Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)

by J. T. Geissinger

  But maybe I could put it off until after her surgery. Yes, that’s what I’d do, I decided. No need to run headlong toward disaster. I could ease her into it a little bit.

  Then I remembered I’d be living with Jackson before I even got my next period. There was no easing anything at this point.

  “Slap, slap, kiss,” I said to the mirror. “And make it sound believable, Bianca!”

  My reflection didn’t look very convinced it would work.

  I dawdled as long as I could without being obvious, then reentered the parlor with a warning cough. Mama and Jackson were leaning toward each other, deep in conversation, but broke off when I appeared.

  Like an old-fashioned gentleman, Jackson stood as I walked into the room.

  It made me flush. Mama’s slight, approving head nod made me flush even more.

  “Couldn’t find the photo album,” I lied, sitting on the sofa. “It’s probably in the garage.”

  “Hmm,” said Mama. “Well, perhaps another time.”

  She smiled at me with her eyes. We both knew exactly where all the photo albums were. Stacked in bookcases in what used to be my bedroom.

  Jackson abandoned the chair he’d been sitting in before and lowered himself to the couch beside me. His weight made the cushions dip and rolled me slightly toward him. I tried to be casual as I straightened myself, but Jackson draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side, like he’d done it a million times before.

  Blushing furiously, I made a peep of surprise.

  Mama said to Jackson, “She gets it from her father, that flush. That and her stubborn streak.”

  Jackson chuckled. “She’s stubborn? Gosh, ma’am, I hadn’t noticed.”

  They both laughed. I wondered if a person could die of embarrassment.

  They talked for a while, easy in each other’s company, while I sat stiff and uncomfortable beside the man who would soon be my husband and watched the woman who raised me charm the pants off him.

  He charmed the pants off her, too. The housecoat, I mean.

  Finally after what seemed an interminable period I spent examining a crack on the opposite wall, my mother said, “Well. It’s been so lovely visiting with you, Jackson, but I’m afraid I’m feeling a little tired now.”

  I snapped back to attention like a dog at the end of a yanked leash. “Are you okay? What can I get you?” I rose, filled with anxiety, but Mama waved me off.

  “Nothing at all, chère, nothing at all. I’m just going to go back to bed for a spell. Rest these old bones. Would you lend me a hand?”

  I helped her stand, wincing at her fragility. But she pulled herself upright and smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world, and I breathed a little easier.

  “It’s been wonderful to meet you,” said Jackson, solemn again. He came forward and gently took my mother’s outstretched hand. “I can see where Bianca gets her beauty and brains.”

  “And I can see why she likes you so much,” Mama said warmly. “You remind me an awful lot of her daddy. Crème brûlée, I always called him. Hard as nails on the outside, but inside all soft and gooey sweet.”

  I almost dropped dead. “Mama!”

  “Oh hush, child, you embarrass too easily.” To Jackson she said, “I can trust you to take care of my baby, now, can’t I, Jackson Boudreaux?”

  She was smiling, her tone playful, but there was a steeliness behind her eyes that left no doubt she wasn’t asking a question. She was giving a command, and God help him if he answered the wrong way.

  But Jackson rose to the challenge with a quiet grace that surprised me. He said softly, “You can trust me with her life, ma’am.”

  It was a simple statement, breathtaking in its honesty. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he meant exactly what he’d said.

  Mama felt the same way. She nodded, the steeliness in her eyes slowly replaced by that strange relief that had echoed in her sigh. Her hand relaxed in mine.

  “Would you just help me to the bedroom, chère?” Mama asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside, Bianca. Mrs. Hardwick.” Jackson slightly bowed his head, managing to look royal, elegant, humble, sophisticated, and sincere, all at once. “I hope to see you soon.”

  He made his way to the front door and quietly let himself out.

  When the door shut behind him, a huge breath left my chest in a rush. I felt like I might collapse into a heap, all my bones made of rubber.

  Mama patted my hand. “I owe you an apology, Bianca.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, truly confused.

  She searched my eyes. “I overheard what Trace said to you the other day, out on the sidewalk after you both left. I was wrong about him.”

  “Oh, Mama,” I breathed, sorry she’d had to hear that wretched skirt chaser call me a terrible name.

  Then she said, “I heard what you told him, too,” and all the blood drained from my face.

  That asshole is my fiancé! I’d shouted into his face, loud enough for the whole block to hear.

  “I thought you were just being spiteful, which he deserved, don’t get me wrong. But Jackson Boudreaux just asked for my permission to marry you.”

  My whole body went numb. So that’s why he wanted to meet my mother. He wanted to ask her for my hand.

  I wasn’t sure which would happen first, the fainting or the vomiting.

  She smiled. “Don’t look so traumatized, baby, I said yes. It seems awful fast, but who am I to judge? It was the same way for me and your daddy. And you’ve always had your head screwed on straight. I know you wouldn’t want to marry him unless you were in love, even if you have been tight-lipped about it.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she dared me to contradict her.

  Like a deer in the headlights, I froze. I blurted, “Slap, slap, kiss.”

  She looked confused for a moment, then her face cleared. “You mean the old romance trope where two total opposites fight like cats and dogs until they suddenly realize they’re crazy about each other?”

  After a second of shock so profound it felt like a cannonball had blown through me, I started to laugh. I laughed so hard I started crying. “Exactly!” I howled.

  She shrugged. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

  And just like that, it was done.

  TWENTY-THREE

  JACKSON

  Though she only lived a few blocks away from her mother, Bianca was in no shape to walk home. I wouldn’t have let her walk anyway, not when I had a car, but she had a blank, stunned look when she came out of the house that made me think she’d stumble aimlessly around the neighborhood for hours before finally realizing she was lost and lying down in the gutter for a nap.

  I’ve seen someone hit in the head with a shovel who had more presence of mind than she was displaying.

  I held the car door open for her. She inserted herself into the seat with the grace of a zombie, all jerking legs and stiff arms, the opposite of the way she normally moved.

  “I didn’t think having me meet your mother would be so traumatizing for you,” I said once I was seated behind the wheel.

  Bianca laughed. It was the noise a dog made when you stepped on its tail. “You asked my mother for permission to marry me,” she said.

  “I did.”

  She looked at me with eyes so wide the whites showed all around her irises. “What would you have done if she’d said no?”

  I answered truthfully. “Become one of those panhandlers on the boulevard you said I reminded you of.”

  “We wouldn’t get married?”

  I wanted to attribute her horrified tone to desperate disappointment that I wouldn’t be her husband, but I knew what she was thinking. And it wasn’t about me.

  “I would’ve paid for your mother’s surgery, and then I would’ve found a nice, comfortable bridge to live under.” I started the car and drove off, feeling her eyes on me like laser beams.

  After a long time, she asked, “Why?”
r />   Because I’d do anything to have you look at me the way you looked at me when I kissed you, even if it was only for one more time.

  Aloud I said, “No one should have to die because they’re broke.”

  She studied me in silence as we drove. I liked it, having her attention focused on me like that. It felt natural to have her riding beside me, sharing the same air. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but didn’t want to push my luck. Instead I turned on the radio.

  A song came on. “Like A Virgin.” Madonna crooned, “Feels so good inside.”

  I turned the radio off.

  “Wait.” Bianca looked out the window in confusion. “We’re going the wrong way.”

  “No. We’re going home.”

  “But my home is—”

  “We’re going to our home,” I said. “I want you to pick out your room before we leave this weekend. We need to get you settled. And I don’t want to have to lie to my parents when they ask if we’re living together.”

  She made a small, strangled noise in her throat, then rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

  “You’re terrible for my ego,” I said drily.

  “I’m sorry. This is all just so . . . surreal.”

  Her voice was muted. When I sent her a surreptitious glance, I saw that her face was pale and her knee was bouncing up and down. She really was traumatized.

  Had I been a less selfish man, I would’ve turned around, driven her home, paid for her mother’s surgery, and ripped up our contract. But now—aside from the fact that I dearly loved my house and my car collection and all the things my father’s money bought me—I had to admit that the thought of us living under the same roof had me as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

  I’d get to see those long-lashed doe eyes every day. I’d get to hear that voice, a jazz singer’s honeyed, husky timbre. I’d get the indescribable pleasure of watching her move among my things, warming all the cold marble surfaces with her fire and her laugh and her vibrancy.

  In short, I’d be the luckiest fucking man on earth. I wasn’t giving that up over a simple thing like decency.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  After a moment, she sat up straighter and blew out a breath. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s me who’s acting silly. You were right, this is a business deal that we’re both benefiting from.” She sent me a weak smile. “I’m grateful to you.”

  Now I really felt like a louse.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence, lost in our thoughts. When I stopped in front of the house, Rayford opened the door and bounded out, smiling from ear to ear. I wondered how long he’d been standing inside waiting for us to show up, peering out the windows like an anxious mother.

  “Miss Bianca!” he said, opening the passenger door. He grinned at her with his entire body. “So good to see you again!”

  For once I was glad of Rayford’s indestructible cheer. It visibly lifted Bianca’s spirits.

  “Rayford.” She took his extended hand and allowed him to help her out of the car. Then she hugged him.

  He looked as surprised as I felt.

  “Why, Miss Bianca,” he said, chuckling and patting her back. “You’ll make an old man blush.”

  She said something to him that I didn’t catch, then pulled away. I got out of the car as fast as I could, convinced I’d miss something important, but Rayford simply took her hand and put it into the crook of his arm and led her into the house.

  I frowned at his back. The old goat just usurped me!

  “So tell me how it went with your mama and Mr. Boudreaux,” said Rayford, gazing down at Bianca affectionately as they walked down the hall and I followed behind like an obedient dog, trying not to sniff too closely at her heels.

  “It went great,” Bianca said, wonder in her voice. “She really liked him.”

  Rayford threw a glance at me over his shoulder that said, Maybe she’s got a screw loose.

  I made a face at him. He turned back to Bianca, suppressing a smile. “Of course she did. What’s not to like about Mr. Frownypants?”

  I almost choked on my tongue, until Bianca laughed so heartily that I instantly forgave him. “Let’s take the elevator,” I said when Rayford headed for the spiral staircase to the second floor.

  Bianca looked startled. “Elevator?”

  “The master of the house enjoys installing unnecessary technology,” said Rayford, like I wasn’t two feet behind him. He patted her hand. “But now that you’ll be staying here, maybe you can talk him into finding a more useful hobby.”

  “Disposing of dead bodies,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Here we are!” Rayford stopped in front of the sleek brushed silver elevator doors, pretending like he hadn’t heard me. He couldn’t miss the glower I sent in his direction, however, or the Leave us alone! I transmitted directly into his brain.

  After almost thirty-five years of knowing someone, telepathy is a given.

  In one of the most unfortunate turns of phrases I’d ever heard, he said, “I’ll leave you two rabbits to it!”

  He pressed the “Call” button on the elevator and went on his way down the hall, his footsteps and jaunty whistle echoing off the marble.

  We got into the elevator. When the doors slid shut, Bianca said doubtfully, “Rabbits?”

  I sighed. “I’d fire him, but he’s my only friend.”

  “I’m your friend, too,” she said.

  When I looked down at her, she glanced away and started to chew the inside of her cheek.

  Friends. That should have made me happy, but it didn’t. It made me want to break something. Which is how I realized this lie of convenience was much more to me than just a business deal. I raked a hand through my hair and blew out a breath.

  Bianca said quietly, “Was that the wrong thing to say?”

  “No. Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “Because when you get really aggravated, you stab your hands through your hair.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded. “And you bristle. You literally get larger somehow. It’s freakish. Also you make some very unnerving animal sounds and have serial killer eyes.”

  “What a charmer,” I muttered, crushed.

  “It’s not all bad,” she said, looking at the ceiling.

  My ears perked up, but I didn’t want to sound too eager, so I said with utmost disinterest, “Do tell.”

  “Well. Um. You smell amazing. After you stopped murdering me with your eyes and I got past all the hair and your generally disheveled, hobolike appearance, it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

  What a strange tingle that was, skittering over my skin. I didn’t dare speak and prayed for the elevator to go slower.

  My silence prompted her to add, “And you have a really beautiful voice. If you ever decided not to be a layabout rich person, you could have an incredible career as a phone sex operator.”

  Holy fuck. She thought I had a sexy voice.

  For a second I stopped breathing. After my lungs remembered what their normal function was, I said, “Layabout?”

  The elevator doors opened. Neither of us moved.

  She said, “You’re right. That was rude. What’s an inoffensive word for idle?”

  I wasn’t at all offended, because layabout and idle were both pretty accurate descriptions for how I spent my days, but I was enjoying the compliments too much to let this conversation get steered off topic. “Maybe you could tell me a few more things you like about me to make up for your horrible manners.”

  The elevator doors began to slide shut, but I put out a hand, and they opened again. I looked at Bianca, my brows raised, waiting.

  Under my stare, her cheeks faintly colored.

  Christ, how I liked that.

  She said, “You’ll get a big head.”

  A smile broke over my face. “There’s just so many things, eh?”

  With typical sass, she lifted her c
hin and flounced past me. “Actually I ran out of things already. I’m just trying to buy time to make up something else.”

  Watching her walk past me, her dress swaying around her knees, I felt like a snorting, ground-pawing bull when a toreador flares his red cape.

  Then Cody came tearing around the corner. He stopped short when he saw Bianca, his face lighting up. “Lady!” he hollered, and made a beeline for her legs.

  Before he could slam into her, I scooped him up and tossed him into the air. He screamed like a banshee, his usual response to being delighted. He was easily delighted, so I lived with a lot of banshee screaming in my house.

  “Oh! You’ve got him, sir, thank goodness!”

  Panting and wheezing, Charlie staggered around the corner, her hair disheveled, one hand holding her side like she had a stitch. I wondered how long she’d been chasing him.

  “Morning, Charlie.” I tossed Cody over my shoulders and held onto his ankles so he dangled down my back. “Is he wearing you out already?”

  She passed a hand over her perspiring brow. “I don’t know where he gets his energy, sir. I swear it’s like Sunkist puts cocaine in their orange juice. Every day after breakfast he just starts bouncing off the walls and doesn’t stop until he falls asleep at night.”

  Cody banged his little fists against my butt, laughing like it was the greatest game in the world. Bianca looked on in amusement, shaking her head.

  In a quick move, I flipped him upright and set him on his feet. Then I knelt in front of him and gave him a hug, which instantly calmed him. He loves hugs more than anything else in the world.

  Rubbing his back, I said, “What do you think about having Charlie read you a book, buddy?”

  His head resting on my shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around my neck, he gurgled a laugh. “Book buddy book buddy!”

  That was a yes. Charlie sighed in gratitude. I gave Cody a kiss on the top of his head. I murmured into his hair, “Love you, buddy.”

  Cody looked at me and grinned, his pale, chick-fluff hair standing on end from static electricity. He pronounced, “Cody loves Daddy, too.”

  I kissed his chubby cheek. “Now I have to talk to Bianca for a while, but I’ll come and read with you and Charlie when we’re done, okay?”