He bites down on his lower lip, dropping his head as he exhales. “It is.”
“That can be arranged. Obviously not in here. But since we are already sharing a bed.”
He lifts his head, and a storm rages behind those green eyes of his, rivaling the one howling outside. “I think we should be clear on what this is.”
My chest prickles.
I knew this would come. The inevitable conversation where he tries to neatly wrap this up, say it was a one-time thing, and put it behind us. I just never assumed we’d be having the post-sex convo, pre-sex.
“I’m totally clear on what this is,” I say, attempting to get out ahead of it. “A one-time thing. Right?”
“Exactly.”
He replies decisively and a lot faster than I like, but at least it confirms what I suspected all along. Any lingering fantasies about this being the start of something more are well and truly squashed.
And that’s fine.
If that’s what he wants, then I will respect it.
But if all I get is one night with Jackson, I’m going to make it the most unforgettable night of his life.
I get out of the bath first and tidy up the bedroom a bit. It has nothing to do with my legs falling asleep in that tiny tub. I smooth sheets, fluff pillows, and toss our wet clothes onto the floor in the mudroom. While there, I find some candles and matches and light them to give the room a cozy ambiance.
I do a quick once-over. It’s not the Ritz Paris, that’s for sure, but it’s a little nicer.
Jackson steps into the room and nearly loses his balance, grabbing the wall for support. “Whoa. Why is it so dark in here?”
“I thought it’d be…”Romantic?Nope, can’t say that. “Nice. You don’t like it?”
He blinks a few times. “No. Sorry. It’s…”
“That’s fine,” I say. Maybe just three candles does make the room too dark. I flick on both bedside lamps. “Better?”
“A bit. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He pushes off the wall and walks unsteadily to where I’m sitting at the foot of the mattress. A towel hangs loosely off hisnarrow hips. I let my eyes roam over his exposed skin, savoring it properly for the very first time.
His broad shoulders and the taut sweep of his arm muscles, no doubt sculpted by long days working with horses. His chest, smooth and firm, rises and falls with each slow breath he takes, the low light dancing across the plane of his firm stomach.
I reach out and let my fingers skim over his abs, drifting downward until I take hold of the towel on his hips.
I tug him toward me and look up at him. “You changed your mind?”
“About a million times.”
“Jackson.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Thought we discussed you not making any more jokes.”
A warm rush of air hits my face as he sighs, shaking his head. “You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you.” I hold his gaze until a smile I’m sure he was desperate to contain rises on his lips. “You know, I’ve wondered what you look like under your dirty work clothes so many times,” I murmur, trailing my fingers along the soft flesh just above where the towel sits.
“You have?”
