“I…” My voice trails off. How can I buy clothes in a place like this? I can’t even afford one stupid tank top. Why did he bring me here?
He squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”
He walks to the back of the store where the woman is draping clothes over one arm. They speak quietly for a minute or two and she nods along. He comes back, a triumphant smile on his face.
“There,” he says. “She’ll send what we need to the villa. You don’t have to do anything. I had her send more than we need, so if you don’t like anything, you can just leave it.”
I gape at him. I feel like I do that a lot, but I can’t help it.
He puts his sunglasses back on and clasps my hand, leading me out of the store. “I’m hungry,” he says once we’re outside. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually,” I say. I let out a breath, trying to clear my head. Lunch. That’s something I can handle—and pay for. “Let me pick the restaurant though.”
“Sure,” he says. “What sounds good?”
I have no idea what else is nearby, but I spotted a Cheesecake Factory when we first arrived. I’m sure that isn’t a Jackson sort of restaurant, but it’s perfect. I desperately need something normal. I lead him across the way, veering toward the bright red sign.
“Cheesecake?” he says. “Don’t we need lunch?”
I laugh. “They have lunch. They have a huge menu, actually. I’m sure you’ll find something.”
He shrugs and puts a hand on my back. “All right, if this is what you want.”
We go in and a waitress seats us at a booth. The hum of conversation buzzes around us.
“This menu is like a book,” he says.
“I told you.”
He thumbs through the pages, looking skeptical.
“You’ve really never eaten at a Cheesecake Factory?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I’ve heard of it, but I thought, you know, cheesecake. I hate cheesecake.”
I don’t know why I find that so funny, but I can’t stop laughing.
He lets his menu drop to the table and grins. “You’re laughing at me.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Okay, yes.”
“All right, sassy girl,” he says.
A waitress comes and takes our orders. I order a burger with fries and one of the beers they have on tap. Jackson doesn’t look at the menu again, just tells the waitress he’ll have whatever I ordered.
Our food comes and we chat as we eat. Jackson doesn’t seem to mind the meal, and the beer is good. When we finish, the waitress brings the check.
Jackson reaches for his wallet, but I snatch the folder with the bill sticking out of the top. “This was my choice, so I’m buying lunch.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says, reaching across the table.
“Nope,” I say, holding the folder out of his reach. I pull my debit card out of my wallet and stick it inside, then set the folder on the table.
The waitress walks by and takes the check.
“Melissa, you don’t have to do that,” he says.
“No, but I can, so I want to.”
He shrugs and looks at his phone. I think about texting Nicole, but the waitress returns. She holds out the folder, a tense look on her face.
“I’m sorry miss, but your card was declined.”
I die. Right there, in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory. Dead.
My stomach turns over and I grab the folder. “Are you sure? That can’t be right.” There is no way. I have money in my bank account. I know I do.
“Here,” Jackson says, reaching for the bill.
“No,” I say. I put it down and fumble through my purse. Did I give her the wrong card?
“It’s all right,” Jackson says. He hands the waitress his credit card and she walks away.
“What the fuck, Jackson?”
“Hey, it’s just lunch,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”
It isn’t just lunch, and I am worried about it. I’m so embarrassed, I want to crawl under the table. “I said I’d pay for lunch. I have money, I don’t know what’s going on. I have to call my bank.”
“Really, Melissa, I don’t mind.”
“That’s not the point.” I’m too angry to sit here while he pays for our lunch, so I get up and storm out of the restaurant. Tears sting my eyes. Fuck, this is not going to make me cry. I stop outside the doors and pull up the banking app on my phone. I log in and look at my balance. I still have five hundred dollars in checking, plenty more in savings, and I know my bills are paid. Why did they decline my card?
I’m so mortified. He probably thinks I have no money. Of all the times to have my debit card fail, it has to be in front of Jackson Bennett.
He comes out of the restaurant and walks toward me, slowly, like he isn’t sure of himself. “Hey.”
“I have money in my account,” I say. “I don’t know why that happened.”
“Of course you do,” he says. “But if you didn’t—”
“No,” I say, stopping him before he can say more. Plane tickets, villas on the beach, clothes that are so expensive I’ll be afraid to wear them—all of that is bad enough. He is not going to suggest giving me money. “Don’t even go there.”
He holds up his hands. “All right. I just mean you don’t have to worry about anything this week. I’ll take care of it. I want to.”
I know he does, but the embarrassment stings. I don’t want to be his little charity case. I take care of myself just fine. “Let’s just go.”
Jackson nods and pulls out his phone to call the driver.
12
Melissa
Jackson tries to get handsy with me in the limo, but I keep my distance. I don’t want any more games. If he takes my picture again, I’ll probably slap him, but he’s smart enough to leave that alone. When we pull into the driveway, I throw open the car door myself and get out before the driver can come around. Nathan is there to let us in, asking about dinner, but I sweep past him and go upstairs to the bedroom. I run into the bathroom and bang the door shut, pressing the lock.
The bathroom doesn’t help. It’s too perfect. Too beautiful. The finishes shine, and the towels are so thick and soft. I wet a washcloth and put it on the back of my neck, trying to calm down.
What else did I expect? That a fucking gazillionaire would take me on some crazy vacation and expect me to pay for half?
I take a deep breath and put down the washcloth. I freaked out again, and it isn’t Jackson’s fault. It’s not like he knows any better. He can’t possibly understand.
I come out of the bathroom to find him on the balcony, talking on his phone. His eyebrows are drawn down, his face serious. He lifts his eyes, noticing me, and says a few more words, nodding as he talks. He hangs up and pockets his phone.
“Melissa, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know,” I say. “I was just embarrassed. I’m sorry I was such a bitch about it.”
He smiles, his lips parting over his perfect teeth. “You weren’t. Are you okay now? Do we need to watch Firefly again?”
I laugh and step closer. He draws me in close, putting his arms around me, and kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his body next to mine, his arms wrapped around me.
The next few days go by in a blur. We eat amazing food, lounge by the pool, walk on the beach. Now that we have plenty of clothes to wear, and there’s a chef to prepare our meals, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to leave the villa. It’s our own little private paradise. We take naps entwined in each other’s arms, and stay up late decimating the villa’s well-stocked bar. In the mornings, we nurse our hangovers with coffee and gourmet breakfasts. The sun shines and the skies are clear. Jackson takes a few work calls, and occasionally spends time on his phone answering emails. I check in with Nicole, assuring her I’m having a great time.
By Thursday, I’m trying very hard not to think about the approaching weekend. He hasn’
t mentioned when we’re leaving, but we said a week. That probably means Saturday. I don’t know if he made flight reservations, and I can’t bring myself to ask. I don’t want to think about this week ending. Jackson is fun and sexy as hell. He seems to enjoy being with me as much as I enjoy being with him. I want to relish the time we have left, instead of dwelling on what will come next.
Because I have no idea what next is going to look like.
That afternoon, we meander down to the beach. I wear a mint-green tank top and a flowing skirt that just hits my knees, my feet bare. The sun beats down, but a cool breeze blows in off the water. With all the time we spend outside, I’m getting a great tan.
We stop in front of the water and Jackson stands behind me, his hands running up and down my bare arms.
“This is amazing,” I say. “I’m going to go ahead and bust out a cliché, because it’s true. I feel like I’m living in a dream.”
“Yeah, it’s good,” Jackson says.
There’s something in his voice. Hesitance? I glance up at him, but he smiles, nothing unusual in his eyes.
He runs his hands through my hair and massages my scalp with his fingers. I let out a long, slow breath and lean my head back. He moves his thumbs up and down the back of my neck, pressing softly.
“That feels so good,” I say.
“Mm, I love making you feel good.”
He rubs my shoulders and I close my eyes. I feel like I can do this forever.
Don’t think about forever.
One hand slides around my waist, pulling me against him. The other lifts the side of my skirt, his fingers trailing up my outer thigh.
His mouth is right next to my ear and he speaks in a throaty whisper. “We should go inside.”
“We definitely should.”
We walk back toward the villa, Jackson’s hands all over me. He follows me up the stairs to the pool deck, grabbing my hips. When we get to the glass door leading inside, he spins me around and pushes me up against it. He grabs my wrists and raises my arms over my head, pinning me with one hand. His other hand reaches beneath my dress and pushes my thighs apart. He slides his fingers inside, his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re wet again.”
“What are you going to do about it, captain?”
“I’m going to fuck you until you beg for mercy.”
His fingers do their magic and he leans down to kiss me, his tongue firm and aggressive. I lift one leg, half wrapping it around him, and he keeps my hands pinned above my head.
The sound of voices comes from somewhere nearby. He pulls his mouth from mine.
“I think someone’s coming,” I whisper.
His lips part in a sly smile. “We should go in.” He tightens his grip on my wrists and presses his thumb against my clit.
My eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, Jackson. We need to go inside.”
He curls his fingers and rubs in slow circles, that devil smile on his face. “Now?”
“Yes, now. I want it hard. You need to stop holding back with me.”
He pauses, his face close to mine. “I don’t want to break you.”
“You won’t. I’ll stop you if it’s too much.”
He gently bites my lower lip as he slides his fingers out and lets my arms go. My whole body is on fire, my heart beating out of my chest.
Somehow we get the door open and stumble into the villa. We make our way to the master bedroom and he shuts the door. I back up toward the bed, Jackson right in front of me, almost pushing me backward. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside. My legs hit the bed and he stops, his gaze intense.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
My heart flutters. His question is saturated with meaning, and I’m almost afraid to answer.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” The seriousness in his face eases as one side of his mouth turns up in a smile.
He’s never given me a reason not to. “Yes.”
He digs into his suitcase and pulls out two neckties.
Holy shit.
His eyes don’t leave my face as he walks back to me, the ties dangling from his hands. I take a trembling breath. I know what he’s going to do. I’ve never done anything like this before.
I can’t wait.
He puts the ties on the bed and helps me undress. I stand in front of him, naked and quivering with anticipation. He knots a loop in one of the ties and slips it over my wrist, then does the same for the other.
“On the bed.”
I don’t even consider resisting. I get on the bed, letting him guide me where he wants. I lay on my back and he straddles over the top of me. He raises my arms above my head and fastens the neckties to the bedframe, running a finger between the tie and my wrists, as if to make sure they aren’t too tight.
“Stay here.”
I swallow hard. He gets up off the bed and leaves the room.
I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts running a million miles a second. I’m completely in his power—and it’s fucking thrilling. The ties are loose enough that I can probably get free if I want to. But not knowing what he’s going to do with me makes my adrenaline pump. I wait, squashing the urge to squirm against the restraints. Where is he?
What is he going to do?
He comes back in carrying an amber bottle and two glasses.
“We drank all the Glenlivet,” he says. He sits down on the edge of the bed and puts the bottle and glasses on the nightstand. “But this should do.”
I watch him in a daze as he pours a splash of Scotch into one of the glasses. He picks it up and gently sets it just below my belly button.
“Hold still, or you’ll spill your drink.”
Fucking hell, that’s just mean.
He pulls off the rest of his clothes and climbs on the bed. The Scotch sloshes back and forth in the glass.
“Careful,” he says.
He tilts my legs open and runs his hands down my thighs, then teases his fingers along my folds. I watch him, trying to hold my body still.
“Oh god, Jackson.”
“Baby, I love hearing you say my name.”
He massages my clit—he’s become a fucking expert in just a few days—and I lean my head back against the pillow. I start to move my hips but he stops.
“Don’t spill.”
I groan. He rubs again, slipping his fingers inside and using his thumb. He touches me with sensual slowness, and my eyes roll back.
“God, Jackson, that’s so good.”
I look up at him again. His mouth is turned up in a mischievous smile, his cock hard.
“Touch yourself while you do that,” I say.
He lifts one eyebrow. “You dirty, dirty girl.”
“Do it.”
He switches hands and rubs some of my wetness across the tip and down his shaft. His hand grips his swollen cock, rubbing up and down to the slow rhythm of his thumb on my clit.
“Holy shit, Melissa.”
“Faster,” I say.
I never thought watching a man rub his own cock would be so fucking hot, but it makes me absolutely burn for him. He speeds up, and the glass tilts back and forth. I don’t give two shits if it spills all over the bed. There are others. We don’t have to sleep here.
“Woah, baby, slow down,” he says. He stops and pulls his fingers out. “God, Melissa, you’re too much. Where did you come from?”
“You better put that cock in me soon before I have to take care of things myself.”
He smiles his wicked grin. “You can’t. You’re all tied up.”
I pull against the restraints and the glass tips. Jackson catches it before it spills.
“Bad sassy girl,” he says. “You almost spilled your drink.”
He tilts the glass just above my stomach and lets a dribble of Scotch pour out over my skin. He leans down and licks it off, running his tongue up my belly.
“I’ve wanted to do this to you since the first night we met,” he says. He splashes more Scotch over the hollow
of my belly button and purses his lips to suck it off.
“You thought about drinking Scotch off me when we were at Danny’s bar?” I ask.
He dribbles more between my breasts and licks it, his tongue sliding across my nipple.
“Fuck yeah, I did.”
I shudder and moan while his tongue makes lazy circles across my skin. “Did you think you’d get the chance?” I ask.
He stops and looks up, meeting my eyes. “Yes.”
He puts the glass aside and unfastens the neckties from the bed frame, then ties them together, keeping my wrists shackled. He pulls me to the side of the bed and turns me on my belly. I’m face down, my legs bent over the side of the bed, my feet on the floor. I hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper and seconds later, he rams himself in. No waiting, no teasing. He pounds me hard. I cry out with each trust. With my wrists tied together, I’m completely in his control.
I fucking love it.
There’s nothing I can do but grind my hips into him as he pounds me fast. I told him what I wanted, and he’s giving it to me. Every thrust is an explosion of ecstasy. I pick myself up onto my elbows and he reaches around to cup my breasts, never slowing.
“Jackson!” I practically scream. In the back of my mind, it occurs to me that the villa has a staff and they’re probably around, but I don’t care. How does he do that? Most men have to fumble around with each new position until they get it right—and most never do. Jackson knows. My vision goes blurry and I call out his name. God, it’s amazing.
He grabs my hips and thrusts in harder. It hurts a little. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a twinge of fear. Am I safe with him? Will he stop if I need him to? How far can I let this go?
“Jackson, stop.”
Instantly, he stops moving. No hesitation, no finishing what he’s about to do. He stands motionless, his tight grip on my hips easing.
I turn my head to look at him. His chest glistens and he breathes fast.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks.
“No.”
He pulls out and turns me over. We climb back onto the bed and he gets on top of me, pushing my arms above my head. He holds himself up, our bodies close. He slides his cock back inside and pauses, his face next to mine.
One Crazy Week Page 8
