by J. D. Mason
Jackson held her in both arms and raised her up and down on his shaft, until he finally came too.
Farrah pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Is this what we’re going to be doing when we’re not working?”
He leaned back and grinned. “I don’t see why not.”
“I still think I’m too old for you,” she teased.
He sighed in frustration. “We’re talking five measly years, baby. That’s nothing.”
“But I used to babysit you.”
“You never babysat me. I was too damn old for a babysitter. Especially one that I had the hots for. If you’d been smart back then, you’d have waited for my ass.”
She laughed. “I don’t even want to think about that. It’s just … disgusting.”
“Disgusting. I’ve got the woman of my dreams, my twelve-year-old dreams, on my lap right now, buck-ass naked underneath one of my shirts. Honestly. I think I do recall having a wet dream just like this back then.”
She slapped him across the chest. “Now you’re making me queasy.”
“Morning sickness?”
“I’m too old to have babies, Jackson.” Would he want kids? Farrah was disappointed at the thought.
“Then we’d better work harder, faster. I know that I can squeeze one good kid out of that beautiful body of yours.”
She blushed. Farrah was forty-one. She wasn’t dead.
* * *
Jackson had no idea how long ago he and Farrah had drifted off to sleep when something came crashing into his face. Pain shot through his body like spikes. Farrah screamed.
“Shut up! You fucked this el coño? You sucked his cock, Farrah?”
Jackson’s vision was blurred. He tasted blood in his mouth. Another blow! And another one!
“Noooo! Stop it!” he heard her scream.
“What the fuck happened to you?” A thick, Latin accent echoed through Jackson’s head.
Jackson was dragged off the sofa by his neck, and across the floor to the middle of the room.
“Your hair, Farrah! Did this bitch do that to you?”
Heavy. Accent. Mateo!
Jackson turned to see Farrah being pressed against the wall by someone pointing a gun in her face.
Pain shot through his body again, as his ribs splintered. Jackson rolled over to his side, then pushed himself up on all fours. Another kick to the stomach, and then another. And finally, shockwaves shook him to the bone as a boot landed underneath his chin, straightening him up on his knees, and sending him toppling over onto his back.
“Kill that bastard.”
“Please—no! Don’t, Mateo! Please!”
Smack!
He turned his head and saw her fall to the floor. Mateo was hitting her. Kicking her. That foot started to come at Jackson again, but this time, he caught it, twisted that motherfucker until he heard it pop, and the dude at the other end of it screamed.
Jackson rolled over to the sofa, found his gun, and pulled the trigger just as that big bastard was about to sit up.
Pop! Pop! In the chest!
He didn’t have time to get out of the way. Mateo pointed his gun at Jackson.
“Mother fuck—” he yelled. He pulled the trigger, but missed as his aim shifted toward the ceiling. Mateo turned to Farrah, who’d kicked him in the back of the knee, and pointed the gun at her.
“Bitch!”
Jackson fired again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Farrah waited with Jackson outside the University of Texas coaching offices. The media had been flooded with stories of what had happened to the two of them ever since Mateo and his bodyguard broke into Jackson’s home. His life was lit up again like a Roman candle and he hated every minute of it. Farrah blamed herself. Jackson blamed Mateo. Not long after the news broke, Jackson was asked to come to Austin again to tell them in his own words what had happened.
“On the one hand, it’s good news,” his friend Alvin told the two of them. “The fact that they’re even interested in talking to you means that you were a front runner for this job, Jackson. If you weren’t, they’d have swept you under the rug and not given it a second thought.”
“What’s on the other hand?” Jackson asked.
Alvin shrugged. “On the other hand, whatever story you tell them, you’d better make it good. Or they’ll sweep you under the rug and not give it a second thought.”
Jackson sighed. “How about I just tell them the truth?”
Alvin nodded. “It’s worth a shot.”
* * *
No charges were filed by the Blink Police Department because, well, Mateo and his colleague were intruders who broke into the house of one of Blink’s golden boys. After getting news of Mateo’s death, more news broke that Mateo was already under surveillance by the FBI for suspicion of drug and human trafficking, and he was suspected to have been involved in several unsolved murders.
Farrah was questioned until she lost her voice. No. She didn’t know what Mateo did for a living. Yes. She should’ve known, since she’d been with him for so long. But no. She didn’t ask because she didn’t want to know. And she’d left him because she was tired of the abuse and the cheating. Yes. She would be available for more questions if they needed to ask anything else. In Blink. She was staying in Blink, Texas.
* * *
Alvin and Farrah both stood up when Jackson finally emerged from the University of Texas’s administration building. He walked over and kissed her, then eventually acknowledged that Alvin was there too.
“So?” Alvin asked, anxiously.
“So, it was intense,” Jackson admitted. “They wanted details that weren’t in the papers.”
“What’d you tell them?” Farrah asked nervously.
“I told them,” he sighed, “that yes. I’d take the job. And yes. I can be back down here next spring.”
Farrah squealed and wrapped her arms around him.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, man?” Alvin exclaimed.
Jackson laughed. “I had the job back when I interviewed for it the first time,” he finally admitted.
“None of this mattered?” Farrah asked with tears in her eyes.
“Oh, it mattered,” he said. “But so did the truth. And that’s what I told them.”
“Damn,” Alvin grunted. “I’m going to have to try that truth thing more often.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Farrah said, squeezing him.
He’d wanted this so badly. He’d needed this, and she thought for sure that she’d blown it for him, but thank God, it all worked out. He was moving, to Austin, though. That part was going to be a little hard for her to adjust to, but Jackson deserved this. He deserved to be happy.
“Be happy for us, baby,” he said, picking her up off the ground. “We’ve got some house hunting to do.” He put her down and gazed into her eyes.
“We?”
“Hell, yeah. What the hell would I look like coming down here by myself when everything in the world that I wanted was someplace else?”
“Stupid?” she asked, smiling.
He laughed. “Very.”
Read on for a sneak peek of
Stone Cole
by J. D. Mason
Available February 2016
Copyright © 2016 by J. D. Mason
He didn’t want to talk about Daneen with Cristina sitting pretty in his lap. Both of them sat quietly for the next few minutes, watching Bud and some of his friends start the fire. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder and he couldn’t help wondering if she realized that she was doing it. He kissed the top of her head, on impulse. She slowly rose up and looked at him. He could feel that uncomfortable tension starting to build in her again, but he wasn’t going to let her run away from him this time. Ellis put his finger underneath her chin, leaned into her, and planted the softest kiss he could muster up on her lips.
“It’s done,” he said definitively. “Been wanting to do that.”
She didn’t object. She wasn’t exac
tly jumping for joy, but she didn’t get up and run off either. Cristina lay her head back on his shoulder and stayed planted on his lap until it was time for the two of them to leave. On the way back, she held on to him like she wanted to.
* * *
How could she know a man for less than a week and feel like this? Cristina was back in her hotel room, freshly showered and in bed, still reeling over the events of the whole day.
“Text me your address and I’ll have the painting shipped to you,” he’d promised, despite her protests. “Of course I have to give it to you. It’s yours, Cristina. The energy you brought into the studio is all over it. It’s not meant for anyone else. Not even me.”
Two days wasn’t enough time to fall in love with somebody. The whole notion was ridiculous. But it was enough time to be awed by someone. Everything about Ellis was so unexpected. He wasn’t trying to be that way. He just was that way. She’d barely scratched the surface during her interview of him. Cristina knew that there was so much more to him that she needed to know if she was going to write this dossier, but the kinds of things that he openly shared about himself were so difficult to put into words.
It wasn’t just the story of Ellis that was captivating, it was the vibe of Ellis, the ambience of him, the smell and feel of him. How do you capture things like that in an interview so that people reading it could see, feel, hear, and smell everything that she did and be affected in the same way that she was? It would have to be a work of fiction, because no one would believe that he was real.
What is a wife to do when her husband has been missing for six months and she starts to look like the prime suspect?
Don’t miss
The Real Mrs. Price
by J. D. Mason.
About the Author
J. D. MASON is the author of Crazy, Sexy, Revenge; Drop Dead, Gorgeous; Beautiful, Dirty, Rich; Somebody Pick Up My Pieces; Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It; That Devil’s No Friend of Mine; You Gotta Sin to Get Saved; This Fire Down in My Soul; Don’t Want No Sugar; And on the Eighth Day She Rested; and One Day I Saw a Black King. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her two children. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY J. D. MASON
And on the Eighth Day She Rested
One Day I Saw a Black King
Don’t Want No Sugar
This Fire Down in My Soul
You Gotta Sin to Get Saved
That Devil’s No Friend of Mine
Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It
Somebody Pick Up My Pieces
Beautiful, Dirty, Rich
Drop Dead, Gorgeous
Crazy, Sexy, Revenge
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Excerpt from Stone Cole
About the Author
Also by J. D. Mason
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
HART BREAKER. Copyright © 2016 by J. D. Mason. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
e-ISBN 9781466853782
First Edition: January 2016
