by Tiffany Snow
“I didn’t say it was,” he replied, stopping so suddenly I nearly ran into him. He’d led us to a room I hadn’t been to before and held the door open for me to enter.
I walked inside and found a media room with a huge flat-screen television and leather furniture that looked very heavy, very plush, and very expensive. The carpet felt as though it swallowed my feet. But my attention was on the television screen. It was the reporter I’d seen at Wyndemere, and she was live on the air.
“. . . haven’t confirmed whether this was a terrorist cyber-attack or an act of corporate espionage,” she was saying. “The company spokesman declined to answer any questions at this time. Anonymous sources, however, are telling us that employees of Cysnet—the company owned by entrepreneur Jackson Cooper—are thought to be behind it. There has been no word on whether the death of Freyda Jain, found this morning in her car, is somehow related.”
Jackson muted the television. “See what I mean? The lawyers have already been calling.”
“You didn’t answer me,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Did you steal the software?”
“If I did, why do you think I’d tell you?”
Ouch. Burn.
I pushed aside my injured pride and got right up in his space. I had to tip my head back pretty far, but still. “Because my ass is on the line,” I gritted out, poking my finger hard into his chest. “That’s why.”
Jackson snatched my hand in his and jerked me closer. “Don’t you think I know that?” he hissed. “It’s precisely why I can’t tell you anything.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re too young, China. Naive. Like that neighbor of yours that you’re so willing to invite into your home and into your bed. His identity is a complete sham. Granted, they put some work into it, but track him back a few years and he disappears.”
Oh no. He knew about Clark. “What are you saying?”
“He’s not who he says he is,” Jackson repeated. “His trail disappears. He’s either law enforcement, or a spy.”
“But he said he’s in HR,” I bluffed, frantically thinking of what to do.
“He lied.” Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem very surprised.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was an awful liar and I’d already lied twice today. It wasn’t something I usually did. Jackson’s dark eyes stared into mine, as if he could read my mind. What would he do if he found out Clark was threatening me into enabling a hack into Jackson’s network?
“You already know, don’t you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
“I . . . guessed.” Which was true.
“Please tell me you didn’t confront him,” he said.
“Um . . . well . . .”
He dropped my arm, turning away and cursing under his breath. Shoving his fingers roughly through his hair, he rounded on me again. “Do you have any idea what he could have done to you? How easily he could make you just disappear?”
Yes, Clark could, actually, and no . . . I hadn’t considered that. I winced at the thought.
“What did he say?” he asked.
I panicked. There was no other word for it. And I did the first thing that came to mind.
I kissed him.
Not just any kiss. Nope. Not me. I threw myself at him, locking my lips to his and wrapping my arms around his neck. This had the unfortunate effect of causing him to stumble backward, unbalanced by my sudden attack. For once, luck was actually on my side because his leg hit the couch and he abruptly sat. Since I was attached to him like a barnacle to a sinking ship, I went down, too.
Recover recover recover. The mantra went through my head as I scrambled, straddling his lap. I tossed my glasses aside and smooshed my mouth to his again. I had no plan for what I’d say when I was done trying to distract him. I’d just wing it.
His lips were warm and soft, so it wasn’t as though kissing him was a hardship. Add in the fact that he smelled better than a fresh server right out of the box, and I wasn’t faking my enthusiasm.
Jackson’s hands wrapped around my upper arms, forcibly pushing me away until I had no choice but to break our kiss. I sat back and our eyes locked.
Oh shit. He was so pissed, I just knew it. What was a graceful face-saving way out of this?
Um, yeah, that ship had sailed.
I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I’d made an utter fool of myself.
Just as I was trying to figure out how to climb off his lap without falling on the floor, Jackson lifted his hands from my arms to cup either side of my head. Surprised, I lifted my eyes. His gaze was intense, his brow furrowed. Then he was kissing me.
It wasn’t like when I kissed him. It was much, much better.
His lips moved over mine, insistent and firm. For a moment, I did nothing, then it was as if my brain finally connected with my body. Jackson was kissing me. REALLY kissing me.
Opening my mouth, I pressed closer to him, wanting him to deepen the kiss, which he did. His tongue brushed mine, sending a wave of desire through me.
Reaching back, I tugged out my ponytail. I had good hair. Mia had said so. Maybe Jackson would like it.
That had been a good move because no sooner had my hair settled around my shoulders and down my back than Jackson was pushing his fingers through it. His hand cradled the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. The other hand went to my hip.
I’d been in this position with Clark not two nights ago and it had ended in disaster. I couldn’t help the thought running through my head. If Jackson did that to me, I didn’t know if I’d ever find the courage to kiss another man.
But even those dark thoughts faded away as the moments ticked by and Jackson continued to kiss me, his mouth becoming more demanding. Not that I needed encouraging. I was plastered to him, my breasts smashed against his chest, my fingers in his hair, and my hips pushing down into his. Not that it seemed he minded.
Both his hands moved to clutch my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh through the denim. He pushed up, pulling me down so that the hard length of him pressed between my thighs.
Blood pounded in my ears, heading south. I tore my mouth from his, dragging in a breath. His fingers trailed through my hair, then closed into a fist, pulling my head back and exposing my throat to his lips and tongue.
I felt on fire. Both his hands had my hair and tugged gently, keeping my back arched toward him.
He tugged at my shirt, pulling the sleeves down my arms. I unwound my arms from around his neck long enough to shove the fabric off, letting it fall to the floor.
The world spun and suddenly I was on my back on the couch, Jackson braced on his elbows above me. I was breathless, my eyes wide as they stared into his. The look on his face was one I knew I’d never forget.
He wanted me.
I knew it in an instant, in the instinctual way women have known for centuries when they’re wanted. Built into my DNA was something deeply feminine that recognized the hunger in his gaze, in the set of his jaw, the line of his lips.
The knowledge sent a curl of pleasure through me. I smiled. It was amazing, how having the man I wanted look at me like that could make me feel . . . sexy. I’d never felt sexy in my life. Ever. Never ever. But man, did it feel good.
I threaded my fingers through his hair and up his scalp and his eyes slid shut. I pressed him toward me, delighted when he readily complied. His kiss devoured me, sending my lucid thoughts shattering into a heady fog of want and heat and desire.
Jackson tugged on the hem of my T-shirt and I lifted up long enough for him to pull it over my head. He froze with the fabric still tangled in my fingers.
I looked at him, but he was looking at my chest. Suddenly, I was superglad I’d worn my Dream Angels champagne lace push-up with matching boyshort lace panties.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a rasp of sound that went right through me.
He sat back on his knees, which is when I noticed my legs were wrapped around
his hips. Hmm. When had that happened?
I was distracted by his hands at the fastening of my jeans. The brush of his fingers against my bare stomach sent tremors through me. I was mesmerized by his face as he unzipped my jeans and dragged them down my legs. I really hoped he took my socks with the jeans because they so did not go with my bra and panty set.
I was in luck because he did take the socks. But that wasn’t the luckiest part. That was when he looked at me as if I were birthday cake and ice cream . . . and it wasn’t even his birthday.
All of my grandma’s Harlequins didn’t prepare me for how it felt when he slid his fingers underneath the lace of my panties and between my legs.
I sucked in a sharp breath when he touched me. He was looking at me, watching my face, as his hand moved. My thighs were spread and I felt like that word they used in the novels . . . wanton. The lights were on and Jackson was watching my reaction to his touch.
“Are you still a virgin, China?” he asked, his fingers sliding between my folds.
Words were beyond me. My heart was racing and my mouth was utterly dry. I could only nod.
“But you’ve done this, haven’t you? Touched yourself? Made yourself come?” His fingers moved deeper, stroking me, barely brushing the little bit that ached the most.
A whimper escaped me, something between a sound of pleasure and a request for more.
“Did you know that if a man takes off a woman’s clothes and finds her with matching lingerie, the saying goes that he wasn’t the one to decide they’d be having sex?”
That startled a huff of laughter from me, which quickly melted into please-may-I-have-some-more sounds when he slid a finger inside me. My eyes slammed shut.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.
I pried my eyelids open. Jackson’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, a look of intense concentration on his face, as though he were memorizing everything. His gaze lowered from my face down my chest and stomach to where his hand was moving under silk and lace. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“What is this, Twenty Questions?” I managed to ask in between my moans.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his finger moved faster, sliding in and out of me. Each time, brushing that spot that was making me fast lose any semblance of control or dignity. I wanted to touch him, but he was beyond my reach. Raising my hands over my head, I clutched at the couch, digging my fingers into the leather.
I bit my lip to try to quiet my moans, which seemed a little loud, and squeezed my eyes shut.
“God, you are so beautiful, so passionate,” he murmured. “I knew you’d be like this.”
Reaching for whatever part of him I could find, I tugged on a fistful of his shirt, bringing him close enough to kiss me. He got the hint, his tongue plunging inside my mouth with the same desperation I felt.
Adding a second finger to the first, he spread my legs wider. I gripped the back of his head, holding him tight as we kissed. His mouth swallowed my moans when his fingers moved faster and harder. I could feel my orgasm hovering close, and apparently so could he because he was making sounds, too, his lips pressing hard against mine.
Jackson getting more turned on in direct reaction to my arousal was an intoxicating thing. Nothing spoke to that sexual part of me more than being seen as sexy and desirable in my most vulnerable state. It was a fire that fed on itself. The more passion overcame me, the more Jackson desired me, which made it even easier to give myself over to the heat between us and rushing through my veins.
Stars exploded behind my eyes and I made a noise somewhere between a scream and moan. My fingers dug into Jackson’s shoulder, wanting more, even though my body was too sensitive to handle it. I could feel the spasms inside clutching his fingers, an altogether new sensation, and an amazing one. His thrusts slowed to a slow stroking that prolonged the spasms until tears leaked from my eyes and I had to tear my mouth from his just so I could suck in air.
Jackson’s mouth moved to my neck, kissing the spot underneath my jaw where my pulse beat wildly. My skin was so sensitive, it sent a shiver through me.
“You are incredible,” he murmured in my ear, causing my lips to curve in a tired smile.
“I could say the same to you,” I replied. I’d never felt this way before, so sated, yet I wanted more. I wanted him.
I reached for his belt, tugging on it. My hand brushed his erection and he moaned. The sound was intoxicating. I’d made him do that. I paused working on his belt to stroke him through the fabric of his slacks and he moaned again, his lips seeking mine with an urgency that was deeply satisfying. He wanted me. Just as much as I wanted him.
A sharp, loud rap on the door to the room made me yelp. In a second, I’d pulled my knees to my chest and was scrambling to find my clothes. Jackson was already hissing curses under his breath, which I heartily agreed with.
“Here,” he said, tossing a blanket over me as I struggled to turn my T-shirt right side out. I hurriedly pulled the blanket up to my neck, making sure all my extremities were covered as he went to the door. Though he only opened it a few inches, I could see Lance standing beyond.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt, sir,” he said. “But two FBI agents are at the door, asking for you.”
Oh crap.
“Did they say what they wanted?” Jackson asked.
“I believe they’re looking for your guest.”
Upgrade that Oh crap to Oh shit.
“All right. Tell them I’ll be with them momentarily.” He shut the door and turned back to me.
I threw off the blanket and scrambled into my clothes. “The FBI?” I asked, yanking the T-shirt over my head and stuffing my legs into my jeans. “They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?”
“We don’t know that,” Jackson said. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to tell them you’re here.”
I stopped in the middle of dragging on my long-sleeved shirt. “You can’t lie, Jackson. Not to the FBI. You could go to jail for that.”
“I don’t plan on going to jail,” he replied, stepping over to me. Reaching under my collar, he lifted my hair free. “And neither are you.”
“The software is missing and I’m the prime suspect,” I said. “If I don’t find out who has it, they’ll pin it on me. I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life.”
“You won’t find out who has it,” he said. “We will. I can help you. And the first person I’m going to ask is your mysterious neighbor.”
Alarm shot through me. “No, Jackson. Stay away from him. Promise me.” Clark was a dangerous guy and I didn’t want Jackson within a hundred yards of him. Clark already suspected Jackson of doing something illegal. Jackson showing up on Clark’s doorstep, demanding answers, was a recipe for disaster.
He frowned. “When I come back, we’re going to discuss your neighbor and what exactly he told you. Until then, stay here.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but then he was kissing me. One of those deep, mind-wiping kisses that melted my bones.
“I’m glad he knocked when he did,” Jackson murmured against my lips. “I don’t want our first time—your first time—to be rushed on a couch. I want you in my bed.”
Another shiver went down my spine, his whispered words conjuring images in my head of our naked bodies entwined, sweat-slicked skin, gasps and moans of pleasure . . .
He stepped away, the clicking of the door abruptly ending my fantasy, and my eyes flew open. Damn it anyway. He was going to go out there and lie for me, putting himself and his business at risk. I couldn’t prevent him from doing that . . . but I could leave. Jackson had too much to lose to risk it all for me. Besides, I had my own idea as to who had stolen that software.
13
Slipping on my glasses, I exited the room, turning right toward the back of the house rather than left. As I’d hoped, there was a door leading out onto an expansive deck. To my right, catty-corner, was a small bungalow, which is where I headed.
“Sorry, Lance,” I murmured. “I’m just borrowing.”
Lance owned a silver Lexus. Huh. Jackson must pay well. I slid inside, admiring the black leather. Very nice.
Ten minutes later, I was on the highway, heading home. I had a stop to make along the way, though, because the last thing I wanted was someone finding Mia and using her as leverage against me, just as Clark had threatened.
The part of my brain not trying to figure out my next step was busy reliving the last hour with Jackson. I couldn’t believe we’d actually made out on his couch, that he’d wanted to make out with me. God, he was an incredible kisser . . .
I was lost in memories for a moment, a blissful state that lasted until I began wondering why he’d been kissing me. I’d wanted to distract him at first, but it ended with him distracting me. Because now that I thought about it, he never had answered my question about what he was doing writing software for Vigilance. He’d only said he had no intention of going to jail.
An ick feeling spread through my stomach. I hoped Jackson hadn’t been using me, too, the way Clark had. I didn’t think I could handle that.
I pulled into Mia’s school half an hour after I left Jackson’s. It took another ten minutes to find the right office and get Mia. She began peppering me with questions the minute she saw me.
“Why are you taking me out of school early? Aren’t you supposed to be at work? Is it my dad? Did he fly down here to take me home or something?”
I didn’t reply as we walked through the parking lot, half my attention listening to her, the other half scanning the parking lot for anything unusual.
“Where’s your car?” We’d stopped at Lance’s car.
“I had to borrow this one,” I said. “Get in.”
Mia seemed to sense my anxiety and tension, because she took a good long look at me and stopped asking questions.
We were halfway to my destination before I figured out what to tell her . . . and what not to tell her. I took a breath.
