Chapter 8
Jackson
Zara is fast asleep,and it appears to me that she is having a very sweet dream, based on the delightful smile on her face. I look down at her naked body on the bed where she’s thrown the sheets off as she was sleeping, and I can feel myself stirring. We made love for hours, laughed and joked, and I felt like I was with an old friend even though I”d not even known her twenty-four hours. I smile to myself, thinking about how I am going to fuck her in the shower in the morning before I go to work.
I reach off the side of the bed and grab my phone to see how many more messages my father left me. I”ve only gotten two hours of sleep, but my brain can”t seem to stay switched off. As my hand grabs my phone, I hear the beeping of another phone and I realize that Zara”s phone has also fallen onto the ground. I pick it up to silence it and see the front of her screen has text messages from her friend, Lila. I don”t mean to be nosy, but I read them quickly.
”Hey, hope you”re okay,” the first message says. ”I hope you”re having the daylights fucked out of you.” Smiley face in the next message. ”Call me as soon as you get this,” she says in the third message. And then the last message makes my heart still. ”Oh my gosh. The New York Times has sent you an email.” That”s all it says.
I frown as I place the phone on the side table. Why would the New York Times be sending any messages to Zara? From what she said, she’s not a socialite and definitely not in business. And even though she is pretty, I know she isn”t a model or an actress. Is she in PR?
The question pounds in my head. Is she trying to catch me? Am I really a stranger to her, or has she been planning this the entire time? I think back to the shy smile she”d given me at the bar and the coquettish looks. I don”t think she planned this, but I know women can fool men easily. I know when a woman is trying to trap you that she can do many things. I look at Zara”s innocent face as she sleeps, wondering if this was a setup from the beginning.
I try not to think about it and bring my attention back to my phone. My dad has called me five more times and left several messages. But even worse than that, my mother has called me as well. And I know that if he”s gotten my mother involved, it”s important. I take a deep sigh. I’ll have to call him in the morning once I leave Zara.
I think about getting out of bed then and just leaving her. That way, she would understand that she hadn”t trapped or gotten me. She doesn’t have any good information for an article. I mean, who would want to write an article about having a one-night stand with one of the richest men in the country, only for him to leave you in bed by yourself?
She shifts next to me, and I freeze, wondering if, somehow, subconsciously, she”s realized I”m awake, but she doesn”t stir. Instead, she murmurs something under her breath. I lean closer to see if I can decipher what she”s saying.
”What’s your fantasy, written by Zara Hathaway,” she mumbles under her breath, and it only makes me angrier.
So she is a journalist, I think to myself. I wonder what her endgame is. I wonder what piece she is trying to write about me and my family.
I turn over, put my back to her, and close my eyes. I want to shout at her, tell her off, but I don”t care enough. I”ve not given her any information that would be damaging to myself or the family. She”s not a great journalist because she has not mentioned or asked me anything. But maybe she’s smart enough to know that bringing it up in the beginning was not going to yield much information.
I have a feeling that when she wakes up in the morning, she”ll start asking me sly, little questions. She”ll most probably push me on my back and get on top of me, ride me like a cowgirl, and then she”ll start asking me, ”Do you have any interest in working for the family corporation? What is the reason why you work for Rosser International instead of your own family business that”s worth billions?” I have a feeling I know exactly what she wants to know, but she isn”t going to get the answers from me.
I”ll make sure that she won”t even attempt to ask the questions. I”ll make sure that she knows in no uncertain terms that all this is to me and for me, is one night. It means nothing. It’s sex. S-E-X.
I let out a deep sigh and rub my forehead. I feel all my anger building inside me, but I know most of it isn”t toward her. It”s toward my dad. She is just doing her job, and if I’m honest with myself, the sex has been amazing. She”s been amazing the entire night. She’s captivated me with the way she laughs and smiles and the way she acted like she hadn”t been fucked in years. Everything about the way she reacted to me has been like a dream come true. My cock twitches as it relives the feeling of being inside of her pussy. Oh, how gloriously tight and wet it had been.
I get out of bed and head toward the bathroom. I know that sleep will not be coming anytime soon, so I might as well have a shower. I must”ve stood under the water for at least twenty minutes because by the time I”m out, Zara is awake and her big brown eyes are staring at me sleepily.
”Are you okay?” she asks with a slight yawn, stretching. My eyes immediately move to her breasts and her hard nipples.
”I”m fine. Just needed to clean up,” I say gruffly as I sit on the bed next to her. ”Did you sleep well?”
”I”m still sleeping,” she says, groaning when she looks over at the alarm clock on the side table. ”It”s only four o”clock in the morning.”
”You”re telling me you don”t wake up this early?”
”No, I don”t wake up this early. Are you crazy?” She pauses. ”Oh my God. Please don”t tell me you”re crazy. Please don”t tell me I had a one-night stand with a psycho.”
”Well, do you see any duct tape or rope?”
”No. Why?” she asks, sitting up slightly.
”Because if I were crazy, I”d have duct tape over your mouth, and your wrists would be tied together with rope,” I say, winking at her. ”That”s how the psychos do it.”
”And I guess people who are into BDSM,” she says, blushing.
”Oh, so are you into BDSM?” I ask her in surprise.
”No. Well, I mean, I”ve never tried it. I”ve read a couple of romance books where the heroines were into it. And it seemed like it was cool, but then I was like, ”I”m not really into pleasure and pain.” And…” She pauses. ”Well, you don”t need to know all that.”
”No, pray tell. There are romance books about BDSM?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. ”I didn”t know.”
”Well, do you really read romance?” she asks.
”No.” I chuckle. ”I have absolutely no interest in reading romance.”
”I bet you read political thrillers and stuff, huh?”
”Maybe,” I say, nodding, forgetting for a moment that I believe her to be a journalistic spy who”s trying to get information about me and my family so she can write an exposé for the New York Times. ”So, you”re still sleeping or…”
”I”m still sleeping,” she says, nodding and closing her eyes. ”I”m fast asleep, and I”m not going to wake up for hours.”
”Do you always sleep talk?” I ask her.
She opens one eye and wrinkles her nose at me. ”Not that I know of.”
”Well, I”m here to tell you that you talk in your sleep.”
”Good to know,” she says, closing her eyes again and pretending to snore. The sound is loud and obnoxious, and I can”t help but laugh.
”Totally sexy.”
”Well, I don”t need to be sexy now. I”ve already had you,” she says.
”But don”t you want me again?” I say, leaning down and kissing her on the cheek. One eye opens again.
”Not right now. I”m sore.”
”About that,” I say as I run my fingers down her stomach in between her legs. I rub her clit lightly, and she gasps and opens the other eye.
”About what?” she says, looking at me.
”You weren”t a virgin or anything, right?” I tease her slightly.
”No. Why would you say that?” She blinks at me.
”I don”t know. Maybe because you were super tight and you were holding on to me like you couldn”t believe how great I was.”
”It”s been a while,” she says, ”which I”m not going to apologize for, and…”
”And let me guess. I”m the best you”ve ever had.”
She rolls her eyes. ”I did not say that.”
”You didn”t have to say that.” I laugh. ”But the way you kept telling me, ”Don”t stop. Don”t stop. Don”t stop,”” I say and laugh as she blushes, ” told me everything I need to know.”
”Well, you were the one that was…” She pauses. ”Anyway, it was good. It was fun. I had fun.”
”Good,” I say. ”And I suppose you want to ask me…”
”I don”t want to ask you anything,” she says, shaking her head. ”I had a good night, Zeus, and I”m glad you did too and…”
”And what do you know about the New York Times?” I say, not able to resist. I need to know if she”s a reporter, if this was a setup, and if I was fooled. She blushes, and that tells me everything I need to know. ”You”re a journalist?” I ask.
”No. I mean, I wouldn”t say journalist. I…”
”Do you write articles for the newspaper?”
”I guess you could technically call them articles, but…”
”But nothing,” I say, shaking my head. ”You’ve got an hour and a half,” I say.
”Huh?” She wrinkles her nose. ”What do you mean?”
”I say you can sleep for another hour and a half, and then you can make me breakfast.”
”What?” She’s obviously surprised by the change in my demeanor. ”What are you talking about?”
”I”ve paid for this beautiful hotel room. I”ve given you the best sex of your life. I think the least you can do is make me breakfast in the morning.”
”How am I going to make you breakfast in the morning? There’s not even a kitchen.”
”Well, you look like a smart lady,” I say, trying not to glare as she wrinkles her nose at me and pretends to be innocently confused. She has to know I”m onto her now.
”What?”
”Find a kitchen, find a grocery store, buy some eggs, some bacon, some toast, and then bring it to me and serve me breakfast in bed.”
”You what?” She sits up, rubbing her eyes. She looks at me, and I can tell she”s wondering if I”m joking. ”Is this like a bad comedy sketch?”
”I just don”t want you to think that tonight was…”
”Hold up,” she says, extending her hand in front of my face. ”You”re being serious here? You expect me to go to the grocery store, buy groceries, cook them somewhere, and bring you breakfast in bed?”
”I think that”s what I said,” I say, shrugging. ”And before you ask, no, I”m not going to tell you any more information about myself.”
”You what?” She pulls the sheet up over her now. ”Oh my gosh. You”re a jackass. Of course, you just had to be a jackass. I knew it. I just knew it. Every single guy in New York City is a jackass, and you are a jackass with a capital A. Do you go neigh, neigh, neigh?”
”I don”t think asses go neigh, neigh, neigh,” I say to her with a smirk. ”I think that”s horses.”
”Well, whatever donkeys do,” she says.
”I think they snort,” I say, staring at her. ”But you don”t have to call me a donkey just because I”m hung.”
”I”m calling you a donkey because you are the rudest man I…”
”The rudest man you what? Things didn”t go well for you?” I say, staring at her. There”s a glint in my eyes. I want to fuck her again, but I can tell she”s as pissed as me. Now that she knows she”s been busted, she knows I’m giving her no new information. ”You really thought you were smart, didn”t you?” I say to her.
”What are you talking about?” She stares at me, shaking her head, her long dark curls cascading down her back. She rubs her forehead and blinks again. ”Am I in a bad movie or something? What is going on?”
”You knew Ethan Rosser. That should”ve been my first guess.” I’m speaking to myself now.
”Yeah. So I knew him. What does that have to do with anything?”
”And you have no idea who I am, do you?”
”No, Zeus,” she says. ”I don”t.”
”Smart,” I say, laughing. ”Very smart.”
”What are you talking about?”
”Calling me Zeus and pretending you don”t want to know my real name.”
”What?” She blinks again. ”Are you high? Did you take drugs last night or something?”
“I”m going back into the bathroom, and by the time I”m out, I expect you to have figured out what it is you’re making me for breakfast to thank me for the fuck of your life.” I get out of bed and give her a dry smile as she glares at me. I reach down and give her a big kiss. She kisses me back for a couple of seconds and then pushes me away. ”What, no longer want to give it up now that you know you”re not getting any pertinent information from me?”
”I don”t know what you”re talking about, and I don”t care,” she says. ”This whole thing was a mistake.”
”You”re telling me,” I say. I”m feeling angry again. Maybe it”s because she hasn”t admitted that she”s a journalist trying to get a story. Maybe it”s because I”m still pissed off about my dad. I don”t know why I”m so angry, but I know I don”t want to deal with her right now. I head to the bathroom again, close the door, and take a couple of deep breaths. ”You may have been a hot fuck, and you may look as innocent as a schoolteacher,” I mumble under my breath, ”but I got your number, Zara Hathaway, and you”re not going to take me for a ride. I”m not about to see my photo in the newspaper tomorrow morning exposing all my family”s dirty laundry.”
I turn on the cold water and splash my face. I”m hard, horny, angry, and I know that I want her one last time. I have a feeling that she wants me as well. I lick my lips, wondering if I should give in to temptation. Why is it that the women who were the best in bed have to be the craziest and most devious? I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out.