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‘Okay, you have me there.’ She laughs as she adjusts her square neckline that’s flattering without being too OTT. Me, on the other hand... It’s lucky my puppies are small else I would be spilling out. ‘Although I can’t believe you talked me into this.’
‘You’re loving it really and, besides, it’s the fifth of December, the first Saturday of the month and the perfect time to start celebrating the party season in earnest.’
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‘You know Jackson hates Christmas, right?’
‘Do I?’ I say in high innocence, turning away from her as I head for the main bar. ‘No, I don’t think—’
My voice quits as I come face to face with the Grinch himself. Or, rather, face to very broad, very hard chest. ‘Jackson!’
I look up, painting on my most relaxed and happy smile. ‘It’s been a while. How the devil are you?’
I plant a palm on his chest, ignore the heat that permeates through the thin fabric of his black T and cock my head to the side, daring him to respond.
I know we are not okay.
He knows we are not okay.
But Coco doesn’t.
His muscles flex beneath my palm as he folds his arms, his biceps bulging, straining the sleeves of his T and making the lines of his black Celtic tattoo pop. The tattoo that I know runs over the entire side of him. Arm, shoulder, torso, the lot, because I’ve been all over that and just the exposed section makes me think about the rest. Not fair.
‘You walk around outside like that?’
‘What, this?’ I do a slow twirl for good measure, making sure he gets to see every exposed inch before I face him again, and then I grab the bobble that dangles from my elf’s hat and tickle his nose with it. ‘You like?’
He wrinkles his nose, an action so at odds with his manly presence that I don’t need to force a giggle; it comes all by itself, helped along by the mulled wine we consumed while getting ready tonight.
‘It’s bloody freezing out there, Cait.’
‘And who are you—my mother?’ I pout up at him and ignore the way the deep timbre of his voice has my body coming alive.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even flinch, and I chase the desire down with anger that he still makes me feel this way after everything he did.
‘I had a coat...’ I mask my anger with a grin. I have a plan and it means winding him up, full-on tease and flaunt, and acting like I don’t care. For now, at least. I’m saving the anger for later. Hence why I walk my fingers up his chest, nice and slow, treasuring every little vibration his body gives. ‘Your fancy cloakroom is taking care of it; you know, that place you provided for excess layers that aren’t needed inside.’
His mouth twitches. It’s a negligible reaction but one that snags my attention and makes me think of that same mouth parting to lick his fingers clean, to lick me from them—fuck.
It was months ago and it might as well be happening in front of me for the instant kick to my pulse, the ache in my clit...
Time to move.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a date with your bar...’ I turn and loop my arm through Coco’s, actively ignoring the way she’s watching us both. ‘Come on, Coco, let’s go and lend some festive cheer to Blacks.’ I give him the side-eye. ‘Heaven knows it could do with it.’
I see Coco and Jackson exchange a look that I also purposely ignore as I start to pull her deeper inside, past the unmoving wall that is Jackson.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ Coco murmurs to him. ‘Ash is coming by later so maybe the two of you could catch up.’
For Pete’s sake, she sounds so worried about him. Like, really? He’s Jackson. As if he’d be anything but fine.
He gives her a gruff response that I don’t even try to discern—I’m ignoring him now—one hundred per cent not tuned in to his presence at all, not even one iota...
‘What do you think, Coco? Another mulled wine?’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Oh, that’s right. Blacks doesn’t do festive drinks. Hmm, bet Bates could knock us up a cocktail with a suitably spiced twist.’
