“I might know something about that.” He took my hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I took care of your bill.”
“What?” My brows crinkled, and I snatched my hand back. “Is this your move? What you do to get into women’s pants?”
“No, it’s not a move. You were having a very bad day, I wanted to do something nice for you,” he replied in a soothing tone.
“Flowers are a nice gesture, hell, even cup of coffee or a drink.” I tossed my hands in the air, storming off, like a pissed off teenager.
“Stevie, wait!” he called after me. I could hear his shoes tapping on the pavement.
My hands balled into fists, as I turned back, to face him. “I am not a charity case, Mister Hart.”
I waved him off before he caught up to me. He skidded to a halt, and I climbed into my car. In the rearview mirror, he stood there watching as I drove out of the lot.
“Ughh men!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. All the way home, my flowers sat in the passenger seat, mocking me.
AFTER MY WORKOUT, I TOOK a longer shower than necessary. I had a ton of work that demanded my attention, but I couldn’t focus on any of it because of her—Stevie. All I’d wanted to do was something nice for her, and I went and fucked it all up. I should have known better. The flowers were enough, paying her repair bill that was borderline crazy. Judging by her reaction, I’d definitely crossed the line. Insanity was my only defense.
Stevie wasn’t like any of the other women I’d come across, ever. I’m aware that men said that kind of crap all the time, but for me it rang true. With this job, I was used to women rubbing up against me during working hours, after meetings, on the course, and social affairs vying for my attention.
Stevie captured my attention, despite being in a shitty predicament she managed to smile, and laugh. I liked her laugh, a lot. Her blue eyes beamed bright every time she laughed. Every time she looked at me with those gorgeous eyes, I found myself being pulled in deeper.
Taking notice of an attractive woman never rattled me, but for some reason this woman did. Maybe I was losing it.
She probably took me for a Sugar Daddy and was grossed out. Stevie couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, making me nine years older than her. My dick and my brain were in a wrestling match of epic proportions. She was innocence and sin wrapped together and I had the desire to explore every facet of her being.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I blew out a harsh breath. I walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. I recently attended a special tasting dinner at the Ritz Carlton to try a fifty year old Glenlivet Scotch, single-malt at cool $25,000 a bottle. The taste of caramel mixed with a lasting spice and rich leather lingered on my tongue as I relished the slow burn going down.
This scotch was something special, a rarity that most people would never have the opportunity to experience. Rich older men, they managed to keep aged scotch in business. At thirty-one, I was one of them.
Stevie was barely a twenty-something and I couldn’t stop envisioning fucking her in every position imaginable. While she was at the point in her life where she felt the sting of losing her first meaningful job, this morning I made enough money to buy a dozen cases of this scotch.
I swirled the liquid in my glass, the color reminded me of her skin—the shade of golden tan. On the golf course today, I couldn’t help but study her body. Her legs were toned and sculpted to perfection. During the course of the afternoon, I’d become an expert on her ass. I studied it harder than my golf game. Every time she adjusted her ponytail, I had the urge to wrap it around my fist, yanking her back so that I could kiss my way up the delicate slope of her neck. In my mind, I’d already bent Stevie over my desk and fucked her half a dozen times. I wanted to see her skin tinged pink, under my skilled touch.
I took another drink, and my thoughts shifted to her lips. That pink pout said one thing: “Come here, I need to kiss you.” I’d never seen such perfect kissable lips on a woman in my life.
Thinking about defiling this woman was going to drive me to alcoholism.
SATURDAY MORNING ARRIVED AND BROUGHT a torrential downpour along. My drive to Amelia City was absolutely agonizing. I had about ten minutes to snap out of my foul mood before I arrived at the cemetery. Since moving here, this was my ritual. Grab coffee. Pick up a bouquet of flowers from the grocery. Spend an hour at my gran’s grave.
It had stopped raining just as I made it to Amelia City. I turned into the lot and parked under my favorite tree. Slipping off my pink Hunter wellies, I traded them for my flip flops. Bouquet and coffee in hand, I walked along the path to her grave.
“Hey, Gran, it’s me, Stevie,” I announced, bending to replace the flowers from last week with a fresh bundle of peach colored roses.
I pulled out a cloth, and dusted off her headstone, wiping it free of grass and raindrops. The bench I normally sat on was still wet, so I stood as I prayed silently.
“Okay, Gran, this week has been an epic cluster . . . disaster.” I recounted my week, telling her the highlights and lowlights, including my run in with Cord and how Jax had paid for my car repairs.
Utterly sexy, Jackson Hart and his stupid perfect face. Why do I even care? I shouldn’t care, but I do. Obviously, I had enjoyed the time we’d spent together the evening my car decided to clunk out on me. And, caddying for him wasn’t a total awkward nightmare, especially since there were quite a few hand grazes and I loved being on the receiving end of that charming smile.
This is dumb. I had spent all of five hours with the guy and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Focus, Stevie, I’d reminded myself.
“Megyn is good, looks like she might keep the new guy around for a while. Oh, and Krystle says hello. She’s working on that cocktail for the bar, Ruby’s Rum Runner. It will probably have blood orange and blackberries, like I mentioned last time.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a family walking down the path to my right. The woman was crying, and her daughter told her that it was okay to cry.
I used to cry a lot when I first started visiting Gran, but somewhere along the way I was able to find peace. It broke my heart that she’d died alone. We’d received the call that Gran had been rushed to the hospital, she collapsed outside the bank. But, by the time we arrived she’d passed away.
I pulled a book from my handbag. Gran had a stash of Nora Roberts and Jackie Collins books in her closet. Lots of notes in the margins, which made me laugh. We started with Chances, since I’d never read it. Now we were on Hollywood Wives.
“Let’s see,” I began, and turned to the page I’d bookmarked. “Okay, so we’re now on chapter ten.” I began reading, and took a seat on the now dry bench.
An hour later, I was back in my car, and headed to Salissa Island. Instead of going straight home, I decided to stop at one of my favorite places.
The hot air whipped around me when I hopped out of the car. As I climbed the stairs, the smell of caramel from the popcorn shop next door twirled up my nose. I smiled remembering the first time Gran brought me here and we indulged in caramel chocolate popcorn. On super-hot days we’d skip the popcorn and go for ice cream instead.
Baker’s Art Gallery, it was the biggest on the island. I turned the knob on the tall French doors and passed through the drawing room. A large piano sat in the corner near the fireplace tiled with stained glass.
For a Saturday afternoon, the gallery was unusually empty. My feet carried me up to the second floor, where all the maritime art was housed. During our trips here, Gran would create a story about the paintings for our amusement.
Unable to let my brain relax, I couldn’t help but think about the other day with Jax, and how upset I’d been when he admitted he paid for my car repairs. It hurt, because I liked him. He was charming, polite, a little pervy, but in a non-threatening way. Then again, did he think he would get laid by paying my bill? There were far better ways to get into my pants. Oh my God, why am I thinking about this?
&
nbsp; Once I’d had a chance to cool down, I would figure out a way to get the money back to him.
Leaning against one of the wood columns, I studied the picture, which was an impressionistic scene of beachgoers shielding themselves from the rain. The bright pops of red and green balanced perfectly against the muted grey and blue-green sky.
And now, I was back to thinking about Jax’s blue eyes. I let out an exasperated sigh, covering my face in my hands.
“Is this seat taken?”
Seriously? It was his voice. The voice. My fingers curled against my palm, nails biting into my skin to make sure that I was awake. Sure enough there stood Jackson Hart, wearing a pair of dark denim jeans and a grey V-neck t-shirt that clung to his muscles. Good Lord.
“I’m not sitting.”
He shrugged. “I know, but it seemed like the thing to say.”
“What are you doing here? You want to buy me a painting or something?” I smirked, gesturing towards the wall.
He smiled. “Would that get you to forgive me?”
I was totally helpless against this man, it’s not my fault he was so damn good-looking. He’s to blame for being utterly charming. Dammit, I’m annoyed with myself.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Tell me, why are you here? Are you stalking me now?”
“Stalking women isn’t in my repertoire. I’m here on official business, I swear.”
“What official business?”
“I own this building.”
“You own the building?” I stood staring at him with my mouth agape. “Next, you’ll tell me that you own the entire island.”
“Would it be possible if we just started over, Stevie?” he asked pointedly.
I stared at him, unable to form words. A strange combination of nerves, excitement and fear raced up my spine making a pit stop in my stomach.
Finally, he spoke up outstretching his hand. “Hi, I’m Jackson Hart, but you can call me Jax or Jay whatever you like.” A wide grin spread across his face, and his eyes lit up. That’s when everything flipped upside down.
When my eyes popped open, there was Jax. I felt his hand on the side of my face. There was a slight buzzing sound, and I couldn’t hear what he was saying to me.
“Stevie, hey, there you are.”
“What . . . what happened?”
“You fainted. Well, at least I think you did.”
“Fainted?”
Jesus Christ. That’s fucking cliché.
I wiggled free from his hold, shaking my head trying to pull myself together.
“Hey, take it easy,” he said, holding onto my arms.
My legs wobbled beneath me as I tried to bring my body upright. I probably looked like that baby giraffe after it was born. Well, if this wasn’t the corniest thing that could have happened.
As if things couldn’t get more embarrassing, my stomach rumbled, loudly.
“Have you had anything to eat today?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern.
My cheeks heated. “No, just a large coffee.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he reminded. “Did you have dinner last night?”
What was with all the questions? This guy had no right to chastise me about my eating habits. I didn’t have to stand here and take this from him.
I spun around and ran smack into the wooden column I had been leaning on earlier.
“Shit!” I yelped in pain.
Damn this was worse than the time I ran straight into the sliding glass door at my parents’ house.
Strong hands gripped my arms. “Okay, easy there, Megan the klutz.”
“Whoa,” I replied, rubbing what I could only feel would be a definite bump on my forehead. “How do you know about that book?”
He helped me to sit on the bench in the hallway. “I have a younger sister, and she’s into reading vintage YA, as she calls it. She also likes reading self-help books.”
I laughed. “Yeah, my mom bought me a bunch of those teen dramas and I loved that one too. Self-help books are so ten years ago.”
“Hey, are you making fun of my sister?”
My fingers danced over my forehead. Shit. “No, let’s blame it on the head injury.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, bending to look at me.
“You mean, besides being in pain and mortified. I’m all good.”
“Come on, I’m driving.”
“Where are we going? What about my car?”
After pulling me to my feet, he took my hand, and led me down to the first floor. “I’ll take care of it. Sit here while I make a phone call.”
He took out his phone and then swiped the screen. “Hey, Mitch, I need you to pick up a blue Ford Focus from the Baker Art Gallery. I’ll text you the delivery address. And I need you to drop off the keys at The Villa.”
The Villa, was that a restaurant on the island? My stomach rumbled again.
After Jackson ended the call, he dropped his phone into his back pocket, giving me a reason to admire his ass in those jeans. Well done, DNA Gods.
“Hand me your keys.”
“I’m always handing you my keys.” I dropped them into his hand. Fire danced across my fingertips. Wow, it did happen, like in the romance books.
I sat staring at him, watching as he gave the receptionist specific instructions. She hung on his every word, all while batting her eyelashes.
He walked back towards me, almost with a bounce in his step.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking my hand in his and leading me out the door. I glanced around, looking for his Range Rover, but I didn’t see it. To my left there was a motorcycle and a shiny silver Mercedes convertible sports car.
He unlocked the door and held it open for me. Nervous knots formed in my stomach once more, or maybe I was just hungry. In less than a week, I’d been inside two luxury vehicles, both owned by a man who at present had me conjuring very dirty thoughts in my head. His fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel and I wanted to know what they would feel like inside me.
Yep, I went there. Megyn would be so proud. I was certain Krystle would be too. I had yet to tell her about the sexy man of my dreams.
“Is the temperature okay?”
“All good. New ride?” I asked, stroking the soft leather my ass was seated on.
“No, I’ve had this for a few months, but I do love having options.”
“Right, so how many vehicles do you have?”
“Just the two, but I also have a yacht and a jet.”
“Of course you do.”
“The jet belongs to the company, but I could always take it out for a spin. Maybe you’d like to go up sometime?”
“I bet you say that to all the girls you date.” I froze realizing what I had suggested.
“Not quite,” he replied, grasping my hand and running the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. “Besides my sister, the only females I’ve traveled with were business associates.”
His touch was warm, and I got the feeling that he was trying to ease my nerves. That was a nice feeling. Actually it was more than nice, it felt wonderful.
“How do you feel about Asian seafood?” he asked, removing his hand to shift gears.
“I’ve never had it,” I replied softly. “I’m actually a creature of habit. If I’m not cooking, I’m getting takeout from the Chinese restaurant or eating burgers and fries at Quench.”
“Would you rather do that, or are you feeling adventurous?” He turned to face me and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I think I’m up for the challenge,” I replied, suddenly feeling not so out of my comfort zone. Who was I kidding though; I was on a maybe date with a gorgeous man who had a private jet at his disposal. I was definitely no longer in Kansas.
JACKSON TOOK ME TO THE Hokaido Grill, it was the fanciest restaurant I think I’d ever been to in my life. We were seated at a large table near the bar, with a prime view of the ocean. This place oozed elegance, and the chic décor had a cool cultural vibe.
It made me want to travel to the Far East. A place I’d never thought much of before.
I’ve never been out of the country, but I hoped to travel one day. My bucket list was long, it included several shipwrecked sites and some small islands, I hoped my first stop could be somewhere near the Bermuda Triangle.
A woman with curly red hair appeared before us, setting a basket of bread on the table. “Good afternoon, Mister Hart, and welcome back. Here is the wine list, and can I get you your usual?”
So this was a place he frequented often. “I’ll skip the scotch today, but let’s start with bottle of the house Riesling and because we’re being adventurous a bottle of the Clos du Caillou Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thank you, Catelyn.”
That wine sounded expensive, and I’ve had Riesling before. Megyn bought a bottle the night she moved in and we stayed up talking and getting to know one another. We met at a “yoga on the beach” class, and we’d get coffee a few times a week. Her lease at her old place was up, and I told her that I had a room for rent. The rest was history.
“You good?” he asked, pulling me back to the moment. “How’s your forehead?”
“I’m good. It’s okay, no icepack needed.” Right on cue my stomach rumbled. I’m going to start packing granola bars in my purse.
He pushed the basket of bread towards me. “Eat, before you pass out on me again.”
“You’re so bossy. You’re not like one of those domineering alpha males are you?” I tore off a corner of the bread and popped it into my mouth.
His brow scrunched. “Domineering, I’m not sure, I’ve never thought about it. Aren’t all men Alphas?”
I shrugged. Feeling more at ease, I opted to throw out my earlier plan of not addressing his identity. “Okay, Mister Jackson Hart, why didn’t you tell me who you really were the day we met? I can’t believe I didn’t even make the connection. Abby told me who you were.”
Wicked Gentleman Page 4
