by Violet Duke
“Is that no-good boy still sniffing around you?” His voice was raised to a protective tone she’d never once heard in her life. “I’ll have to give him a talking-to as soon as he returns to Utah.”
“Sir!” sputtered Grant, finally breaking radio silence. “Just last week, you said—”
“Grant, you leave my daughter alone now, you hear me?” The interruption was forced, and rushed—she could only imagine what would have been revealed at the end of that sentence. Her father barreled along before she could speculate, however. “Now, boy, I know you’re hung up on my daughter, but she’s already made her answer perfectly clear. So you leave Leila and her new beau alone. You know good and well I can destroy your political career with my thumb, and I won’t hesitate to do that for my little girl.”
Leila nearly burst out laughing, both from hearing the laughable words spewing like volcanic crap from her father’s mouth and from seeing the shade of purple Grant’s face was turning as he all but stomped his foot like a three-year-old.
After a few more carefully worded threats, Grant was soon slinking away, his dejected exit a sad little final tantrum, which they all ignored.
“Gone in under a minute. Impressive, Dad.” She was being perfectly honest. If there was one thing the man really was impressive at, it was crushing the hopes and dreams of those around him.
“Anything for you, sweetheart. You just tell me if he continues to bother you.”
Gag.
“Dad, Jackson and I are going to have to turn down your dinner offer this weekend. Partly because he’ll undoubtedly still be in the doghouse for not telling me his giant secret sooner, but mostly because we just plain won’t want to come.”
A shocked pause, and then a still impressively in-character, “Well, maybe your mother and I can go up there to meet you?”
“To see me? Anytime. But if I’m not good enough for you to want to see on my own, then again, I’ll have to decline. I’m not Stacey, Dad. It’s not okay for you to look at me and see a prize cow to get a son-in-law that can further your political career.”
A hint of the father she’d known her whole life crept back into his tone. “Leila, don’t be so dramatic. You always blow things out of proportion and make things difficult for everyone.”
“Then let me make this simple. Until you can look at me without wishing I were more like Mom, or Stacey, or everyone in the world besides your ‘difficult’ daughter…consider me your nonexistent daughter. I’ll stay completely out of your life, and you’ll stay out of mine. If one day, you decide you ever want me to start existing again, all you have to do is call me. I promise I’ll pick up.”
And with that, she hung up the phone and shut it off.
Boundless pride shined in Jackson’s deep, hazel eyes. “Nicely done, sunshine.”
“Thank you.” She crossed her arms and raised her brows. “But you’re not off the hook.”
A grin tipped up one corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I was.”
“Who was the guy you were talking to earlier?”
“That would be Caleb. An old family friend who worries about me, looks out for me. He’s always been the older brother I wished Nate was.”
“And Nate is the one in the news right now?”
“Yes, the half-brother I told you about. Everything I’ve ever shared with you about my life has been the complete truth. I just…never told you my whole name, for obvious reasons.”
“Because a billionaire couldn’t be seen dating ‘just’ a sideline reporter?”
He flinched, and then snarled, “Don’t ever talk about yourself like that. I told you what you heard was out of context. When I told you in my past that my life was complicated, I meant that women were always after my money or my family’s companies. What you heard back there, it was me responding to Caleb’s concerns that you might be like one of those women—a con woman after my money or a corporate spy after my family’s companies.”
She wanted to believe him, but the hurt was still throbbing in her chest. “Even in context, you told him that your future was safe, that I wouldn’t mess up anything.”
“And I meant it. You wouldn’t be messing up my life, Leila. You’d be adding to it, just like you’ve been doing since we met. And when I told him my future was safe, I meant that, too. Because I trust you, Leila. Completely.”
He cupped her cheek and gazed into her eyes. “You wanted my trust and my control. Well, you have both. But I’m afraid it comes as a package deal with my heart.”
Hers was very nearly melting on the spot.
“Sweetheart, tell me I have the package deal with you as well.”
She reached up to smooth out his tie. “My control? I have no doubt. You’ve been driving me crazy with lust since the day I laid eyes on you.”
The wild look of possessive satisfaction brought a flare of that very lust racing through her veins, aiming it straight to her chest. “And judging by the way I can’t control my heartbeat right now, I think it’s safe to say you’ve gone and stolen that from me as well.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and she swore she heard him giving a quiet prayer of thanks.
“My trust, however. Is a different matter.”
He jerked back. “You don’t trust me?”
She splayed her hands across his chest to comfort him, while being perfectly honest. “I trust Jackson Gray completely. But Reginald Jackson Grayhurst II, however, I don’t know at all.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”
She smiled then. “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. Have you forgotten how you once told me that you’re a patient man? Well, I’m afraid there will be no leapfrogging on this one. This new Reggie identity you’ve reclaimed will have to start from square one if he hopes to win me over.” She raised her brows teasingly. “Everything from first kisses to first…other things.”
Grinning, he finally got her meaning and closed in on her. “That can be arranged.”
She backed up with a firm headshake and danced out of arm’s reach, aka the dangerous aftershave-scented zone that was like catnip-coated goodness for her libido. “Nice try, stranger. We’re going to take this slow. Remember? Slow? It took Jackson a few months to get me to even consider dating him. And he didn’t have this whole billionaire thing working against him.”
She waved her hand at his Italian suit. “This new guy standing in front of me, I think will require a whole heck of a lot longer than that.”
“Think so?”
“Yep. In fact, that’s my official prediction…and we both know how good I am at those.”
His eyes glittered at the challenge. “You do remember that they call me the Weatherman, right, sunshine?”
God, she liked when he called her that…and she really liked the combination of wild heat and warm affection that lit his gaze whenever he said it.
He crowded her space a bit more and made a bold little prediction of his own. “Well, the Weatherman predicts a week. Two weeks tops.”
Oh boy, she loved when she got to see the sides of him he never showed anyone else. This cocky, flirtatious side? Yep, it was definitely doing it for her. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because.” He gazed at her intently. “This ‘new billionaire guy’ has no more secrets in his closet…and he definitely has more to offer you than just sex.”
The entire world seemed to come to a complete standstill for a split second.
She wanted to reply immediately, really she did. But seemingly all the words in her vocabulary were now lodged in her throat, clogged up with all the emotions triggered by that one amazing statement.
Of course, instead of something classy and cool, her response was much more candid, an unpolished verbal slingshot straight from her heart. “Again. Say it again, Jackson.”
Smiling, he locked eyes with her and said the beautiful words once more. “I’ve decided you’re right, I do have more to offer you than just sex. So I don’t care how slo
w we go. As long as we’re together.”
He reached into the small delivery box he was carrying and pulled out a small bouquet.
Leila felt her heart melt into a swooning puddle.
Even though the bouquet wasn’t the type a person would hold up to their nose and sniff, she did…and smiled from ear to ear at the fruity scents wafting from the unique bundle in her hands.
“You got me a lollipop bouquet.”
“I remember you saying one night that your dad never let you eat candy.”
“Yes, one of the horrific tragedies of my childhood,” she replied drolly, to keep from swooning.
She’d mentioned it once in passing not long after they’d first met. They’d randomly been talking about trick-or-treating during Halloween and how she’d never been. For some reason, the discussion had made her think of the one time her third-grade teacher had given her a single grape-flavored Dum Dums lollipop and how she’d hidden it under her bed and waited until her dad was back in D.C. before she risked tasting it.
The day her father had flown out of town, she’d crawled up a tree in their backyard and savored the tiny little lollipop all afternoon long.
And that was why, to this day, grape was the flavor of lollipop she’d choose whenever she wanted to escape to a simpler time.
“I can’t believe you remember me telling you that story.”
“How could I forget it? It’s one of the few you’ve told me about your childhood where you looked truly happy.” Pulling her into his arms, he added, “But even if you hadn’t shared that story with me, I’d know your sugary little guilty pleasure by the sheer amount of lollipops you have in your apartment and at work.”
Guilty as charged. “They’re my go-to brain snack when I’m knee-deep in stats.” She looked down at the bouquet and smiled. “I maintain that each flavor has a different special power for me,” she said only semi-kidding.
Those deep-thinking eyes of his got serious as he listed, “Watermelon for when you’re stuck on something hard. Cream soda when it’s a sure thing and you want to find something more. And anything but bubble gum when you’re in a bad mood.” A questioning eyebrow winged up at the corner. “How am I doing? I haven’t figured out the others yet, but that’s what I’ve gathered so far.”
Holy moly. Oh yeah, she’d been waaay off in her prediction of a couple of months.
Pondering that, she selected a lollipop from her bouquet and began unwrapping it, all the while reveling in the way the muscles of his jaw hardened as he watched her every move.
Happily content and more grounded than she could remember feeling in a long while, she half-sighed, half-hummed as she slid the blue raspberry lollipop she’d selected past her lips.
Instantly, Jackson’s eyes darkened and swung down to lock in on her mouth.
Was that a growl she just heard?
Why yes, yes it was.
“I think I might be a little off in my calculations,” she admitted. “But that’s only because I didn’t have all the data until now.”
The heat in his gaze slid down to his sexy grin. “So you agree that it’ll be closer to a week?”
A week? That was about six days too long. “Jackson, I think you might have failed to consider the key piece of data I’m referring to as well.”
That made him frown and give her a puzzled look—the man did take his data seriously. “What key piece?”
“The new variable in our relationship…” She smoothed a hand down his tie, trying to calm her own racing heart by feeling the warm, steady beat of his. “Otherwise known as the end of our no-sex pact.”
Chapter 24
Leila woke to the smell of coffee brewing.
And equally surprising, no kink in her neck. Though Jackson had gotten into the habit of carrying her to bed whenever she would crash out on him in her living room, lately, now that he was sleeping over, they’d both end up succumbing to sleep out on her couch. It was a great couch for naps, but the only time she ever woke up this refreshed and rested was in her bed, with Jackson beside her as the world’s best body pillow.
Peeking her eyes open, she did a double take at the grand, but wholly unpretentious, furnishings that met her sleepy gaze. There were a few strong, bold accent walls, coupled with touches of wood and warm, earthy leather all around—
That’s when it all came back in a rush.
They weren’t in her apartment. Rather, they were in a gigantic two-story loft—Jackson’s gigantic two-story loft. While far simpler and more modest than a catalog-decorated room, the living room she was currently stretching in was a well-designed blend of masculine chic and billionaire zen.
Blinking fully awake and looking around in the light of day, she could see why they’d never gone to his place to hang out over the past few months.
“Yours is cozier,” he’d always reply, with an honesty she could hear ring emphatically in his voice.
And though she had no doubt he’d been telling the truth each time, it didn’t take a genius to see he’d kept his home hidden from her at least partially to protect his secret.
Even she, who was firmly and happily rooted in her comfy hundred thousandaire lifestyle, could tell the building alone had to cost way more than anything a sports analyst could afford, regardless if one of his best friends was the contractor who’d built it. It would’ve taken her ten seconds in here to figure out that his place was easily triple—if not more—the value of the dream house she’d been saving up for.
It hurt a little to see just how much he’d kept from her…long after she’d come clean about her own secret L. J. Hart identity.
Sure, they were talking about a difference of apples to watermelons between their secrets. Still, it was a lot to take. Truthfully, she’d had every intention of spending the next week or three processing the whole thing. But then they’d received a heads-up from one of Jackson’s “people” that there were at least ten paparazzi crews waiting for them in her lobby, prompting their having to sneak out of the back, where a secure vehicle was waiting for them both.
Seriously.
Not a great start for Jackson in his mission to apologize for keeping his alternate life from her for so long. Though, admittedly, she did understand his reasoning a whole lot more after seeing their faces on the evening news a few times—why on earth they were considered just as newsworthy as the tiger cub found in someone’s backyard in Scottsdale was a mystery to her.
Yes, the guy owned a few Fortune 500 companies, and maybe an island or two she didn’t know about. But in her book, these were the things she liked him in spite of. A far cry from the hundreds of girly tweets from around the world swooning about the man all night long after discovering he was a billionaire out of hiding.
At first, Leila had found it all morbidly amusing in the way crazy clowns were funny in a scary way. Within a few hours though, she’d had to turn her phone off to stop from getting overwhelmed.
That was around when she conceded it was probably a good thing he’d kept his secrets so closely guarded. And Jackson, being Jackson, proceeded to spend the rest of the evening quietly apologizing anyway, and more important, showing her he was still the same guy.
Pizza, DVDs, hot cocoa, followed by talking all night until she fell asleep.
And boy had she slept. His fluffier-than-a-cloud couch beat hers hands-down. It was no wonder they hadn’t made it to his bed last night.
Shame.
After she’d come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to break up with the guy for being a billionaire—a surprisingly tougher decision than one would think—Leila really had intended to stay up. They had so much to celebrate. His telling her that he had more to offer her than just sex was huge, as was the corresponding lift of their sex ban, of course.
Celebrating both milestones on Jackson’s gorgeous, enormous bed would be like…playing basketball at Madison Square Garden. Well, if sex were a sport.
Oh wow, she could just imagine the Olympic events she and
Jackson could compete in if it were.
“There you go again, sunshine, thinking dirty thoughts neither of us can cash in on,” chastised an amused, rumbling voice from across the living room.
She flushed and glanced over at the big stainless-steel kitchen, where Jackson was standing, shirtless and carrying a mug of piping hot coffee.
Talk about waking up to a view.
“Good morning,” she greeted him quietly, feeling nervous for some reason.
“It will be once I get my morning kiss.” Jackson walked over with a second mug of coffee, which he held out of reach until she arched up to meet his smiling lips.
Lordy, the man could kiss.
By the time he was done making sure her morning was indeed very good, her eyes were at half-mast, and every other part of her body was practically humming.
With both his hands occupied, Leila saw an uncharacteristically perfect opportunity to explore him without worrying about him distracting her to within an inch of an orgasm in seconds. “Don’t move. You wouldn’t want to spill that coffee on me, now, would you?” She slid forward a bit on the couch, and watched as his eyes followed the hem of the shirt she was wearing—one of his—slide higher up her legs. “Remember how sensitive my skin is? How even your five-o’clock shadow rubbing against me right—” Her breathing stuttered as she brushed her fingertips across her inner thighs.
Rising up to press her open lips against his chest, she couldn’t hold back a smile when she felt him growl in response. He pulled back just a bit, enough to give her a hot, hooded look warning her not to tempt him…while at the same time daring her to do her worst.
Running her eyes over his artist’s canvas of a body, she told him, in no uncertain terms, exactly what she intended to do if he played her little game.
She never did back down from a dare.
And clearly, neither did he.
He dropped a swift, hungry kiss on her lips before drawing back a step to settle onto his heels, holding the two mugs out a good distance away from her with a lazy grin on his face and a scorching gaze that replied, “Your move.”
