Nailed It

by Cindi Madsen

  If I’d known on Monday night that it would be the last action I’d see for a while, I would’ve…I don’t know. Gone for round three before letting him leave? Mentally and physically prepared myself?

  When I went to check on the status of the living room floor, I found Jackson covered in a sheen of sweat and man glitter. The buzz of the saw fired up as he placed the edge of a wooden floorboard plank on the cutting table. As he pushed it through, that man glitter flew everywhere and the muscles in his arms flexed and bulged.

  My mouth watered; my knees trembled. It was one thing to go through a drought, but it was another when you could see the physical overabundance of exactly what you needed as you were dying of thirst.

  The buzz of the saw died as Jackson lifted the piece to admire his work. That strong line of his back showed through his T-shirt, and his faded Levis hugged his ass just right, and suddenly my mind was so far in the gutter I no longer knew which way was up, but I definitely needed some air.

  Deciding I wasn’t ready for this interaction, I quickly backtracked. Only my eyes lingered on his body, which meant I rammed mine into the archway. “Ouch!”

  Jackson casually glanced back at me. “Hey, Ivy. You okay?” he asked, way too much taunting in his voice and the curve of his smile.

  I crossed my arms, ready to let him have it, and his eyes snagged on the ample amount of cleavage my low-cut tank-top displayed. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and I reached up and rubbed my hand across my collarbone. “My goodness, it’s hot in here.”

  Every muscle in his body tensed, and the line of his jaw tightened. Then his features sharpened, and he looked at me like I was his prey.

  Come on, big boy. Go ahead and try to catch me. I want you to.

  “You know what? It is.” Jackson gripped the hem of his shirt, and my heart skipped a beat. One slow, delicious-yet-torturous inch at a time, he peeled off his shirt. He tossed it aside and then flashed me a smile. “Benefits of being a dude.”

  He went back to his task, resting the floorboard against the other one and nudging it into place, and without his shirt in the way, I could see the way every muscle worked, and damn did they work.

  “Oh, I could lose my shirt, too.”

  He spun around so fast that he knocked into the stepstool holding his tools, and they clattered to the ground.

  I toyed with the bottom of my tank-top, and he groaned. “Why don’t we just call this a draw and have sex?”

  He laughed, a stuttered, choked laugh, and then he stood and took a few strides toward me. “How’s that a draw? That just means you win and I lose.”

  I dragged my finger over his pecs, down his abs, across the top of his waistband. “I was thinking we could both win.”

  He caught my wrist. Then he tugged me closer. His rapid breaths sent his chest bumping into mine, and my heart beat so loudly it drowned out everything else. He backed me up against the wall we’d had sex against before, hungrily claimed my lips, and thrust his tongue into my mouth like he meant to devour me.

  But just when we were getting to where I wanted us, he pulled back. He let out a harsh curse as he ran his hand through his hair. “I need a water break,” he declared, and then I watched his fine backside retreat from the room.

  With him gone, I sagged against the wall, no longer bothering to hide my reaction to his smoldering kiss.

  I thought I’d get him to break, but I was a hair away from giving in to his ridiculous demands.

  My phone chimed, and I dug it out of its precarious spot in my tiny pocket.

  Jackson: Go back to your side of the house, you siren, because I’m not giving in to your call. Now, if you’d like to finish what we started, I made dinner reservations for 7:00. I’ll pick you up at 6:30, here or your condo. I’d rather not have to drag you into the restaurant kicking and screaming, but that or coming peaceably are your only options.

  I thought if I tracked him into the kitchen and made a few more bold moves, maybe I could get him to abandon this silly notion of going on a date first. But his resolve had held up so far—much to my dismay—and I was sick of fighting it and horny as hell, and I could deal with a dinner date. We’d had dinner together plenty of times. This didn’t have to be any different.

  In fact, I could have some fun with it. Pay him back for making me get all dressed up and going on the date in the first place.

  Me: Pick me up at my condo, then. I’ll save the screaming for later tonight.

  Then I added a kiss emoji, and when his groan carried into the room, it no longer felt like I’d lost this round.

  …

  When the hostess showed us to a table, Jackson pulled out my chair. I settled into it, eyeing him as he pushed it back in. “This is totally over the top,” I muttered so only he could hear. “I don’t need you to get my chair.”

  “Well, I need to peek down your sexy red dress, and this way, it looks like I’m being a gentleman instead of a pervert.” He winked at me, and worse, it sent warmth swirling through me and had me fighting a smile. Over the top, indeed.

  His fingers brushed across my bare shoulders as he walked to the other side of the tiny square table. Whenever I peered through restaurant windows and saw white linen tablecloths and napkins, I always walked on, because it wasn’t my scene, and I didn’t belong in a place like that. A place like this.

  The hostess told us someone would be right with us, and then we both lifted our menus. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on an official date—probably because I had rules against them. But here I was, wearing a dress and heels, and the prices on the menu were up in holy-shit range. I tucked the menu to my chest and kept my voice low. “You know that you’re getting lucky tonight, right? You don’t have to spend this kind of money trying to impress me.”

  Jackson set down his menu. “Just let me woo you, dammit.”

  “But I don’t need wooed. I need—”

  He leaned across the table and kissed me, the fancy wineglasses wobbling and making a light tinkling noise. He started to sit back, but I grabbed onto his fancy shirt and held him in place. I ran my tongue across his top lip, and he braced one hand on the table as the other drove into my hair and angled my head to deepen the kiss.

  Yes. This is what I need.

  Someone cleared her throat, and Jackson slowly released his grip on me and slid back into his chair.

  A nervous girl with huge eyes looked at us. “Sorry. I can come back. I just…uh…”

  “That’s all right,” Jackson said, his southern lilt and warm smile putting her at ease. I liked how he did that—saw that she was nervous and made an effort to smooth it over and make her feel comfortable. As someone who worked in the foodservice industry, I appreciated it even more, because I knew it was a rare quality.

  We ordered drinks, and she asked if we wanted to hear the specials, to which Jackson responded he’d love to. Then he found my knee under the table, curled his hand around it, and flashed me his lady-killer grin.

  He’s in fine form tonight, displaying all that charm I pretended he didn’t have when he accused me of worrying it’d be too much for me. It was a relief to not feel like I needed to prepare for battle every time we came within twenty yards of each other, but I also knew we’d never get to a point where we wouldn’t push each other’s buttons. I must be a little bit crazy, because I kind of liked the way he pushed my buttons instead of cowering at my strong personality, the way a lot of guys had.

  The masochistic side of me even liked that he hadn’t backed down until I gave in to his demands for a date. How could I like that?

  The waitress left to get our drinks, and he covered my hand with his. “You look mighty fine tonight. Did I tell you that?”

  “I picked it up from the staring down my dress comment, but thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  “You, uh, look nice, too.” I didn’t know why it was so hard to tell him so in this formal setting—it was beyond true. The crisp white shirt, ca
sually open a few buttons, was really working on him, the scruff on his strong jawline was in full force, and I wanted to spend some time running my hands through his perfectly styled hair, until it was perfectly messy.

  We ordered and then talked a little shop at the table, what all we had left to do and the like.

  “By the way,” I said after taking a sip of my water. “I keep forgetting to ask, did everything work out with those permits?”

  “I’ll find out next week, but I crossed all the Ts and dotted all the Is.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “How about work at the bar? Did you have to play bouncer any more times this week?”

  “No. And for the record, it’s not usually like that, just me and a belligerent, handsy drunk guy.” Jackson’s grip on my hand tightened, so I quickly charged on with the rest. “Admittedly, I usually let the guys handle it, but the point is, I can when I need to.”

  He exhaled a long breath. “I know. You can handle it all, all by yourself.”

  “I can.” I ran my finger around the rim of my glass. “But I’ll also admit that the things I used to love about working at the bar—the freedom, the fact that it fit my night-owl tendencies, being able to meet so many different types of people, and the tips…” Part of me wanted to backtrack. Say it was fine, but too much was out there now. “I’m starting to feel a little…unfulfilled. But the thought of a set career still makes me want to run.” I reached up and scratched at my suddenly itchy neck. “I’m a mess.”

  “I’d say more like you’re a girl in need of a good challenge.”

  I folded my forearms on the table. “Oh? And you think you’re a good challenge?”

  “Little ol’ me?” He placed a hand on his chest. “Well, of course, but I was talking about in a career. I can see how much you enjoy the work we’re doing at the house.”

  “I love envisioning all the different ways to change a room. And even when it doesn’t end up being exactly what I had in my mind, that almost makes it more fun.” It was like the furniture restorations I did on the side—my favorite ones were often the pieces that turned out different than expected.

  “I mean, that blackberry-colored wall in the bedroom might have been a mistake…” I waited for him to say that he told me it would look too dark because there wasn’t enough natural light, but he simply waited. “But I’d rather say that I tried something bold before deciding to go a different way. And that was how I discovered Pashmina Plum, which is perfect.” Dixie would love it, even if she’d sell the place before she could enjoy it for herself.

  “You’ve definitely challenged me this job—and I’m not just talking about with your clothing options the past few days.” Jackson nudged my foot with his under the table, and my stomach completed a somersault. “When you told me some of the things you wanted to do, I thought you were out of your mind. But the kitchen and living room look amazing. I’m especially a fan of the blue-gray paint.”

  His eyes heated. I had a feeling he was remembering the time we’d ended up covered in it, and then I was reliving it, too. He cleared his throat. “Aside from the obvious reasons. And don’t tell anyone, but…” He glanced around like someone might be listening. “I even like the apple green bathroom.”

  I slapped a palm against the table. “I knew it!”

  Several heads turned our way—oops, that’s why I didn’t belong in places like this. Along with being a little too rambunctious, I was also the one who went the “I told you so” route.

  Our food came, and we dug in—remodeling for hours on end every day drained me, and after a few dinners consisting of popcorn, chips, or takeout, my steak tasted like I’d died and gone to heaven.

  As dinner wound down, Jackson leveled his full attention on me. “So what are you going to do about your career?”

  I shrugged.

  “You can’t just wait for one to land in your lap, you know.”

  Offense rose—and just when we’d been getting along so well, too. “I know. I got to where I am by a lot of hard work, thank-you-very-much. I went to college even though it was up to me to pay for every class, every book, every everything. It wasn’t easy to earn that degree, either.”

  “And now you have it and you’re not using it.” He shifted forward, his hand returning to mine. “Before you get all pissed off, I know that you work hard, and Ivy, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. But what I think is that sometimes you hold back on the things you really want because you’re scared you won’t get them, and you’d rather not go for it than go for it and fail.”

  I tried to sort out the compliments from the insults and the anger at him from the anger that maybe—just maybe—he’d come a little too close to the truth. It’d be easier to blow off everything he’d said if he wasn’t also one of the smartest people I’d ever met. Most of society assumed guys who worked construction must be all brawn and no brain, and admittedly, I’d been guilty of thinking the same way before I met Jackson. When it came to cost analysis and figuring out measurements and budgets, he was faster at doing the math in his head than I was with a calculator. If only he could keep his big mouth closed sometimes.

  “You’re pissed.” A statement, not a question.

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m… Yeah, I’m a little pissed.”

  “Well, too bad. I’m going to tell you the truth, even if you don’t like it. If you need someone to push you, I’ll push you. If you need someone to hate so you can prove him wrong, I’ll be that, too.”

  Grr. One minute I liked that he pushed my buttons, and the next it made me stabby. Right now, the scale was tipping heavily toward stabby. “I guess I was lying when I said I don’t want to be wooed. Now I’d rather go back to the wooing part of the date.”

  Jackson pressed his lips together. He scratched his eyebrow, then lowered his hand and locked eyes with me. “Like I said, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” He reached under the table and placed his hand on my knee. “Also, one of the sexiest.” He slowly inched his hand higher and brushed his thumb across my skin, the callused roughness sending a swirl of desire through me. “And the most frustratingly stubborn. I admire you for getting through college and for dealing with all the shit you had to growing up, and I want you to go after what you want. I want you to be happy.”

  I propped my elbow on the table and tucked my chin on my fist, steadily staring right back at him. “It’s hard to argue with you when you say you want me to be happy. But you think you know what’ll make me happy, and I’m not so sure.”

  I was afraid that switching jobs without a safety net would only leave me feeling more lost and out of control, and it seemed like I was already just spinning circles. Well, it’d felt that way before taking on the renovation project, and I worried that as soon as it ended, I’d go back to drifting and spinning.

  Jackson ran his hand through his hair, loosening the hold the gel had on it. “I’m saying you owe it to yourself to try it. To make a leap.”

  My stomach dipped at the thought, and I debated holding back my automatic question. But while I didn’t have a safety net for my career, Jackson was my safety net right here and now, so I went ahead and let go. “What if I quit and then I hate where I leaped, and I want to go back?”

  “You think Tony wouldn’t take you back in an instant?”

  “True. But what if the career I’m considering isn’t an easy field to get into?”

  “You’re Ivy Freaking Clarke. You’ll figure it out.” His voice softened. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help. Deal?”

  “I’ve made way too many deals with you lately,” I said, doing a crappy job of hiding my smile.

  He chuckled, obviously thinking he’d won this round. His hand slipped farther up my thigh, breaching the barrier of my skirt. “Now, I believe there was mention of getting lucky?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I put on my best innocent act as we pulled up in front of the old Victorian house and batted my eyes at Jackson. “So, Mr. Gamble, woul
d you care to come inside for a nightcap?”

  “Oh, so long as I wouldn’t be imposing too much, ma’am,” Jackson said, tipping an imaginary hat and playing along.

  I reached for the handle to get out of his truck, and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Give a guy a second to run around and get your door.” I rolled my eyes, but he rushed around the hood, opened my door, and extended his hand. He remained the consummate gentleman as we made our way inside.

  I’d chosen here for our “getting lucky” fun, because it was neutral territory, and I wanted to check on the kittens.

  “You’ll have to forgive my mess,” I said, tossing my purse aside. “I’m in the middle of a huge remodel project.” I gestured to the floral couch. “Just make yourself comfortable while I grab the drinks.”

  On my way to the kitchen, I took a detour to the dining room. One momma cat and four fluffy, squeaky kittens sat in the dog bed (it was bigger than the feline options). I’d set them up in the corner of the room, where they were tucked away from the noise and traffic.

  My chest felt excessively mushy as my fingertips brushed fuzzy little heads—I was experiencing a strange maternal moment or something, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t sure I completely hated it, either. Emotions were complicated, pain-in-the-ass enigmas.

  Black Widow eyed me, like she trusted me, but only so far when it came to her babies.

  “Respect, girl. But I promise I’ll take good care of them. While I’m here.” One little kitten raised its head and licked my finger. “Okay, forever.” I wasn’t sure how—I certainly couldn’t take on one momma kitten and four babies. That was crazy cat lady overnight, and I was in the market for a new career.

  Because Jackson told me I should go for it instead of waiting for it to fall in my lap, and I’d needed to hear it. I just needed to figure out what exactly I wanted, so I could know where to jump.