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My sex feels like his hands are already stroking me, urging me to come and to do it fast.
Brooke starts to clamber out of the booth, but I close my hand around her wrist and shoot her a look that’s probably darker than I intend. “I’ll grab this one,” I rasp. A grin splits her face, but I rush to shoot down her accusations—even if they are right. “He’s one of the men who invested in this place when my father opened it.”
He would have been twenty-one then. Plenty old enough for Brooke to buy my fib, right?
“Ah, I see.” Tilting her head curiously to one side, she gestures her hand toward him as he takes a seat close to the front door. “He’s all yours, then.”
Walking toward him, I tug at the hem of my tank top and force myself to take even breaths. It doesn’t really help, because the second I’m standing before him with my pen and pad in hand, my heartrate accelerates. “Welcome to York’s,” I say politely. “What can I get for you today?”
He shifts the salt shaker between his large hands. “So professional this afternoon, aren’t we?” he murmurs.
“I am at work. What can I get you to eat?”
I’m struck by the look in his eyes as he tilts his head back to look into mine. Jackson’s stare smolders, grasping me by my very core. “You know what I want to eat, Little Flick, and it’s not anything on this menu.” As if to prove his point, he raps his long fingers against the menu in front of him. “Sit.”
The bell on the door jangles again and a couple of our regular customers wander in. Helplessly, I glance behind me then back to him. “I’ve got other customers, Mr. Cade, I—”
“The blonde can handle them,” he says, nodding toward Brooke who’s already at their table wearing a flirtatious smile that’s bound to snag her a big tip. “And I’m a paying customer too. Sit.”
I don’t know whether he’s referring to paying to take my virginity or ordering food, but I slide into the booth across from him, grateful to rest my ass on a seat before my legs give out on me. The man is so nauseatingly desirable that he turns my knees to jelly with just a glance in my direction. “You know, I figured that getting in touch meant you’d give me a call.”
“And I expected you to call.” He slides the salt shaker back in place beside the ketchup and shrugs. “Guess we both assumed wrong.”
“I can’t take off to go with you … if that’s why you’re here.” Puffing out an anxious breath, I work my finger beneath the hair band on my wrist. He stops me, drawing my hand in his. Before Jackson, I’d never felt a jolt of pure energy from anyone’s touch, but now it’s palpable. It zings through my skin, warming every inch of my body. My fingers tense in his, so I look away when I tell him, “My dad’s not here this afternoon, so I’m covering for him while he’s out running errands.”
“Have you told him what you did for him yet?” he asks.
I gawk at him. Blinking several times, I shake my head. “How do you suggest I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He releases my hand and links his long fingers together behind his head. My fingers twitch from need. Need to feel his touch again. Need to wind my fingers through his dark hair just to tousle it like it was that first afternoon in his office and just the other night. I place my hands in my lap. “Maybe, ‘Hey, Dad. Remember that grimy motherfucker you’re in debt to? We’ve come together to figure out a way to help you out of this mess.’”
He says the word “come” so suggestively, I grip my thighs for support. “Grimy motherfucker,” I repeat. “Remember, those are your words, not mine.”
“The best kind of grime,” he drawls as the bell rings again. Ripping his gaze from mine, he flicks his turquoise eyes toward the door and curls his lips in distaste at the rowdy tourists stumbling in. Before I can point out I need to get to work, he says, “I’ll have whatever you suggest and a water.”
I sidle out of the booth, but he stops me before I can dart away. He slips a hand under my apron, his fingers plumping my sex through my jeans. My body rigid, I press my palm to the table but don’t meet what I can only guess is a grin that’s wicked enough to charm the devil. “I’ll have that out to you right away,” I pant.
“You do that, sweet.”
I drop the order by the kitchen and take a few seconds to compose myself in the hallway. When Brooke scoots past me, she fans her face. “He’s hot, Flick. Perfection. Do you think he’s—”
