Not because I didn’t want to get off, but because I wanted Jackson to be the one to take me there.
Both aroused and anxious, I slid into the dress, pleased to see it fit perfectly. Then I hurried through my hair and makeup routine, only to find myself dressed and impatient well before Jackson’s scheduled arrival at half-past ten. I spent the time feeling the way I had when I was thirteen and waiting for Billy Tyson to take me on my first date—a movie and a burger, chauffeured to both by his parents. That was back when my life was full of anticipation and wonder. When I trusted my parents to keep me safe and whole. When I lived in a solid middle class bubble that I’d thought, foolishly, was impenetrable.
That was before my brother got sick.
That was before him.
Stop it.
I clenched my fists and forced the memories away. I was about to go out on a real date, a very rare occasion for me. And dammit, I liked the way I felt. I wanted to hang on to the feeling. More than that, I deserved to hang on to it.
I busied myself with making coffee, then didn’t want to drink it for fear it would linger on my breath. When the quick, firm knock sounded promptly at ten-thirty, I just about sprinted to the door.
“Hey,” I said, breathless as I flung it open, and even more breathless when I saw him standing there, tall and lean, his dark hair windtossed just enough to give him a sexy, reckless vibe. When he stepped inside, his primal, raw scent enveloped me. Earth and wood and rain, blending together in a way that was uniquely Jackson.
“Don’t move,” he said as he stood just inside my apartment. “I want to look at you.”
“I like the dress,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said as his gaze raked over me with such intensity that I was certain he was seeing both the dress—and what was underneath.
“I like the lingerie, too,” I said boldly, and was rewarded by the heat in his eyes and the way his jaw tightened, as if he was fighting for control.
“Do you?” he said, and those two simple words seemed to hold a world of questions.
I lifted my chin slightly, and when I spoke, my voice was breathy. “Yes. Do you want me to show you?”
“Very much. But not until tonight. In the meantime, I’ll think about just how I’m going to reveal it.”
“Jackson—” There was no disguising the need in my voice.
He shook his head, his eyes full of passion and promise. “Tonight. Right now I’m taking you to lunch.”
I bit back the flurry of questions—where were we going, what were we eating, when would we be back—and forced myself to simply go with it. To let Jackson take the lead. Strangely, it wasn’t hard. Though I rarely slid out of the driver’s seat, with this man it just seemed natural. As if something inside me knew that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t push me too hard.
But whether that impression was accurate or simply wishful thinking, I really didn’t know.
Back in the Porsche, Jackson easily maneuvered the Saturday morning traffic. We ended up at Centennial Olympic Park. I’d only been in Atlanta for a few weeks, but I knew the park well. Reggie’s office was only a few blocks away down Marietta Street, and I’d come to the plaza during my lunch hour once or twice. It’s a big space, with grassy areas, a reflecting pool, and the famous Fountain of Rings.
“A picnic?” I asked as we got out of his car. “There’s no basket.”
I half-expected him to open the trunk and pull one out. Instead, he just took my hand. “Burgers,” he said, and I laughed. “Is that bad?”
I shook my head, still laughing. “I went out for burgers on my very first date. And I was feeling some of those first date nerves when I was waiting for you. I guess it just struck me as funny. What?” I added, noting the intense way he was looking at me.
“You just surprise me. There are things you’re holding back—no, don’t worry, I’m not going to press you—but then there are times when you’re disarmingly honest.”
“Not usually,” I admitted. I didn’t say that I felt comfortable with him. Too comfortable, perhaps.
I didn’t say it, but I was certain that he knew it.
“Should I point out that we’re in a park?” I asked brightly, hoping to signal a change of subject. “Unless you’re planning to grill, that’s not the traditional location for a burger and fries.”
“I thought you already realized that I’m not the traditional sort.”
I narrowed my eyes, but he didn’t explain further. Instead, he led me across the plaza, the Fountain of Rings shooting water high into the sky as children watched and ran and splashed in the jets. “Want to?” he said, eyeing the streams.
“Tempting,” I admitted. “But I like this dress too much. And I’m starving.”
“Then let’s get you fed.”
We turned, strolling the tree-lined plaza until we reached the grassy area and the Visitor’s Center—and the funky-looking hamburger stand.
“Googie Burger,” Jackson said, pointing to the angular building that reminded me of both the old Jetsons cartoon and Tomorrowland at the Disneyland Park in Anaheim. “Opened here not too long ago.”
“That’s really its name?” I asked, studying the walk-up hamburger stand and the tables that surrounded it.
Jackson eased us into the line. “Yup. Do you know why?”
I cocked my head. “Is this a pop quiz?”
He laughed. “Guilty as charged.”
“I can hardly have grown up in Los Angeles, love architecture, and not know about Googie,” I said. “It’s like a subset of futuristic design. Very Atomic Age. Starbursts and roofs that slope up. And lots of boomerang shapes. The building at LAX, the iconic Las Vegas diamond-shaped sign, about a zillion car washes. It’s all over the place. Do I pass?”
“Flying colors.”
“But the really important question is, how are the burgers?”
“As excellent as the building,” he assured me. And he was right. Soft buns, perfectly cooked meat, crisp lettuce and tomatoes, and French fries to positively die for. We chatted while we ate, talking about everything and nothing, and when I reached over to wipe a bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth, I was struck hard by the realization that though I barely knew him, being with him was so easy that it felt as though we’d been together forever.
That perceived familiarity didn’t lessen the heat, though, and when he caught my finger and drew it into his mouth, I gasped aloud, as much in surprise as from the sudden explosion of sparks that originated at my fingertip and then pooled, wild and needy, between my thighs.
He kept his eyes on mine, then so slowly I thought I might just melt, he teased my finger with his tongue before dragging his teeth gently over my skin as he released me. “Tonight,” he said. “I’m going to taste the rest of you tonight.”
My lips parted as if to respond, but I couldn’t manage words.
He smiled, a little smug and very sexy. Then he stood and held out his hand to me. I took it willingly.
“Where are we going?”