Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(76)

His glare intensified.

I sighed and spit it out. “Where will I be sleeping?”

Jackson rolled onto his back and put his hands under his head. That made his T-shirt ride up his abdomen a few inches, exposing a hard expanse of golden skin and a fine trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

I hoped my gulp wasn’t audible.

“Here,” he said, looking at me with half-lidded eyes.

“You mean . . . on that bed?”

He nodded.

My pulse ticked up a notch. “As in . . . with you?”

When a corner of his mouth quirked, I blew out an irritated breath. He’d been baiting me.

“I’ll take the sofa, you can have the bed,” he said, muted laughter in his voice.

I tossed my handbag onto a chair by the door and wandered into the room. Ignoring him, I roamed around for a few minutes, touching things, being nosy. I poked my head into the bathroom and wondered how many people would fit into the tub. At least ten was my guess.

I knew he was watching me the way I always knew he was watching me, by the sense of having two hot irons poking into my back.

Finally, when I was done with my inspection, I turned to him and demanded, “Tell me about your mother.”

He closed his eyes. “Christ, you’re like a honey badger,” he muttered.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds extremely cute, so thank you.”

His sigh was a tremendous gust of air. “It’s like a large, ferocious weasel with impenetrable skin.”

That was so ridiculous I wasn’t even insulted. “Just give me a little something to prepare for. I assume I’ll meet her at dinner?”

A long silence followed. Then a curt, “Yes. Unless she decides not to come down.”

That sounded bad. “Are you on speaking terms with her?”

His jaw worked. He was silent for a long time before saying, “I haven’t spoken to her since I left.”

Well pick my peas. Dinner should be delightful.

I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and looked down at him. He stubbornly refused to open his eyes, so I allowed my attention to wander to that exposed strip of skin above his waistband. My finger itched to reach out and lightly stroke that pretty trail of hair. It looked so soft and fine, like down. So inviting.

I bit my lip.

Jackson said softly, “What are you looking at, Bianca?”

My gaze flashed up to his. He was staring at me with so much heat in his eyes I was momentarily speechless. I ripped my gaze away and stared down at the ring on my hand, letting it blind me. “Nothing.”

“Then why is your face the color of that chair in the corner?”

The scarlet chair, he meant. I closed my eyes. “Now who’s the honey badger?” I muttered.

After a long, tense moment of silence, Jackson slowly reached out and took my hand. He gently placed it on his stomach, then flattened his hand over it so my palm rested against his warm, bare skin.

His voice a low, sandpaper rasp, he said, “Were you looking at this?”

I said, “Don’t be silly,” but we both knew I was lying.

He grasped my forefinger, touched the tip of it to the fine down of hair beneath his belly button, and whispered, “This?” Using my finger like a paintbrush, he traced it slowly downward until it hit the top button of his jeans.

A violent tremor rocked me, but I didn’t open my eyes.

I didn’t move my hand, either.

Jackson lay very still beside me, except for his breathing, which was rough. Radiating heat, his stomach rose and fell under my hand. My heart was like a pealing bell.

He whispered my name. It was so sweet on his lips, such a tender sound. I made a noise deep in my throat, a retort or a plea, I didn’t know which. Big and slightly trembling, Jackson’s other hand stroked up the inside of my wrist.

A loud throat clearing from the doorway, and I jumped from the bed like my butt had pneumatic springs.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a uniformed male servant with a bland face and droopy hound dog eyes. He bowed. “Madam. Do you need anything before supper?”

Jackson sat up, rubbed his forehead, and growled, “No. And in the future your presence isn’t required unless I ring for you.”

The servant bowed again. “Very good, sir.” He disappeared as quickly as he arrived, leaving Jackson and me alone in excruciating silence.

I said, “I’ll just be hiding in the bathroom until dinner if you need me,” and bolted, slamming the door shut behind me. I collapsed against it, fighting for air, wondering how far that little dalliance on the bed would have gone if we hadn’t been interrupted.

Wondering how far I wanted it to go.

From behind the closed door, there might have been a muffled groan.