So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (29 page)

Jack follows me out to my car. “Okay. So—the camera will be
on the entire time. I’ll be watching.”

I slam my door and roll down the window. “That seems
creepy.”

He leans to rests his forearms on the edge of the open
window. “I’m coming over later—whether or not I get to eat
dessert
.”

“Don’t you have a job?” I push my windblown curls out of my
face.

He catches an errant corkscrew and wraps it around his
finger, studying it as though it might be the next great find of the
twenty-first century. He unwinds it and pats it back in place. “We’re taping
the show this afternoon. I’ll be finished before you get home.”

I shift into drive and the car rolls forward. “I might come
down with a headache.”

He waves and calls, “I’ll bring aspirin.”

With his strong jaw, athletic build, and those light green
eyes, Jackson Tremaine was made for sin.

Sinful thoughts. Sinful desires. Sinful actions.

Good thing Jack’s not my type. Good thing he’s an asshole
who would never work long-term for me, or probably anyone. Good thing I can
control myself. Otherwise, I’d be in deep shit.

Decode the Man in Your Life

Chapter 4:
Men Need Love Too

Correction: Men Need Sex—JUST Sex

FIVE

The agreed-upon guy stands and wipes his palms on his jeans
as I enter the cozy Italian restaurant.

“Dave?” I extend my hand.

“You must be Ronnie.” His warm fingers envelope mine in a
firm handshake.

The hostess seats us. On the sly, I check my phone for the
time. Seven thirty-eight. Wonder if Jackson’s finished taping yet?

No. Doesn’t matter. He has no place at this table, in my
head or otherwise. Oh, Lord. Why’d I have to go and think of Jackson at a
table. His hands doing naughty things to my naughty parts. I swallow hard.

I can’t help but dart glances at Dave.

He seems really nice.

I’m such a horrible person. How can I even consider doing
this? Is my career really this important? Well—who knows? Maybe I’ll fall in
love with him too. This could be like any other blind date. Right?

Even still, my appetite flees the scene of the crime I’m
about to commit.

Okay. Be in the present. “So, Dave, what do you do for a
living?”

He looks over the top of his menu. “Oh, my partner and I own
the Green Thumb Nursery. We’re located just outside of Hollywood Hills.”

“Oh, I think I know that place. Your partner?”

He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m co-owner. You know, we
own equal parts of the business. I do the books, and he’s more of the hands in
the dirt kind of guy. I help out with the plants when he needs it though.”

“Cool.” I nod. “Plants are nice.”

I sound like a freaking moron. Plants are nice. And so is
dirt. And money…money is always nice. God, he’s never going to fall for a
stupid cow like me. My career will end up as worthless as the thin film of manure
left on the bottom of the Green Thumb’s wheelbarrow.

“And what do you do?” he asks.

“I’m a relationship therapist. But I write too.”

Dave’s eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you write? I love to
read. Anything I’ve heard of?”

Aw, jeez I can’t tell him about my book. He might go look it
up and find that stupid clip of Jackson’s show.

I cough to cover my pause. “Oh, you know. I dabble. Hobbyist,
really. Just doodling a few things for the future.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you never know where that might lead
someday.” He lays his menu on the edge of the table.

Crap. I have no idea what I want to eat yet. Too busy thinking
of ridiculous things to say.

What’s that sound?

Oh, that’s the sound of my career crashing and burning in
the hills of California.

Kaboom.

No worries, that’s just my pride exploding in a fiery
blossom of ash and smoke.

I pull Sweet Sue into the driveway behind Shayna’s fun,
little sports car,
Vixen
. Guess it’s easy to tell who drives a sexy car.
Oh well. Until my book really pays off, Sweet Sue will have to do, repair costs
or no.

As I open the door, headlights zoom past the house. The
speeding car slams on the breaks and backs up.

Jackson.

He parks along the curb and hops out. His car beeps as he
saunters toward me. More like prowls. Stalks?

I get out of the car and shut my door, careful not to push
too hard, lest it stick and I end up climbing through from the other side next
time.

I hold up my hand to try to stop him. “You really should
call first.”

He ignores me. “Why? I told you I’d be here.”

“What if I got sick?”

He grins. “I’d take care of you.”

“Vomiting?”

“I’d hold your hair back and bring you a washcloth.”

I narrow my eyes. “What if I had uncontrollable, raging rabbit
squirts?”

He stops in his tracks, his eyebrows arching.

Good, maybe he’ll take off, running for the hills and for
sexier more alluring women. I don’t have time for him. There are other men who
actually want more than just a slick pussy to dip their dicks into.

Then his grin returns as he shakes his head. “You know, I
like you. I think we could be friends.”

Friends? What the for-reals fuck?

I narrow my eyes. “There is
actually
something
seriously wrong with you, isn’t there?”

He tosses an arm around my shoulder, drags me to his chest,
and rubs noogies on my head, like a ten-year-old boy. “Probably. But you’re the
one who calls diarrhea
rabbit squirts
.”

I pull away from him. “How
old
are you?”

“Old enough to know better…”

I roll my eyes. “…still too young to care—ha ha. Cute, but
so cliché.”

“So, want to go to my place?”

I let out a sigh. “Jack, this probably isn’t a good idea. I
mean, I’m supposed to see Dave sometime this week for a tennis date.”

Jackson rubs his hands together. “Perfect. Ask me in, and
you can tell me all about Dave and your date.”

I pull the little camera loose from my collar and hand it to
him. “Watch the video.”

“You know you want to invite me in.” He flexes his pecs and
they ripple beneath his almost too-tight T-shirt.

My inner slut demands her moment in charge. I clear my
throat. “One drink, and that’s it.”

He nods. “If that’s what you say.”

“That’s what I say.” Even if my throbbing clit says
anything
you want as long as you kiss me until I die
.

I pull out my keys. Jackson takes them and unlocks the door,
escorting me inside with the flourish of his hand. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

He shuts the door and whispers, “So, if Shayna’s car is
here, does that mean
she’s
here?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes she calls a cab. Why?”

Even with only the dim nightlight, the mischief is clear in
his expression. “Oh, I just don’t want to wake her.”

“As long as Dickey Bird doesn’t start squawking too loudly,
it’s fine.”

“Is he yours?”

“No. Shay got him when she was a teenager.” I drop my purse
and jacket on the table next to the sofa, and then I plug in the Christmas tree
lights.

Jackson stands in front of the cage. Dickey’s been confined since
his last disappearing act. The bird turns his head sideways, staring at Jack.

Jackson pokes his finger through the side of the cage.

I dart to him, dragging his hand away. “Oh, you don’t want
to do that. Birds can bite.”

Dickey grumbles, making little clicks and whistles, but
nothing too loud. Then Dickey starts the vibrating sounds he’s recently added
to his repertoire.

Oh, good God. Heat flushes through me like a firestorm.
Stupid bird.

“But I think he might like me. He’s all fluffy and cute. And
he’s purring. I didn’t know birds could purr.” Again he reaches up.

I grab his hand and pull him away from the cage. “Sorry, but
that’s not what they do when they like someone.”

I lead Jack to the wet bar on the far wall. “Do something
else with your hands, and maybe your fingers will stay intact. I’m going to
change.”

He takes a glass from the shelf and pulls down a bottle,
turning it to inspect the label. “What do you like?”

“An amaretto sour would be great.” I head down the hallway.

Shay’s door stands open, lights out. Not home. Damn. Can’t
depend on her to interrupt before I’m too far gone.

Okay. What to wear?

In all the tabloid pictures I’ve ever seen of Jackson, he’s
got serious arm candy in slinky dresses hanging off him. I pull out a pair of downy
pajama pants, bright pink with gaudy red hearts. The matching top boasts two
furry teddy bears appliquéd right over my boobs. There. Not sexy in the least.

I pull on the comfy clothes and check myself in the mirror.
All I need now is… I dive to my closet.

I slip on my fuzzy slippers with giant red lips across the
tops. Perfect.

This should keep things platonic.

Jackson stands in front of the birdcage, talking to the
parrot. “And who’s a pretty bird? Do you talk? Repeat after me: Jackson’s a
handsome bastard.”

At least his hands are a safe distance from Dickey’s beak.

“Little bit full of yourself there, Jack?”

He turns, and his grin shows off those dimples. Damn. I
should’ve worn something sexier.

No. No. No.

Dave’s a nice guy. Think of poor, unsuspecting Dave.

Jack rubs his chin as though contemplating something
important.

“What?”

“You take
slipping into something more comfortable
to
a whole new level.”

I hold my hands out and pirouette. “You don’t like my choice
in loungewear?”

“I didn’t say that. Actually, I want to pet your teddies.”

My teddies. The two bears on my shirt smile at him. So much
for trying to discourage him.

Lecher.

Jackson strides to me, his arms sliding around my waist as
he pulls me to him, chest to chest.

“You see, it doesn’t matter too much about the wrapping.
Diamonds come out of mines covered in coal. Gold is often dug out of the dirt.”
One big hand slips into the waistband of my P.J.s, his feather touch slipping
down the seam between my cheeks before he grabs a handful of my ass. “Hell, if
you look at pudding, it doesn’t necessarily look good, but I’ll be damned if it
doesn’t taste delicious.”

My breath hitches as his lips find that sensitive spot over
the erratic pulse in my neck.

His tongue swirls along the line where my necklace lies.
“I’ve been dying for a taste of your peach puddin’, Ronnie.”

I push him away. “No. No pudding for you. I’m going out with
Dave again.”

“All right. If I can’t talk you into a little teddy petting
session, tell me about Dave. Think he’ll fall for your”—he makes air quotes—“
method
?”

I huff at his tone. “He’s human. Just like everyone else, he
wants love. I’ll show him I am capable of filling that need, and he’ll
reciprocate.”

“
Need
love? You think all men need love?”

“Thought you said you read my book.” I plop onto the end of
the couch and cross my arms over the bears he keeps staring at.

He hands me my drink and sits right next to me, his hip
against my curled up leg. “Peaches, I hate to break it to you, but men
need
sex. Some of them want love, but they
need
sex. You want to win your
guy? Give him what he really needs.”

“You’re telling me that you’d rather have sex than love?” I
set the drink on the side table.

He chuckles. “Fuck yeah, I would. Love is fickle. People
love you one day, but not the next. They love you when it’s convenient. Sex is
in the moment. You’re together while you’re scroggin’ and then you’re on your
way. Like that song says,
Love the one you’re with
. No emotional
entanglements to threaten your happiness. Just live for the moment.”

Oh. My. “Who was she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who broke your heart, Jackson Tremaine?”

He looks right into my eyes, holding my gaze for several
long seconds. “I’ve
never
had my heart broken. And I won’t. My mother,
on the other hand, lived with a broken heart. The line of bastards she trailed
through our house—not one of them was capable of monogamy. The guy she shacked
up with when I was about fifteen finally explained it to me. It made perfect
sense. Men aren’t made to be monogamous. It’s against our nature. Our nature is
to spread our seed. Women want the house and the picket fence because of the nesting
instinct.”