The bathroom door opened. She discreetly peered up through her lashes…and then wished she hadn’t.
Jackson emerged, crossing the open bedroom doorway with nothing but a towel…that was currently drying his hair. Vanessa clenched her teeth to prevent her mouth from hanging open at the glistening, Olympian body he’d just paraded openly. She heard the sound of a dresser drawer opening, then closing, and then cursed herself for praying he’d dress in the bathroom.
Whistling the chorus from the Pussycat Dolls’s “Don’t Cha,” he strode back into the bathroom carrying—thank you, baby Jesus—a pair of jersey shorts and a wifebeater.
As soon as the door closed, she groaned in frustration. She couldn’t concentrate with him around. He was a distraction and a nuisance. A really hot nuisance who almost never wore a shirt. How the hell was she supposed to focus with him strutting around half naked all the damn time like some Hawaiian god?
If he knew she’d been staring, he hadn’t shown it, but then again, what reason would he have to go back into the bathroom naked? The tramp probably knew she’d been watching the whole time.
She’d done her best to stay emotionally distanced from him since they left the gym. The fact that she’d been so upset over him attacking Danny didn’t sit well with her. To disapprove of how he handled something was one thing. But it was another thing entirely to feel like her insides were turning out at the possibility of him hiding violent tendencies. It should not have affected her that much.
Which could only mean one thing: she’d let herself get emotionally invested with one Jackson Maris.
Vanessa thought back to the cake tasting. Jackson had actually been tender with her. The softness of his lips on her hand made the room around her fade to black as she stared into the golden light of his eyes. When he fed her the cake from his fork, it seemed more intimate, more sensual, than the act warranted. And when he wiped the frosting from her lip, she’d wished he’d removed it with a kiss.
But how did she know he hadn’t been doing all of those things for Robért’s benefit? Even worse, what if his tenderness had truly been sincere? The former made her want to kick his ass. The latter made her want to kiss him until they both forgot to breathe. Which then made her want to kick her own ass for getting the least bit sentimental when it came to that man.
“I’m a hot mess,” she muttered to herself. And if there was one thing Vanessa Ann MacGregor hated, it was being a hot mess. On the outside or the inside. That’s why her Rules worked so well for her. It kept everything in her life the way she needed it to be.
So what are you going to do about it, Nessie?
There was only one thing she could think of to untangle herself. She had to avoid having sex with Jackson the rest of the week. Not that she’d tell him outright, of course. But women got out of having sex every day. They had headaches or cramps or they were too tired… She’d never used excuses before, but surely it couldn’t be that hard to convince a man you weren’t up for the occasion, so to speak.
Just then a knock sounded on the door.
“I’ll get it.” Jackson entered the room, giving her equal relief and disappointment, and answered the door. A few moments later he sat next to her on the couch and set a tray on the coffee table that held a bottle of Patron, two shot glasses, a saltshaker, and a bowl of lime wedges.
“What’s all that?” she asked with a point of her disfigured pen.
“Has it been so long since you’ve had fun that you forgot what it looks like?”
“For your information, I have fun all the time. I’ll have you know I’m Queen Fun back home. Ask your sister.”
“Instead of calling my poor sick sister to verify your story, why don’t you just put your money where your mouth is?”
“I have work to do, Jackson.”
“You’ve been working for the last several hours, including straight through dinner. It’s way past closing time, V,” he said, cracking open the bottle with a mischievous smile.
She tried to hold it back, but at least half of the smile crept on her face anyway.
He stopped and studied her. “What?” he asked.
“We’re about to find out if you pass the Bonus Rule.”
“Which is…”
“Never date a man who can’t out-drink you in tequila.”
He smiled widely and leaned in. “You’re going down, MacGregor.”