JACKSON
“I should be going,” Bianca said abruptly, sounding like she just remembered she’d left the stove on at home.
I stopped dead in my tracks, disappointment cutting through me like knives. I’d mistaken her look for one of lust. I’d obviously been projecting my own feelings onto her, because judging by her wide-eyed, panicked look at my approach, I’d seriously miscalculated what was happening here.
She was just being nice, while I was being a creepy, pervy, wildly inappropriate douchebag who couldn’t keep his boner in his pants.
What a fucking idiot.
“Of course,” I said, mortified. “It’s late. I won’t keep you.”
Blood pounded in my temples. I stepped back quickly, dragged a hand through my hair, and took a steadying breath.
Bianca said, “Rayford was supposed to drive me home, but I haven’t—”
“I’ll take you!”
It was out before I could stop it, a barked declaration that made her blink in surprise at its force.
“Oh,” she said. “Um . . . I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s not a bother,” I answered through gritted teeth, gutted by her obvious dismay at the thought of sharing a car ride with me. But I couldn’t let her leave like this, with all this tension and awkwardness. I’d have to make it up to her on the ride somehow, say something suave or charming that would bring on that laugh of hers and ease the steel band tightening around my chest.
Yeah, good luck with that, dickhead.
“This way,” I snapped, and turned on my heel and left the kitchen.
I didn’t look back to see if she was following me as I made my way to the garage, partly because I could hear her footsteps echoing on the marble and partly because I was too busy beating myself up for acting like such a fool. Also, my face was flaming red in embarrassment. I didn’t want her to see how horrified I was by my own stupidity.
I should’ve known that a woman like Bianca Hardwick would never be interested in a man like me. The only women who wanted me were mercenaries.
I’d been alone so long I’d forgotten.
You’re only worth the balance in your checking account! Cricket had screamed at me all those years ago, yanking her engagement ring off and throwing it at my chest. Did you really think I could love you? That anyone could love you?
Then she’d made a few choice comments about my prowess in bed, and that was the last time I trusted another human being.
I slammed the door of the garage open, flicked on the light switch, grabbed a set of keys from the hook on the wall, and stalked over to the Porsche. Rounding the passenger side, I yanked open the door and stood in seething silence, watching as Bianca hesitantly approached.
Avoiding my eyes, she slid into the passenger seat and folded her hands in her lap.
I growled, “Seatbelt.”
Without glancing at me, she slid the safety belt across her body and clicked it into place. Then she sat looking straight ahead, with an expression on her face like she was going to a funeral.
I closed the door and tried not to pound my fists on the roof of the car.
I got in, started the engine, pulled up to the garage door, and waited for it to open.
Bianca said politely, “That’s quite a car collection you’ve got. I counted twelve?”
“I have to spend my money on something,” I said bitterly.
She glanced at me. When the garage door was up, I gunned the Porsche. The car leapt forward, slamming us both back against our seats.
We drove in silence until we’d passed the gate of my property. Then Bianca said, “Why are you mad right now?”
It startled me. I didn’t know how to answer, so I stayed silent, concentrating on the road.
She said, “You’re driving like a crazy person, and I’m not ready to die yet, so maybe if you told me why you’re so angry, we could talk about it and you’d slow down.”
I snapped, “I’m not angry!” but eased my foot off the gas pedal so the car immediately dropped speed. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel unsafe with me.
After a long moment, she sighed. “Okay.”
I muttered, “Fuck.” Then I cleared my throat and looked at her. “I’m sorry.”
She turned her head and met my gaze. In the dark interior of the car she had an otherworldly look, like something out of a dream, all glittering eyes and burnished skin, electrifying beauty.
I admitted, “I’m not very good with people.”
Her lips curved up. “You are when you want to be.”
Again she’d surprised me. Was that a compliment?
I turned my attention back to the road, because looking at her was dangerous. I couldn’t trust myself not to say something stupid when our eyes held.
I asked, “Where am I going?”
“Tremé. Saint Ann Street.”
We drove in silence for several minutes, long enough for it to be uncomfortable, almost long enough for it to be weird. Then she broke the silence with another surprise.
“I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For overpaying me. It came at exactly the right time.”
I couldn’t help myself. I looked at her again. “You weren’t overpaid. You saved my ass. No one else could’ve pulled tonight off on such short notice. And the food was incredible. You were right, people opened their wallets. It looks like the auction will be the most successful the Project has had.”
She looked out the window at the passing night and slowly shook her head. “Well, anyway. Thank you.”
She sounded so melancholy. It brought me out of the pity party I was throwing for myself, and suddenly all I could focus on was her. I said, “What do you mean it came at the right time?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Nothing, just . . . it’s appreciated. You were very generous. It really helped.”
My mind went a million miles an hour, trying to figure out what she could mean. She’d mentioned her mother before . . .
“Is this about your mother?”
Her head snapped around. She stared at me with big, shocked eyes. “How did you know about my mother?”
So my guess was correct. “You mentioned her earlier. You said it had been a rough few weeks.”
Bianca turned stiffly away.
I asked gently, “Is she sick?”
She inhaled a slow breath, then blew it out silently. “She would literally kill me if she knew I told you, so I’m not telling you. But yes. But you didn’t hear that from me, and please don’t share it with anyone.”
She looked over at me again, her eyes pleading, and I nearly drove off the road from the explosion of emotion in my chest.
I said gruffly, “You have my word I won’t tell a soul.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, then whispered, “Thank you. It’s been really hard not having anyone to talk to about it.”
I stared at her, my heart starting to pound, amazed how easily she could make me feel like I was melting and flying and having a heart attack, all at once.
Holy fucking yellow submarines, this woman is my kryptonite.
I looked back at the road, gripped my hands around the steering wheel, and tried to breathe. I said, “My mother’s been sick for a long time.”
Bianca sucked in a breath. “Really? Oh, no! Is it . . . is it bad?”
Why yes it is, I didn’t say, and it’s all my fault. “She had a stroke several years ago. She mainly stays in bed now. Has trouble speaking, needs constant care.”
That’s pretty much all I got out before my throat closed and I stopped talking.
“Oh, Jackson,” said Bianca. “I’m so sorry to hear that. How hard it must be for you!”
When I didn’t respond to that, she said hesitantly, “Or are you two not close?”
I briefly closed my eyes. This was something I hadn’t spoken about to anyone, ever, but Bianca had just shared something very personal with me, and it felt like the right thing to do to share in kind.
“We used to be. But that was before I became such a disappointment.”
“A disappointment? You? But you’re so . . .”
Expecting a nasty joke about my character, I looked over sharply. But Bianca was looking back at me seriously with her brows pulled together, searching for a word.
Finally she declared, “Well I don’t know what the right word is, but anyone who adopts a special-needs child and raises money for charity and keeps his end of the deals he makes isn’t a disappointment in my book.” With a smile she added, “Even if you are stuck-up higher than a light pole.”
“Stuck up! I am not stuck up!” I exclaimed, pleased as fuck by what she’d said, even if it did end with a jab.
Bianca waved a hand in the air. “Oh please, Jackson, you’re so highfalutin, you think your shit tastes like sherbet.”
Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and stared at me in horror.
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “That was just classless and rude.”
I kept on laughing, so hard tears formed in my eyes. Her expression was classic. Had anyone else said that to me, I’d have exploded in fury.
She begged, “Please tell me you’re not going to put a retroactive stop payment on your check!”
“That’s not even a thing,” I said between gasps of air.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “If my mother knew I’d said something like that, she’d knock me into next week.”
Unthinking, grinning like a lunatic, I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been giving me grief since the minute we met. I think I’m starting to like it.”
She raised her head and looked at me. Then she looked at my hand on her shoulder.
I snatched my hand away so fast it was a blur. “Sorry,” I said gruffly, my face reddening again.
After a minute of excruciating silence, she said, “Turn here.”
Wishing for a time machine so I could undo my colossal mistake of touching a woman who hadn’t invited me to do so, I turned the corner into Bianca’s neighborhood. A few more turns and I found her street.
“The white one on the left with the red door,” she said, pointing to a house.
As I pulled to a stop at the curb, Bianca cried softly, “Oh!”
I followed her gaze out the window. A man sat in a chair on the front porch of her house. When he saw her, he rose and stood next to the door, waiting.
At one o’clock in the morning, there was a man waiting for her to come home. A young, handsome man by the looks of it. Though the porch light was dim, it was bright enough to see that.
Shit.
Crushed by disappointment and an irrational, unwarranted jealousy, I said stiffly, “Your boyfriend?”
Bianca’s head shake was violent. She recoiled from the window. “Ex-boyfriend. So very, very ex.”
Her disgusted tone revealed exactly how she felt about the man on the porch. Obviously whatever had happened between them had left her angry, bitter, and with zero desire to see him again. My jealousy was replaced by outrage and a need to protect her that was so strong I almost snapped the steering wheel in half.
“I’ll get rid of him,” I growled. I reached for the door, but Bianca stopped me.
“No.” She turned to me with an intensity I’d never seen in her before. She laid her hand on my forearm. “I have a better idea.”
Then her gaze dropped to my mouth, she leaned toward me, and my heart stopped dead in my chest.