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“How did you know where I lived?” Grace made a point of not checking out his hot body, even though she desperately wanted to. If she looked at the black t-shirt that was sure to be stretched across a muscular chest and tight jeans cupping his package, she’d start stuttering or something.
He propped his hand on her doorjamb. “Uh, I’m your boss, remember?”
“Right, dumb question.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to let me in,” he said as his gaze took in the living room behind her.
She sighed and stepped back. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” Jackson moved around her, their bodies touching as he passed. Every nerve ending went to code red status, as if to say Yippee! About damn time we got him alone.
“Nice digs you have here.”
Grace had taken great care in decorating her apartment, and it did her heart good to have Jackson’s genuine approval. She’d gone with an Oriental flare. Sleek, modern lines and smooth surfaces. She liked the fresh, clean feel.
“Very Zen-like.”
Grace looked around and realized he was right. The furniture had been expensive, but worth it.
Jackson walked over to her bookcase and picked out a paperback. “I like the bookcase. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a round bookcase before. Cool.”
He was looking at her romance books. She really hoped it wasn’t an erotic romance. “It’s teak. It was pricey, but I liked the design.” Please, please don’t be an erotic romance.
“How did you manage an entire living room suite on your pay?”
Her cheeks heated. “I’m sort of still paying it off. Credit card.”
“Ah,” he said as he sat on her hand-carved love seat.
“So, would you like something to drink?”
“Got a beer?”
“Yeah, but it’s light beer. Will that work?”
“Yep,” he said, then flipped the book open and started reading as if he’d been doing it for years. He looked entirely too at home in her apartment. Her gaze shot to his crotch and…damn. She shouldn’t have looked. She’d be drooling soon. Grace stalked out of the room. The sooner he drank his beer, the sooner he’d leave. She could get back to sulking in peace.
As she entered the kitchen, a horrible thought struck her. He was looking at her things. Touching her shelves. Probably reading something very steamy while she piddled around. The man was too curious for his own good. What had she been thinking when she let him in? She should have slammed the door in his face. She’d been too stunned, knocked off her guard. Jackson was entirely too adept at surprise attacks.
Then again, he’d sought her out. This went beyond text messaging or corralling her in the break room. Jackson was ten years older than her and most likely way more experienced with the opposite sex. What did he see in her? As she grabbed two beers from the refrigerator she thought of what all that exp
erience could mean for her if she did choose to sleep with him. She’d wanted to. Imagined it. It was obvious he wanted her just as much. Somehow she knew that if she ever let her guard down enough to sleep with Jackson, she’d quite possibly fall for the infernal man. She didn’t want to fall in love with him. She didn’t want to fall in love with any man, for that matter. Even though she knew she still had a lot to offer a man, the possibility that she may never be able to carry a baby to full-term left her feeling inadequate.
As Grace brought their ice cold beer into the living room, she stopped abruptly when she saw Jackson sitting on her couch, legs spread in front of him, reading. God, the man was hot. His long, muscular legs and flat abs made her wish she was bold enough to crawl up his body and plant one on him. As she moved closer and read the title of the book, her face burned with embarrassment. Jackson seemed to sense her arrival and looked at her over the top of the paperback.
He waved the book in the air and said, “Interesting reading material you have here, baby.”
Grace handed him a beer. He took it, and she gave in to the need to suck down several swallows before she sat in the chair adjacent to him. She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“Funny, that’s sort of what Libby said to Hunter. The exact phrase is, ‘Please, take me, Hunter.’” Jackson read, trying and failing to sound girly. “‘I need to feel you inside of me, my love.’”
“It’s a very romantic adventure.” Why did she care what he thought of her reading material? It was none of his business.
He grinned and waved the book back and forth. “It’s smut. Good smut, but smut all the same.”
“Hunter’s Pleasure is not smut. It’s a beautiful tale of love. A romantic take on historic battles and lost treasures. The struggle the hero and heroine face is an emotional rollercoaster ride. The author won an award.”
“Oh, really?”
