So. Long(92)

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.”