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“Because of what he did to your company?”
Jackson shakes his head and releases a dark laugh. “I wish. I wouldn’t have done it because his character is garbage. My mother died when I was twelve—breast cancer. I was away at boarding school in Connecticut, but Alexander refused to let me come home before she took a turn for the worse. Said it would make me weak.” My breath catches, and I hold it, waiting for him to continue. “She died about a month after I returned for summer break. She had a full staff of nurses and doctors on call then, but she kept this … brave face for all of them.”
“You must have really loved her,” I say softly, and a distant smile touches his lips.
“I did. And I can still remember hearing her cry once all those doctors and nurses were gone. Alexander had a mistress—mistresses—and once he realized there was no way my mother could take half of everything he owned, he gave up on discretion. My father has fucked me over my entire life, but that’s the only one that meant a damn.”
“Oh god,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jackson.” I cover his hand with mine, and he stares down at it for a moment before spreading his fingers apart and stroking the insides of mine.
“It’s not your fault, sweet. But let’s not focus on Alexander, hmm?” He’s a true businessman because the agitation fades from his features as he slides his chair close to mine. His fingers touch my thigh. “I’d rather talk about you. And me.”
Beneath the table, his talented fingers spread my legs apart, rubbing my clit and pussy until my panties and thighs are soaked. “That’s not talking,” I murmur.
“Bodies can talk,” he points out with a wicked smirk. “Trust me, I’ll have yours speaking in five different languages before the sun comes up tomorrow. You’re not going to sleep tonight, Little Flick. I won’t let you.”
“You’re always so very sure of yourself.”
“And the fact you doubt everything I say makes me want to spank that little ass until you can’t sit down.” He rolls my clit between his fingers and laughs at me when I pinch my lips together in agony. What he’s doing to me feels so good it scares me. “Of course, I have other ways to keep you from sitting down as well.”
Pretending that I’m not seconds from climaxing on the rooftop of Chicago’s fanciest restaurant, I spear my fork in my salad and bring it to my mouth, nearly missing. “I was right about not being on my knees for you in less than seven days.”
“That,” he growls, lowering his mouth to my ear, “makes me want to spank you even harder.”
“Would you like dessert this evening, Mr. Cade?” our waitress, a pretty blonde, asks breathlessly, drawing both our attention up to her. He gives my clit one more tug, then snaps my panties back in place as he greets the waitress with a charming smile. She flutters her fake eyelashes at him. That irritation I felt when Brooke showed interest in him comes back to rear its ugly head, but this time, I don’t squash it down. I glare at her over the rim of my cocktail as I down the last few sips.
“Not tonight, Gretchen,” he says, pissing me off that he knows her name, then turning me on when he touches his finger to his lip. His next move is subtle, and I’m pretty sure only I can tell what he’s doing, but my body melts because he’s tasting me off his finger. “We’re having dessert elsewhere tonight.”
“We’re going somewhere else?” I ask as he walks me to his car. He glides his hand down my spine until it rests right above my ass.
“Chez Felicity,” he confirms. I blush all over, and he smirks, holding my door open for me. “And every time you get jealous, I swear my dick gets a little harder. Maybe we should—”
A wave of courage hits me hard, and I bring him to me by his red tie, wrapping my hand around the thin fabric. “Please.”
His turquoise eyes widen in a look of surprise that he manages lightning fast. “I told you I’d make you beg for it.”
“Like I said before, you gave me a week. It’s been ten days.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and then, so does his hand. Directly on my ass cheek. I gasp and he chuckles. “Go ahead, be as smug as you want. We’ll see who’s on top in a little while.”
I don’t say a word on the ride to The Brighton, which I had learned over dinner is actually his temporary home while he has his condo remodeled. We stand several lengths apart in the elevator, our faces pointed straight ahead but our eyes locked, thanks to our reflections in the gleaming steel door. My knees nearly fail me as he swipes his room key. My body aches because I know what’s coming next when he pulls me in the penthouse.
