I position myself so that the two of them need to turn their backs on Brandon to look at me. “What a lovely pashmina.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Keaton coos. “So funny seeing you here.”
I let out a strangled chuckle. "Well, you can’t keep me away from good Italian food. And Papa Gino’s hardly counts.”
“Smart choice,” she says conspiratorially. “Did you know Papa Gino’s was one food handling violation away from a citation last month?”
I shake my head.
“Seriously, honey. I’ve got it on good record from the health inspector. Do not trust the pepperoni.”
What did Mr. Keaton ever see in her to make him propose? Maybe he took the path of least resistance. Better to be with her than against her.
Behind Mrs. Keaton, Brandon levers himself up as if to follow me. I make a show of checking the time on my cell phone and give an apologetic shrug. “Darn, I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. Can you fill me in next time we speak?”
Mrs. Keaton presses her lips together and shrugs. “Whatever you say, Natalie.”
Her eyes bore into my back as I leave.
Chapter 26
I’m just about to hit send on an email to a graphic designer when Jackson lets himself into the guesthouse.
“You’re late, Skippy,” I tell him, but there’s no heat behind it. It’s been a few days since my disastrous date with Brandon, days where I threw myself into both of my jobs and scoured apartment listings in Boston. Eyes on the prize, I kept reminding myself every time I topped off my coffee cup with a fresh jolt of caffeine. Eyes on the prize, I said as I contacted landlords in a few buildings.
Jackson sets his bag down on the table. “I got caught up outside.” When he doesn’t automatically sit down next to me, I look up at him. Jackson’s wearing low-riding jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt that hints at the muscles just underneath, but what catch my eye are his shoulders, drawn up with tension. His mouth is a flat line.
“You okay there, champ?” I tease. “The lube life wearing you down? Or is it the bar life?”
“Actually, that was Mrs. Keaton outside. She had some interesting things to say.”
“I’m sure she did.” I feign nonchalance on the off chance she decided to blab about the great Papa Gino’s pepperoni scandal instead of my date. Maybe, maybe this can all blow away.
I turn back to my computer and hit send. Hopefully this designer will help make Penchant a logo and a label for our bottle. I’m going for an upscale look—minimal and classy. Every bottle I’ve come across in my research has packaging that makes me feel like I’m in seventies porn. Bow chicka wow wow. A sleek, sophisticated bottle will definitely set us apart.
“So was she right that you were out with some guy this weekend?”
I cringe, my jaw clamping so tight my temples pound. I wouldn’t have put it past Mrs. Loose Lips Keaton to tell Jackson something that was none of his business, but I can’t believe Jackson is calling me out on it, too.
I glare over my shoulder at him. “We’re listening to Mrs. Keaton now, are we?” I should have never gone on that date to begin with. I should have known that every little thing I did would get scrutinized and broadcast to the masses.
“Did you?”
“I had dinner with a member of the male species, yes.”
A muscle in Jackson’s jaw ticks. “Was it your ex?”
I laugh at the idea. I can’t imagine Matthew in Swan’s Hollow, or anywhere outside of the order of his routine in Boston, really. “No, Jackson, not with Matthew.” I feel my forehead crease. “What else was Mrs. Keaton saying about me? That I was wearing an indecently short dress?”
His jaw ticks again. “Were you wearing an indecently short dress?”
“That’s not the point!”
“But you were on a date.”
Enough with the grilling. Jackson doesn’t need to know it sucked. I waggle my eyebrows at him. “Delilah Overbrook was.”
Jackson’s shoulders stiffen and his hands curl into loose fists. His green eyes narrow, glints of light flashing at me from their depths. So much for Jackson’s easygoing reputation. “You can’t do that.”
Heat rises to my skin. “Excuse me?” I stand up and face Jackson. How did this conversation go so sideways? “I can’t go on a date? Since when are you so big-brother protective?”
“I’m not being protective.” His growl scrapes across my ears like the revving of an engine. “You can’t pretend to be Delilah Overbrook. It could be bad press.”
I snort. “Bad press for a business that doesn’t exist yet?” Anger flares inside my chest and I feel my shoulders tense. “That’s a bullshit answer, Jackson. And you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t date.” Jackson doesn’t get a say in my personal life. Not since he stopped being part of it. Not since he showed me so clearly that he and I were never going to be a thing.
I spin, my hair whipping out behind me, and stomp toward the coffee pot on my counter. I’m too furious to even drink anything but I need a way to make space between us. Sure it’s been nice working with Jackson and having someone to laugh with, but he definitely, definitely doesn’t get to yell at me about this.
I only make it three steps before Jackson catches my wrist and turns me around. “Why did you even go?”
Is he serious right now? I glare at him. “I don’t know, because I’m a human who has feelings?”
“You say that like I don’t.” I ignore his wounded face. I don’t know what makes me more angry—that I’m defending my date when it was miserable, or that he’s asking like it’s his business.
I yank a hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Jackson? That I tried to do something nice for myself and instead of having fun the guy was only interested in me because he thought selling lube meant I was a slut? You want me to say every part of that night was shitty?”
The sound of my own breath is so loud in my ears that I almost miss his quiet confession.
“Yes,” he says, sure and calm.
It takes me a second, all the anger fizzling out of me. “Wait—what?”
“You should have been with me.”
My heart pounds against my ribs at the sight of his green eyes, possessive and sparking with desire. My breath catches in my throat and every nerve in my body prickles with attention. Jackson’s not mad—he’s jealous. Oh god, he’s jealous. And before I have another second to think, he crushes his lips against mine.
Chapter 27
Jackson seals his mouth over mine, winding his hands through my hair. He cups the back of my head gently, insistently, and a protest dies in my throat because I want this, this, this. Jackson kissing me, his lips hot on my mouth. He bites my bottom lip and I gasp, my mouth falling open.
“You’re so fucking frustrating,” he says, pulling my hips against his. “Can’t anything be easy with you?”
I snort. “I’m not that kind of girl.” But here I go anyway, tilting up my chin to him, giving him access to all the secret parts of me. He’s a breath away and I think about how we’re all atoms and ions and tiny, miraculous things we can’t explain. And I kiss him back.
Everything in the world narrows down to us. To me and Jackson in my borrowed kitchen with the air crackling between us. Jackson’s pulse pounds against my chest and I feel a rush of acceptance. For all the times he’s been an untouchable golden boy, for all the times we’ve been separated by distance and hurt feelings, he’s here, now. And I lean into him and kiss him back. Of course I do.
It feels good to finally touch Jackson instead of just imagining it. To let my hands roam over his body, the heat and the hardness of him, the scratch of his stubble against my palm. I skim my hands over his biceps, press my body against his.
He groans at my touch and the noise goes straight through me, lighting up every nerve between my chest and my core.
“You are going to be the end of me,” Jackson whispers and I laugh.
“It’ll be worth it,” I tell him.<
br />
“I’m sure.”
He presses his lips against mine again, his kiss turning me inside out until I can’t think straight, don’t want to think straight. Don’t want to stop. Jackson’s touch is full of this restrained heat—controlled like he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s taking his goddamn time enjoying it.
I let out a breath of air against his neck, my knees threatening to buckle. I’m so used to acting quickly with my business, my life, but Jackson kisses like he does everything—leisurely and unhurried. He slows me down, makes me savor this moment instead of rushing through it, reminding me that you can do something so intensely that you combust. The slow burn now is a promise that the final fire will be that much hotter.
At last I can’t wait anymore. “Come here.” I lead Jackson into the bedroom where the cool expanse of sheets stretch across my bed like an invitation. He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. In a way, I guess, he is. There’s no going back from here, but to be honest, I couldn’t find my way back anyway. Since the moment I met him, there’s only been this. And I’m not going to ignore the desire swirling through my body.
“This has been a long time coming, Natalie,” Jackson says and I wonder, has it? “Just do me a favor and don’t overthink this.” Jackson’s lips whisper warm on my neck.
And, god, it’s lighting up my skin. My body trembles and I want this. I want him. I remember why I picked lube in the first place—because I wanted to have fun. So yeah, I can have fun with Jackson. I nod and murmur my agreement and sink into the feeling of him.
This isn’t me falling for him, I tell myself. This is me saying yes to something I’ve wanted for a long time. Or part of it, anyway. Because I’ll let Jackson have my body. But he doesn’t get to keep my heart.
I lift my shirt up and over my head, and lean back onto the bed. For once I’m glad I bought fancy lingerie at La Perla on Boylston, for the way I’d blown a whole paycheck just on bras. Jackson looks at me in a way that I can only describe as reverent and I feel myself glowing back at him.
“God you’re beautiful, Nat,” he says, and I believe him.
We are the only thing in the world as he unbuttons my jeans and I lift my hips to help him slide them off. We are the only thing in the world as he pauses just above me, his breath skimming my stomach, his lips trailing down.
I should feel nervous or anxious, but I don’t. It’s been a while since I slept with anyone but my body remembers what to do. I’m coming awake, all the sleeping parts of me. My throat constricts. I missed this. I missed being alive, being connected, being right here, in this moment.
And this—this with Jackson—it’s familiar and new all at the same time. I smile like I can’t stop. I’m incredibly stupidly lucky to be here with him.
Jackson moves his body lower, his eyelashes brushing my stomach, and peels my underwear off of me.
“Okay?” He pauses to look up at me.
“Yes,” I whisper back. Yes, yes, yes.
I gasp as his tongue hits my core, a thousand nerve endings coming to life. His fingers coax me higher and higher, insistent and sure. We are the only thing in the world as Jackson brings me to the edge of something beautiful and fragile and splintering. He’s there with me as I jump off.
“Come here,” I say, after, because I’m not done with him yet. I don’t know if it will ever be enough. I unzip Jackson’s jeans and he slides off the bed to step out of his clothes. I let out a long, shallow breath at the sight of him. His body is a work of art, all long, lean muscles honed by running. And below the belt? All the rumors finally make sense.
I take a minute to admire the view, smiling up at him.
Jackson flashes me his sexy, dangerous grin. “Like what you see?”
I nod. “Absolutely.” And then, because this isn’t a museum and I’m allowed to touch, I reach for him and pull him to me. Jackson’s body, leaning over mine, shakes like a question. The answer is yes.
“Do you have—?” he asks and I shake my head before I remember the condom sample pack from the lubes I ordered off Amazon. The ones I’d been so embarrassed for him to see.
“Actually, yes.” I reach for my bedside table and pull out a shiny foil square, branded in a bright red font. I wiggle the packet in the air. “Who knew these would come in handy?”
We laugh and any tension flies out the window. After that we’re all naked skin and hot breath, Jackson’s body pressed onto mine, our hearts beating faster and faster. All the pieces snap into place at once, like this is the last piece in the puzzle of him and I’m finally getting to see the big picture. Maybe there was never any use denying how I felt before. Maybe it was always going to be this—the two of us on a bed, moving together. Me and him and this impossible, inevitable thing. And after everything, when I’m tucked into Jackson’s arms, I realize the truth of it all—sex can be the end of something or the start of something new. With Jackson Wirth, it’s both.
Chapter 28
I roll over and the bare skin of my back collides with something warm and solid. The heat makes me start, and I drag my eyes open. Daylight streams around the curtains of my guesthouse and Mrs. Keaton’s stupid dog barks somewhere in the distance. Underneath me stretches a snoring and gloriously naked Jackson Wirth, his hand curled around my back.
Last night really happened, then. It wasn’t just some surreal dream. I blush even though he’s not awake to see me.
I study the features of Jackson’s sleeping face, his slightly crooked nose and his perfectly kissable lips. The tiny, silver scar under his left eyebrow. This is what sleeping rock stars must look like, ready to spring awake and dazzle crowds. But there’s no crowd for him here, just me and the fig tree in the corner, both of us stretching toward the sun.
Hmm. I should go on Tinder dates more often.
Just as quickly, I erase the thought from my mind. Jackson is the consummate bachelor. I ran away from him all those years ago because he couldn’t love me the way I needed.
Nothing’s changed between now and then and I’m not stupid enough to think that last night will have meant anything to Jackson. But maybe knowing that is a good thing. I know not to get my heart broken, so I just won’t let it happen. The most important thing is that Jackson can still be my friend, which I need more than I can say. I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve missed him. Here in Swan’s Hollow it’s me and Abigail and Nico and Jackson. They are my tiny world and I cannot mess this up. I just don’t know how to act around Jackson now that we’ve crossed this line.
“Hey,” Jackson says, stirring under my palm. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I wish I had another minute to look at him in the morning light, another minute to hold onto the memories of last night before I let him go. Because last night, god. The thought of it makes my skin buzz.
“You’re in my bed.” I roll my eyes but smile anyway.
He grins. “Lucky me.”
On impulse I reach out and touch the scar above his eye. I was with him when it happened, riding shotgun while he drove us from Wirth & Sons to home. It was one of those nights that stretched forever, spring verging on summer, and we drove with the windows down, everything pressing in damp and wild. The forest smelled like moss and secrets and the night felt buzzing and alive. We could do anything. We could be anyone.
It happened in an instant, the doe rolling out of the trees like mist, a split second of white-knuckled terror as the car careened toward her and then crumpled around her pretty little body.
Jackson’s arm shot out, not to protect himself, but to protect me. All I could stare at was the doe’s face, her eyes going wide on impact, first with surprise, then with pain, then with acceptance.
The deer crushed the whole front bumper of the car, and the car, in turn, put a long, jagged gash in an oak tree just off the road. I’m sure I could pick it out now, an unassuming bend in the road like a hundred other bends in the road, made distinct in one awful moment.
“You and the tree
have matching cuts,” I told Jackson after the accident, my hand wrapped around his in the hospital.
He’d lifted the corner of his mouth and then winced. “Does it make me look sexier? Wouldn’t want to ruin my cred with the ladies.”
I reminded myself that, despite my fingers twined in his, there were other girls out there who wanted Jackson, too. Who he wanted. I squeezed his hand, trying to keep my voice light. “God, don’t be an ass.”
But over time the angry red mark faded into something lopsided and, yes, sexy. It made Jackson look mysterious, like he was someone who’d lived, someone who had stories to tell. He protected me before himself. And if I had been half in love with Jackson before that night, this completely sealed the deal for me. It didn’t matter that he was never going to feel the same. Only today Jackson’s in my bed and we’re getting closer to level ground.
My fingers tremble on Jackson’s skin. “Thank you for saving me.”
He grabs my fingertips and kisses them gently before tucking me against his side. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let you get hurt.”
I swallow hard. I need to keep my nerve. I need to remember the reasons sixteen-year-old Natalie stayed away, the reasons I should stay away now. “Listen, can we keep this casual?” Jackson narrows his eyes like he doesn’t quite believe me, but this is the story I’m sticking to. “I’m leaving as soon as this lube gets launched,” I remind him. “I’ve got a game plan to get back to the city.”
“So I hear,” Jackson says. “But that’s not going to work for me.”
My body goes still and my heart thuds dully at the rejection.
Right. Why had I even thought sleeping with Jackson would happen more than once? I clear my throat to hide my discomfort and shift away.
Jackson swipes a thumb across my lips. “Don’t look like that, Natalie. I mean I want something more than casual.”
A Slippery Slope Page 13