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I couldn’t disagree more. The pine and citrus scent that normally soothes my nerves comes in stronger post-shower. But that’s not what knocks my senses for a loop.
The sheer sight of Jackson Corbett in a navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, and lavender tie is the most decadent dessert I didn’t know I was craving. I’d blow every diet rule to take a bite.
With his wet hair slicked back and the way his frame fills out the suit, I’m speechless. And staring with my jaw hanging open, imagining myself on his arm tonight as his date.
Just as quickly, that bubble bursts when I realize how he’s dressed. How he smells. How fresh and clean-shaven he looks. My stomach pitches because Jax is dressed for a date, all right.
It just isn’t with me.
A knock at the door startles me out of my fantasy. It seems like it startles Jackson too, because his smile immediately arches down into a wince. His eyes locked on mine as soon as he entered the room, and I find myself wishing he’ll ignore the knock and hang with us instead.
Reluctantly, he pushes away from the counter, and I see his shoulders flex beneath his suit. My gaze follows him as he walks to the door. His broad shoulders emphasize his trim waist and a muscular ass I could reach out and squeeze…if he wasn’t opening the door to the most gorgeous woman I’ve seen since I started working at the winery.
Dressed in a glittery knee-length navy cocktail dress with a boat neck and tiny straps over her tanned shoulders, she smiles a red lipstick smile that looks like it took time to perfect in a magnifying mirror. Her lips glisten like they’ve just been kissed, and my mind wastes no time picturing Jackson doing just that.
She leans in and kisses him on the cheek, then uses her thumb to rub the lipstick remnants from his skin. Wrapping a long, thin arm around his neck, she tips her head to whisper something into his ear before laughing like they’ve shared an intimate joke. The sound of her laughter cuts through me like a sharp blade.
I try to erase the vision of him standing across from me earlier, when I thought he was staring at my legs and watching my lips as I spoke.
That must have felt like child’s play. A cheap roadhouse appetizer of buffalo wings before his four-course caviar and champagne dinner. The moment the door opened, I gained a new perspective on Jackson, an image I’ve tried to deny.
The worst part is that I’ve succeeded. I’ve actually allowed myself to believe someone like him might be interested in someone like me. I’ve allowed myself to think that his gestures mean more than simple charity for the employee in tough straights. The naïve girl falling for her boss like a scullery maid in a fairy tale.
How did I allow myself to think like that for even one moment?
Of course this is the kind of woman he’d like. She fits right in with the wealthy family social circles he grew up in—as much as he’s been telling me he feels like he’s not a good fit for that life, standing next to this woman, he certainly looks the part.
His chest pulls at the crisp white cotton of his dress shirt. Under a suit that fits him like a glove, made for him by a tailor. His tie is expertly knotted at his throat, where his Adam’s apple works as he regards his stunning date.
Her perfume swirls through the room, hitting my nose with a sickening pang that overwhelms my senses.
“Should we go? Did you ask the car to wait? If not, I can drive us.” I hear Jackson’s deep voice orchestrating their night, and a nauseated surge of bile hits my throat as I try to calm my pounding heart.
I have a business thing down at the restaurant.
He made it sound like a boring shareholder meeting. Instead, he’s going to the very gala event I’ve spent a week working on with his sister. And because I’m clueless, I didn’t realize the two were one and the same. But of course they are, and of course he’ll be there. He’s CFO of the company, for heaven’s sake.
He could have just said he was going on a date. Or bringing a date to his fancy winery event. It’s not like I have any claim on him, so why would he bother trying to downplay his night out or the fact that he has a date?
“In a minute,” the woman’s silky voice intones as she glides into the room. Jackson follows her, and his eyes flit to mine, bottomless and smoldering. That’s the effect she has on him, and it makes me sick.
I want to hold his gaze and smile like I’m an enthusiastic supporter of him and his dating choices, but I can’t, so I look away. I notice an uncomfortable stiffness in his movements as he follows her, but he’s probably just nervous. He hasn’t dated since his wife left. He told me that. I’m just the dimwit who assumed he was resigned to that fate, and somehow, in my wildest moments of insane fantasy, I conjured up a scenario where I might be the one he’d want.
I look up when a hand grazes my forearm. Like a cat reaching out to paw the mouse she intends to torture slowly.
“Hello. You’re the babysitter?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, which is just as well because her sudden proximity has me tongue-tied.
Moving past me, she reaches over to ruffle Fiona’s hair, something I know she hates. “You must be Fiona.” Fiona lifts her shoulders as if to shoo the irritant away.
“Yes. Who are you?” Fiona asks.
“Fi, manners.” The growl of Jackson’s voice shouldn’t affect me, but a chill rolls down my spine, and goosebumps prickle the back of my neck. The sight of his date is all but human birth control for my brain, and yet my body still hums in his presence.
It’s not lost on me that he hasn’t yet brought her to meet his daughter, but she’s here now, staking her claim in his life.
I hope he can’t see how he affects me. It’s so mortifying that I’ve read him wrong and allowed myself the tiny glimmer of hope that he could feel something for me. He almost kissed me once, but there’s been zero evidence he intended to try again, and yet…I let myself wish. So stupid.
I steady myself and walk to the fridge. I need a sip of club soda or something to calm my stomach, even if the thought of swallowing anything makes me want to retch.
