlooking the atrium. He led me out two French doors to a beautiful garden where a single round table was set up with two chairs. Strings of lights and candles served as the backdrop to one of the most romantic scenes I had ever seen.
I squeezed Jackson’s hand. “This is unreal.” I looked up, and his eyes were smiling at me.
Friends, Lauren. Just, friends.
A waiter greeted us as we strolled over to the table. He pulled out my chair and poured two glasses of champagne. I peered at Jackson, then at my champagne glass.
“It’s part of the package, Lauren.”
“Right.” I smiled.
“It really is included in the chef’s table,” he added, grinning shyly.
My expression must have showed I had no clue to what he was referring.
“Tonight, Lauren, we are dining at the chef’s table. Chef Jorge will personally prepare a five-course meal for us.”
Chef Jorge was a renowned chef, and Jackson planned—no, his assistant Adrianna planned—all of it.
“Wow, you didn’t have to go to such trouble; though, it’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Why?”
“You deserve to be treated special, Lauren.”
I couldn’t explain why that rubbed me the wrong way. “Does this mean that others weren’t?”
“Lauren, it’s about you and me tonight. No one else. Understand?” His tone was clipped.
I took that as the perfect opening. “Are you dating Zara Tilly?”
His brows furrowed.
“Is Zara your girlfriend, Jackson?”
“My co-star?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back in his chair, watched me for a moment, and reached over for my hand. “Why, are you the jealous type, Lauren?”
I snatched my hand from his. “No! I have a right to know, don’t I?”
His expression went from smug to uncertainty. “Yes. Yes, you do. I should have explained sooner, but I didn’t think you paid attention to gossip.”
“I do not listen to gossip. Someone mentioned it.”
“Did they? And you believed them?”
“I weigh the facts, Jackson.” From what I saw online, I could see why people would think that. Everything I read pointed to a relationship.
He took a drink, wordlessly keeping his eyes on mine.
I couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Jackson, I can handle the truth.”
“It’s not true, Lauren.” His words sounded sincere, but his eyes stated differently. “You don’t believe me?”
“I want to.”
“You can trust me.”
“How am I supposed to know that? We haven’t known each other for very long. Jackson, I’m not expecting anything serious . . . but, I just don’t want issues with Zara.”
He continued to stare at me, and I still couldn’t get a read from him.
“Lauren, you think this is merely a hook-up?”
“For you, yes. I can’t figure out your intentions.”
“I thought I made my intentions pretty clear, but obviously, I didn’t do as good of a job as I thought.”
Jackson scooted his chair closer to me, and his shirtsleeve popped out of his jacket, displaying a red cufflink that looked like a fleur-de-l
is. I watched him as he raised his hand to cup my face, one finger floated across my lips. My heart sped up as he drew several lines along my bottom lip.
Out of nowhere, a thought of Cary flashed through my mind. Before I could shake the thought, Jackson’s intentions became much clearer. He cradled his hand under my chin and raised my lips to his.
Panic came, and my anxiety went into overdrive. What if I was bad at this, I thought. My first and only kiss had been a disaster.
When our lips met softly, my anxiety melted away. At first, the kiss was sweet and warm, but that quickly went out the window when a jolt of passion ignited within me, and I pressed firmer. Need and desire increased inside me, and I never wanted the kiss to end.
We came up for air, both struggling to contain our breathing. More so me, embarrassed by the panting I couldn’t seem to control, and the fog that seemed to clog my mind.
Jackson sat back in his chair, smug. “If I wanted to do that earlier, I could have, but I wanted you to see I liked you for more than that. I’m not dating Zara, technically. I hope you now fully understand my intentions, Ms. Moreau.”
I couldn’t speak, just nodded.
The waiter joined us and served our first course. Even knowing someone was there, I could not take my eyes off Jackson.
“Ma’am?” I heard, as a plate was placed in front of me.
“Um . . .” I snapped out of it. “Thank you.”
“That good, huh?” Jackson sounded pleased.
I shook myself out of his trance, discomfited by the satisfied grin displayed on his face.
The garden and atrium, we overlooked, sparkled around us as the night deepened. “This place is incredibly beautiful, Jackson. The smell of the flowers is so fragrant.”
“It’s a place to get away from everything and everyone.”
“Thank Adrianna for me. She arranged a perfect night.” I grinned coyly.
He chuckled. “I will. I told you she’s good.”
“You should never let her go.”
“Never.” He raised his glass, and I raised mine.
We went through four courses while Jackson told stories about his friends and co-stars. I wanted to find out as much as possible about him from him, not from what I had read recently.
Jackson was telling a story about one of his co-stars latest pranks on set, when his earlier slip smacked me across the face.
The Devil has a British Accent: Book One: Jackson (White Carpet #1) Page 8