“No complaints from me—they’re so cute. Thanks.”
Dragging my gaze from his, I rummage through my bag and pull out all of my supplies: notebook, calendar, stickies, highlighters, colored pens. My mood board. Everything I need to make sure this goes smoothly, as organized as humanly possible.
It’s going to be hard enough for the two of us to work together without both of us losing our minds, and even harder if I don’t stay on top of everything.
Plus, it helps me feel… in control of a situation when I’m prepared. I need everything to go exactly as planned, and the only way to do that is to plan.
What’s that saying… fail to plan, plan to fail?
Jackson disappears into the kitchen, then returns with two amber bottles of beer in his hand. “Beer? I know it’s probably not fancy enough for you, but it’s all I’ve got. Not a red wine kinda guy.” He extends it toward me.
Glaring at him, I take the bottle from his hand. “Now who’s judging who? I happen to love beer. I drink it all the time. I’m a real beer connoisseur.”
Amusement flickers in his eyes as I take a hefty sip, never breaking our stare.
The second the bitter liquid hits my taste buds, I immediately regret my decision.
God, it takes like… carbonated muddy water, except even worse, and I don’t know how that’s possible. Trying to keep a straight face, I swallow the mouthful and grimace. “Delicious. Thank you.”
He tosses his head back, a deep, low rumble erupting from his chest. “God, you’re a shit liar, Emmie. The look on your face was priceless.”
I ignore him entirely, taking a seat between his couch and the coffee table and setting the beer on the table. “Do you have a coaster?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who has a coaster?”
Sighing, I open the notebook and uncap my pen as he sits on the floor next to me, bringing his beer to his lips.
Even though it tastes horrible, I continue to sip my beer, if only to prove a point that I’m not “too good” for beer. For someone who doesn’t know me at all, he sure does have a lot of preconceived notions about who I am. Although, I guess that’s not entirely fair because I’ve done the same to him.
“Okay, so I think we should get started.”
He nods. “Have at it, Emmie.”
My gaze narrows as I take another hefty sip of my beer, and for a second, I don’t bother to hide the slow perusal as I drink him in. Maybe it’s the alcohol or that I’ve barely eaten all day… or maybe it’s that it’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to Jackson Pearce. The jail cell didn’t count—I was in distress and trying to focus on getting free again.
It’s at this moment that I realize being this close to Jackson Pearce is dangerous.
It’s his whiskey-brown eyes, the gold flecks of honey that swirl around his irises. Thick, dark lashes frame them, a shade darker than the stubble on his chin that he hasn’t bothered to shave. I’m usually more of a clean-cut, suit-and-tie kind of girl, but there’s something deliciously enticing about him. Something dangerous and rough. Something I find myself wanting.
His tawny, chestnut hair is perpetually disheveled, falling in his face as he leans back against the couch, bringing the bottle to his lips. The strong column of his throat bobs as he swallows the beer down, and I clench my thighs together when I feel a throb.
Okay, maybe this beer is going to my head. Or maybe it’s the fact that he rescues freaking puppies from the cold or the fact that he sees the beauty in a house that everyone else was so quick to condemn. I mean… maybe there’s more to Jackson Pearce than I ever realized because I was too blinded by what I thought I knew?
No. It’s definitely the beer. Only the beer.
That’s exactly what’s happening right now.
The alcohol is making my brain fuzzy, making it impossible to think clear, rational thoughts because they’re clouded by Jackson Pearce.
That’s why I’m looking at his forearms like they’re my own special version of porn, the tanned muscles rippling as he moves the beer back down to rest on his denim-clad thigh.
“Emma?” His voice breaks through my thoughts, and I feel my cheeks heat, a furious blush spreading in its wake.
Not only am I delusionally picturing Jackson naked, but I’m doing it while sitting right next to him. I can feel the heat of his body next to mine, smell the fresh, woodsy scent of his shampoo.
“So.” I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back to the notebook in front of me as I start writing. “I was thinking that we start at Town Hall? We need to access the building, take some measurements, see what we’re really working with. I actually haven’t been in Town Hall in years, so I need to see what exactly I’m up against.”
“Sure. Whatever you think.” My gaze drags to his, and I linger on the fullness of his lips before shaking my head and pulling my eyes back to the notebook in front of me.
I’ll start with a checklist. That always keeps all of the little boxes in my head straight. Organized.
“Okay, perfect. So, I was thinking maybe a standard five-course dinner? Black-and-white cocktail attire. Make it a fancy affair an—”
“Woah, woah, woah.” He stops me, shaking his head. “Emmie, hate to disappoint you, but we are not having a fucking fancy black-tie party for this. Half the people in this town don’t even own the attire for that.”
I scoff. “And when you say half the people, you’re really referring to the Pearces, correct?”
“No, I’m referring to Strawberry Hollow. You know, since the entire town is supposed to be invited. Shit, you know what? I’m gonna need another beer for this.” Without another word, he stands from the floor and disappears into the kitchen, returning with two more bottles. In my distraction of accidentally eye-fucking my enemy, I guess I finished the beer he gave me.
The taste kind of does grow on you…
He extends the beer to me, sans the top, and sits down next to me, this time angling his body to face me.
“Listen, I know that your family has traditions, and you want this to be a fancy affair, but you also have to consider that my family has traditions. And if we’re going to do this together, we’re going to have to work together, Snowflake. Even if this is the last thing either of us wants to be doing.”
Damn him.
He’s right…
“Fine. We can learn to… compromise. But you can’t shoot an idea down as soon as I suggest it, Pearce. That’s only fair.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, but the same goes for you. Works both ways.”
I nod, avoiding his gaze. I’m seriously on the fence about asking him if there’s an aphrodisiac or something in this beer because I am increasingly horny.
For… Jackson Pearce.
jackson
HO…. me for the holidays.