Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I love you.” My face is caressed, and he leans in, kissing my nose, my lips, each cheek, and my forehead as if I’m the cross he must bear. Maybe I am, but I don’t care. Nothing makes sense in my life anymore but him. Only him. “I’ve waited a lifetime to hear those words from you. I never thought I would.”
Holding his wrists as he still caresses my face, I lift on the balls of my feet, needing to feel his lips on mine, the pressure caught between something sweet and something sinful.
When I float back down to earth, I hold him with all of me and my cheek pressed to his chest. “I love you so much that I don’t know how to explain it any better.”
“I love you works.” He kisses my head and then chuckles. “Sweetheart.”
He’s lucky I love him. I look up, my chin set against him. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I love that friggin’ nickname now. Just tell me you’ve never called any of your other girlfriends the same name.”
“I haven’t. I’ve never delved into a relationship deep enough to get to the nickname stage. But no one else has ever driven me as crazy as you have. So there is that as well.”
“I’m okay with that.” I laugh.
When he sits in the chair and brings me onto his lap, he says, “Want to talk about what happened?”
“Over dinner?” I run the tips of my fingers over the rough hair growth blanketing his jaw.
Taking my fingers, he kisses the tips. “Sure. What do you want to order?”
I get up and spin. “I’m all dressed. Let’s go out.”
“All right,” he says, already on his feet. “Where do you want to go?”
“I know just the place.”
Forty minutes later, we walk into the restaurant, and I scope out the host stand and who’s working it. Damn. Hair pulled back so tight that her skin looks stretched unnaturally. Burgundy lipstick. Black turtleneck. She looks like someone who’s not going to let us wrangle our way into using an expired reservation. Turning to Jackson, I say, “Tell her Casteleone.”
“We’re taking the reservation?”
My shoulders bounce reflexively. “No point in letting it go to waste. It’s all about connections, and I don’t have them.”
He looks at the host and then says, “Wait here.” I love when he plays dirty. Makes me feel less alone down here. Jackson never misses a beat and marches straight ahead. I wish I were a fly nearby to hear how this plays out, but I keep my distance, thinking I’ll only cause more of an issue.
Swiping across the screen, she snaps in response, but then bothers to look up. That’s all I need—her to see how hot my boyfriend is. Yep, her tune quickly changes. We may be over an hour late, but if anyone can get us past this checkpoint, it’s Jackson . . . and all that sexiness.
He doesn’t flirt. Just stands there with his hands tucked in his pockets and that smirk I’m very familiar with seated in his expression as he answers what appears to be a barrage of questions.
Glancing my way, he gives me a wink. The host’s gaze cuts through the crowd to find me, pinning me to the spot with a look. She then smiles at Jackson and hands two menus to a man standing behind her. Jackson nods me over. I go, weaving through the others waiting for a table. I’m expecting to follow somewhat hidden not to blow this for us since he got past the gatekeeper.
But that’s not Jackson’s style. He holds his hand out for me. When I reach the stand, the hostess smiles. “Have a nice dinner, Mrs. St. James.”
Taking Jackson’s hand, I pass her and reply, “Thank you.”
I follow them through the main dining room and farther down a hall of private rooms. We pass through a large doorway and enter an atrium bustling with more diners. It’s pretty with twinkling lights shining above like stars.
We’re shown our table against a wall of glass that overlooks a small garden on the other side. It’s so romantic with touches of greens and an iridescence to the glass tabletops. Jackson’s suspicions of the situation being more than business were confirmed
Our drink order is placed, and then Jackson lays the napkin across his lap and leans in. “Look at this place. Tell me that fucker didn’t have other plans in mind for you.”
I slide my hand across the table and hold it palm up. His gaze dips first, and then he places his hand over mine. “It doesn’t matter what his plans were. I’m here with you, exactly how it should be.”
He shifts forward. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing specific happened. I didn’t even make it to the lobby. I just realized that what I considered a great opportunity for my career was not going to be good for us. He seemed to be leaning in a different direction that felt more personal than business.” He knows without me going into the details.