Chapter 16 Jackson
JACKSON
All day I sneak breaks to read the new book Rosalie “assigned” to me after we decided to recreate a scene from one of her novels.
It’s a western, and the dude runs a ranch—though I don’t see how.
This fucker barely works, and the real kicker—he and his brothers run a secret high-end after-hours sex club on site.
I snort, imagining such a thing. In a real small town like ours, this would never happen.
First of all, there’s no such thing as secrets—not where groups of people are involved—and secondly, the moral uproar would put these guys out of business faster than you can say leather and whips.
People still talk about the year our clerk mistakenly approved a business license for a topless gentleman’s club, and that was over ten years ago.
The tale goes, Herb Simmons skimmed the application, saw the business name of Peaches and Cream, and assumed he was approving a new town eatery.
There was so much outrage over the scandal that our town convinced the developer it wasn’t worth the headache.
But none of that matters, because I’m not interested in visiting a sex club with Rosalie. My only goal is to recreate one. Which means I need to be extra sneaky.
Keeping my head down, I wait for Ryan to excuse the crew at the end of the day.
Usually, I’m one of the first to bail come quitting time, but today I linger behind until Ryan is ready to head out.
We walk out to our vehicles together and say goodbye, but when he drives off, I’m sitting in my truck pretending to fuck around on my phone.
As soon as Ryan’s truck disappears around the corner, I start mine and back up to the barn.
I open one of the doors and toss hay bales into the bed of my truck, praying my brother or any of the other crew doesn’t come back to the barn and take notice.
Back in my cab, I call ahead to pick up an order from the diner.
We’re going to need sustenance after all I have planned, and the last thing I want to do after fucking is cook a meal—unless that leads to more sex?
I should ask Rosalie if she has any books with a hot chef.
All the errands add up though, and by the time I arrive at the cabin, I’m setting up for tonight’s rendezvous later than I intend.
The workshop behind my house is too small for a garage, so I use it for storage.
With a little elbow grease, it’ll become tonight’s barn sex club from Rosalie’s book.
I down the cobwebs that have appeared since the last time someone stepped foot back here, then use a leaf blower to blast the dust away.
I work quickly, and despite the late afternoon breeze, my skin beads with sweat.
The sky is thick with clouds and I wonder if we’ll get another afternoon shower.
I unload the hay bales and lay out clean blankets I snagged from the tack room. Finally, I poke around until I find a set of lights—ones I use to decorate for Christmas—and drape them around the barn to take the ambiance of this space from interrogation room to romantic moodiness.
As I appraise my work, I’m filled with a sense of pride. It’s not a professional job, but given the time constraints and limitations, I’m happy with the transformation. I hope it impresses Rosalie too. The idea of fucking her right here within the next few hours sends a thrill down my spine.
What the fuck am I doing wasting another minute? I need to get my ass inside and find my woman.
When I step inside the cabin, Rosalie is reading near the fireplace, a glass of wine balanced in one hand and a book in the other. Her gaze lifts at my presence, and the tender smile she offers does something funny to my insides. I like coming home to her in my space.
For a perpetual bachelor, I like it more than I should.
“Sorry I’m late.” I hold up the bag from the diner. “I brought dinner if you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving”—her grin is devious—“But not for that.”
“Oh?” I lift my brows as anticipation pumps through my veins. “Anything I can help you with?”
“I sure hope so.” She rolls her eyes. “You made some pretty big promises last night.”
“Yeah.” I set the food on the counter, then walk toward Rosalie. “But I want to hear you say it.”
“You want me to beg?” She closes her book with a snap and sets it next to her now-empty wine glass. “Because I’m not doing that.” Her chin lifts, and there’s a set of defiance in her jaw.
I love that she’s not a pushover. I love her fire. Her feistiness.
“You think I couldn’t get you to beg for my cock?” I saunter closer.
Her lips pinch together, as if she’s annoyed. She doesn’t answer, though, and I think we both know I could, even if she won’t admit it.
I laugh, not bothering to hide my amusement.
“Whatever.” She huffs. “I guess this is all some kind of a joke to you.” She pushes to her feet, but one of them gets caught in the throw blanket and her body’s momentum crashes downward.
I dart forward and sweep her into my arms before she falls to the floor.
Her breath catches and she doesn’t push me away. This close, I notice the flush to her cheeks. The wine stain on her lips. I bet if I covered her mouth with mine, she’d taste sweet.
“Playing damsel in distress?” My voice is a low hum, scared to break the trance and have her pull away. I run my open mouth along the column of her throat while my hands travel over her plump ass as I stand straight and pull her body against mine. “Maybe I should carry you out to the barn?”
“I can walk just fine, thank you very much.”
“Can you?” I tease, glancing over her shoulder to the wine bottle next to her empty glass.
“Are you judging me for day drinking?” She stiffens, stepping back and resting her hands on her hips.
“No, I like it when you’re tipsy.”
“And why’s that?”
I skim my finger from her forehead to the space between her eyebrows. “You frown less.”
As if to drive home my point, the wrinkle in her forehead appears.
“Women are allowed to frown. We don’t exist solely for your pleasure and entertainment.”
She’s sassy today. I wonder why, but I don’t mind. I actually love that she doesn’t play into my good favor. I didn’t realize until recently how often women do that with me. The only people who call me on my shit are my family. And her.
But as much as she pretends to act annoyed, I believe she must enjoy a good verbal spar. I know I do. With her, arguing feels more like foreplay.
“Really? Because that’s about all the women do in your book.” I flash her a teasing grin. “Poor Beatrice is getting railed by everyone in this small town.”
Her lips twist with the tiniest hint of approval. “You read the book.”
I skimmed. “Of course.”
“It’s erotica. The multiple partners are part of her character development. Women are allowed to enjoy sex just as much, if not more than men.”
“Now, that’s something I can get behind.” I grin. “Why don’t you grab Mr. Darcy while I take a quick shower?”
“A shower? I thought maybe all this sweat and dirt was you getting into character?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sweaty and dirty every day. I’m just glad my sweaty ass doesn’t repel you.”
She sniffs and scrunches her face. “I didn’t say I liked it.”
“Give me five minutes.”
“For what? To shower? Or is that how long you hope to last?”
My jaw falls open.
She turns on her heel and starts strutting toward the stairs. I love the playfulness behind her teasing. But I’m not letting her leave on that note.
I race to catch up, reach for her arm, and tug her back into my embrace. With her body against mine, I sigh. That’s better.
“What’s the matter? Did I come too quickly last night?”
I don’t think she expects this question because her face flushes and she can’t quite piece together a response.
“I, uh . . . what?”
“I want to make sure it was good for you.”
“It was acceptable.”
Her lips press together.
“Acceptable.” My chest rattles with laughter. “Look, I get that I’m competing with your book boyfriends. But, acceptable? Really?”
“Are you intimidated by fictional characters?” she asks dryly.
“Hell yeah, I am.” I grin. “Those fuckers go all night. They’re animals. No, worse really. They’re like little wind-up toys that crank out orgasms and erections.”
I laugh at my own joke. I can’t help it. But that’s the wrong move because Rosalie’s frown is back.
“Look, if you’re not into this, I’ll just take care of myself tonight.”
She huffs and steps back out of my arms.
She’s so damn worked up. I wonder if she’s nervous? It’s cute, though I wouldn’t dare tell her that. I’m not a total idiot.
“What? I’m not making fun. I’m impressed. I wish my equipment worked like that. Though, if it did you might have trouble walking tomorrow.”
“I know they’re unrealistic. That’s the whole point.” Her gaze drops from mine as she whispers. “Just don’t make fun of my books, okay.”
“I’m not.” I tip her chin up and rub the pad of my thumb along her cheek. “If there’s anyone to make fun of, it’s me. I just spent the last ninety minutes moving stolen hay bales into the shed so I could fuck you again.”
She softens. “You stole hay bales for me?”
I’d do a lot more if she asked.
Tugging her back into my arms, I place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Her nose crinkles.
“I stink, don’t I?”
“A little,” she admits with a huff of nervous laughter.
“Go get Mr. Darcy.” I take a step back to put her nostrils out of their misery.
“I’ll only be a few minutes. Promise. Then we’re reenacting that scene.
” My tone comes out more like a threat than a promise and I quickly amend.
“Unless you changed your mind? We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, but I at least want you to see my handiwork.
Stroke my ego and tell me I did a good job setting the scene. ”
“Stroke your ego, huh?”
Amongst other things, I hope.
“Please.” I take a few more steps backward, steepling my hands together.
“I guess it’s the least I can do after all that hay you stole.”