Reading Online Novel

Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(68)



Jackson looked around the room. It was large and beautifully furnished, done in shades of cream and celadon with an elaborate four-poster bed that would have looked at home in Buckingham Palace. He frowned at the bed.

“We can change out any of this stuff you don’t like,” he began, but stopped when I laughed.

“What?”

“Everything’s perfect,” I said. “This makes the bedroom at my house look like a homeless shelter. I love it.”

I’d never spent time or money decorating my house because I had so little of either. I was always working, at Mama’s, or asleep. In comparison, this was the Taj Mahal.

Maybe living here for a few years wasn’t going to be all bad.

“Good,” said Jackson, obviously pleased but acting businesslike and nonchalant. I tried not to notice how adorable that was.

“I do have a lot of books, though,” I warned, looking pointedly at the bookshelves, which were only half-full.

“Bring them. I want you to be comfortable here. Bring anything that makes you feel at home.”

He smiled at me. A flutter started deep in my stomach. I looked away. “So. What’s next?”

He moved across the room, headed for the soaring windows, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. Gazing out into the bright morning sky, he said, “Packing. Moving in. Kentucky.” He turned his head and looked at me, his face now serious. “We fly out tomorrow.”

The flutter in my stomach turned into a sick feeling, like I was being marched to the gallows. “Oh. But I don’t have a ticket yet—”

“My father’s sending his private jet.”

His private jet. Of course. I blew out a nervous little breath, trying to quell the hysterical laugh lurking behind my teeth. “I see. What time are we leaving?”

“Five o’clock.”

Exactly when I would normally be getting ready for the first guests to arrive at the restaurant. My heart did a dying-fish flop under my sternum. “When will we get back?”

“Sunday night.”

“Okay,” I squeaked, praying to God that Eeny and Pepper could manage for three days without me.

Jackson said, “I’ve hired a home health-care firm for your mother. They’re going to send someone to her house tomorrow to help out while you’re gone for the weekend. If you like the girl, you can keep her on indefinitely, but you can also interview other candidates next week . . .”

He stopped when he saw my expression. “Was that wrong?”

I sank into the nearest chair, overwhelmed. “No. That’s wonderful. Thank you. I asked Eeny if she could check in on Mama while I was gone, but this is . . . better.” I cleared my throat, determined to get a grip on myself. Today was turning out to be a strangely emotional one for me.

Jackson said quietly, “Would you like a moment to yourself?”

I passed a hand over my face. Then I looked up at him and forced a smile. “No. I’ve brought the contract. I suppose we should sign it now. And a bourbon wouldn’t go unappreciated.”

Jackson looked concerned. “It’s not even noon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere. And you know how I love your family’s bourbon.”

Jackson crossed to me and held out his hand. “Since you’re marrying into the family,” he murmured, gazing down at me with burning eyes, “bourbon it is.”



We signed our marriage contract over snifters of Boudreaux Black Label at the formal dining room table. Rayford witnessed and then beat a hasty retreat. Then we put aside the fountain pens and raised our glasses in a toast.

“To five years of wedded bliss,” said Jackson solemnly.

“To not killing each other in our sleep,” I said, and guzzled the bourbon.

When I finished, Jackson was staring at me with a cocked eyebrow and a sour twist to his lips. “You’re a true romantic, you know that?”

“To the marrow of my bones. What kind of clothes should I bring for this weekend?”

Jackson smirked. “Ones that cover your lady bits?”

“Ha. I need to know if I’m expected to go horseback riding or ballroom dancing or whatever it is rich people do on weekends.”

His brow crept up another inch. “I see. And you have jodhpurs and ball gowns in your wardrobe?”

I said airily, “Oh, tons. Doesn’t every girl?”

I was amusing him. He pressed the smile from his lips and swallowed his bourbon. “Naturally. But don’t worry about what clothes to bring. I’m taking care of it. Just pack a small bag with your toiletries and underwear.”

I stared at him with a furrow forming between my brows. “I have no idea what that means, but it sounds vaguely worrisome.”