GENTLEMAN JACKSON

 

Nicola M. Cameron

 

Copyright © 2017

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

Ria Guzman tried to keep her attention on her computer monitor, but her gaze kept drifting toward the man sitting in the waiting area. He’d introduced himself in a soft, southern-tinged voice as, “Mr. Jackson, here to see Mr. Montrose,” and had taken a seat after she’d buzzed Freddy Ray Montrose to let him know that his next appointment had arrived.

She had been working for the law offices of Montrose and Davis for over a year now and was used to seeing men in well-cut suits coming in to speak with Freddy Ray. Most of them carried a certain amount of middle-age flab, the curse of businessmen in a city studded with steakhouses, BBQ joints, and Tex-Mex restaurants. Once in a while, though, a big, built man would walk through the office door, usually a former football player who had transitioned successfully to the entrepreneurial field.

Something about the client now waiting for Freddy Ray, however, set off all of Ria’s internal alarms. For one thing, he was huge. Not fat, but thick with muscle that the cut of the expensive jacket was supposed to disguise. But good tailoring couldn’t hide the width of his shoulders, or the corded muscle of a bull neck that was barely restrained by an Armani tie. He looked more like a bouncer than the typical Dallas oilman who utilized Freddy Ray’s legal skills and contacts with the lege down in Austin.

His face reinforced the bouncer impression. A heavy-boned jawline anchored a nose that had been broken more than a few times, chiseled lips that were pressed together in a humorless line, and narrow blue eyes that felt like they looked right through her when she’d asked him to take a seat and offered coffee. His straight dark hair was cut high and tight, revealing a sprinkling of silver at the temples. She guessed he was ex-military, somewhere in his early forties, good-looking if you liked a certain kind of big, rich daddy type who carried his privilege with him like an invisible shield. God knew there were enough women in Dallas who would be more than happy to cream their La Perla panties over him.

Except that there was something else about Mr. Jackson, a coldness that made the hair at the nape of her neck stand up. She’d known guys like that in Oak Cliff, watched them join the gangs, patched their knife wounds and bullet holes. Some wound up being lowered into the ground while a harried priest muttered prayers and stone-faced gang members in black stood watch. Others, like her brother Carlos, went on to bigger and better things. She’d done her best to avoid the type once she finished college, steadfastly ignoring the fact that they ignited an embarrassing excitement inside her. It was like being an adrenaline junkie, she told herself, wanting to try the biggest, baddest ride in town. Better to be sensible, to live a quiet, normal life like a normal person. You lasted longer that way.

But then Mr. Jackson walked through the door like a caveman in tailored Hugo Boss, and every nerve ending in her body lit up like a fireworks display. Part of her wanted to freeze, stay quiet and still until he was gone—the rabbit that scented the coyote and prayed that it wasn’t hungry. Another part of her wanted to climb into his lap, find out what he was packing under those charcoal grey gabardine slacks, see if his lips tasted as good as they looked.

He looked at her, thick brows lowering. Shit, I’m staring at him. Flushing, she shifted her attention to the document displayed on her screen, and jumped when the door behind her opened.

“Mr. Jackson. Sorry to keep you waiting, I just had to finish up a few things,” Freddy Ray announced in his rumbling baritone. The silver-haired man was the quintessential well-to-do Texas lawyer, someone who used his good ol’ boy persona to hide a razor-sharp mind and a killer instinct. He paused next to her desk, knocking his knuckles on the wooden surface. “Honey, why don’t you go get lunch early today? Maybe do some shopping, pick up something pretty.”

Ria knew what that meant. Like a number of other high-powered Dallas lawyers, not all of Freddy Ray’s business was strictly above the board. There were times when it was handy for him to have an empty office without witnesses who could potentially be subpoenaed by curious Feds. That was just fine with her—it meant she could take a long lunch and do some window shopping at Neiman-Marcus. “Okay, Mr. Montrose. I’ll come back around one?”

He winked at her. “Fine, honey, fine.”

She locked her computer and fished her purse out of its desk drawer, smoothing her skirt as she stood. She could feel Freddy Ray’s attention on her ass, but that was SOP by now. He’d made a few good-natured passes at her when she first started and had accepted her refusal easily enough. His partner Royce Davis, however, was another matter. Younger than Freddy Ray and more determined to get her into bed, Royce’s sly little insinuations, accidental “brushes,” and ham-handed attempts at flirtation were making her wonder if she had a case for sexual harassment. Yeah, like I could get a lawyer to represent me against another lawyer.

As she passed through the waiting area, Mr. Jackson stood, deliberately stepping into her path and forcing her to stop. She looked up into those ice blue eyes, her breath catching as something inside her quivered in silent recognition. Predator, meet prey.

“Miss Guzman,” he said softly.

She swallowed, wondering how he knew her name. “Excuse me,” she whispered, ducking past him and catching a whiff of something warm and resinous. It smelled like the rosemary her mother used to grow in their kitchen window, an olfactory memory of home and safety.

Although Mr. Jackson definitely wasn’t safe. He didn’t touch her, but her skin prickled as if he’d run his fingertips across it. Her earlier assumption about him was wrong. Whoever, whatever this man was, he wasn’t a coyote. He was a wolf.

****

Colton Jackson watched Montrose’s secretary hurry off, appreciating the way her ass swayed under the inexpensive black cotton skirt she wore. He wondered what she would look like in quality clothing, something that would showcase her curves properly. Christ almighty, I bet she’d look sinful in red silk. Something tight and strapless, showing off all that smooth, tan skin.

She had been included in the info he’d gotten on Freddy Ray Montrose. Ria Guzman, 28, single, lived in one of the new apartment buildings built to draw city workers into Dallas’s urban center. No children, no ex-husbands. Her driver’s license picture was the usual nightmare, but she was a knockout in person.

Colton wished he had more time in Dallas. The way she was eyeing him in the waiting room, she was just as interested in him. He bet he could talk her into dinner, maybe dancing somewhere.

But he was there to do a job, and that meant no getting involved with the locals. With a mental sigh, he pushed away the thought of Ria Guzman and followed Freddy Ray into the lawyer’s office, checking that he could still make a clean draw.

****

Ria was already outside the building that housed the law office and heading towards Restaurant Row when her phone rang. She fished it out of her purse, making a face when she saw the name on the screen. Great. Just what I need.

She hit the “accept” button. “Hi, Mr. Davis. No, I’m not in the office. Mr. Montrose asked me to—right now? Can I send it after lunch?”

She stopped, listening and silently cursing the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, I’ll go back and send it now. All right. Yes, sir, I’ll see you later.”

“I need that Watts file now, Ria.” No you don’t, pendejo, you just want to screw up my lunch. Fuming, she retraced her steps back to the office, opening the outer door and slipping inside. The waiting area was empty, and she could hear voices in Freddy Ray’s office. The lawyer was louder than usual, and sounded angry.

Going to her desk, she moved her mouse to wake up her computer. One of these days, I swear I’m going to give Davis a piece of my mind—

“No!”

Freddy Ray’s cry was followed by a strange, sharp phut-phut noise. A third phut sounded, then the thud of something heavy landing on the floor. Ria froze, straining to hear any hint of Freddy Ray’s voice. Nothing.

That was a silencer. Dios mio. Her muscles unlocked and she darted around the desk, heading for the door. She had to get out of there, get down to the street, call 911—

A hand grabbed her arm, almost jerking it out of its socket as she was spun around. She thumped against the wall, knocking down the antique map of Dallas that hung there. Mr. Jackson yanked her hands over her head and held them against the wall while he clapped his free hand across her mouth, cutting off her scream.

Cold blue eyes stared down at her. “You weren’t supposed to be back until one.”

It wasn’t my fault! Oh, God, she was going to die because of Davis and his stupid e-mail. Trembling, she tried to suck in a breath through her nose, ready to beg, plead, promise anything. The resinous scent of rosemary was stronger now, wafting from him on his body heat. The smell and the good associations it held helped her wrestle down her panic, forcing herself to calm.

His eyelids flickered in grudging appreciation. “Are you going to scream?”

She shook her head.

“You won’t like what I do if you scream.”

This time she nodded, hoping he understood. He lifted his hand and she swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. “I f-forgot my wallet. It was in my desk.”

“Huh.” His lips pursed. “You should be more careful about that.”

This close, she could smell cinnamon on his breath, see the fine grain of his skin, a dark shadow already showing across his cheeks and chin. His slightly squashed nose and narrowed eyes made him look like a thug, but it was his lips that she kept staring at, those firm, carved lips that looked like they were made for hungry kisses. It was worth a try, a hysterical voice in the back of her head said. After all, what was the worst he could do? Kill her? Dios mio, please no—

She went up on tiptoe. Even then she barely reached his mouth. His lips were as firm as they looked, and cooler than she expected against hers. The cinnamon flavor was stronger, as well. Gum? No, some kind of pastry, a cinnamon roll, the rich taste of sugar under the spice. She held the kiss as long as she dared, putting every ounce of desire she had into it. When she dropped back down, she licked her lips, tasting cinnamon and sugar.

It was the last sweetness she might ever taste.

****

Colton stared down at the gorgeous little secretary, wondering why she’d kissed him. Not that he objected. The kiss was a hell of a lot better than a scream, and he didn’t have to break her neck for doing it.

Not to mention she had a dynamite set of tits, a perfect handful, and he enjoyed the way they’d rubbed against his chest even through three layers of clothing. His cock twitched in agreement, and for a moment he debated bending her back over the desk and fucking her then and there.

The only problem was, he didn’t want to fuck her if he had to kill her, and he had to kill her. She knew he’d taken care of Freddy Ray—she would’ve heard the gun, even with the silencer. Which meant he couldn’t let her live. Goddamn it, why did she have to come back?

He eyed her again. Shit, she was lush, all warm, soft woman under that boring-ass office wear. In addition to the great tits she had a sweet little nipped-in waist, an ass like two melons, and an angel’s face with huge whiskey-colored eyes and full, rosy lips. He wondered what they would look like wrapped around his cock while she drained him dry. It had been a while since he’d indulged in some ass. What was it, three months ago? Yeah, that week he spent down in Barbados after the Wilkerson job.

Things south of the border twitched again, prompting him to make a decision. He knew damn well she was coming on to him in the hope that he wouldn’t kill her. But there had been real heat in that kiss, a promise that he wanted to explore.

“I’m gonna tell you what we’re going to do,” he said quietly. “We’re going to go down to the parking garage. We’re going to get in my car, and you’re going to drive. I’m going to have my gun pointed at you, and I will shoot you in the gut if you try anything stupid. It’s a bad way to die, so you’re not going to do anything stupid, right?”

She nodded jerkily. “Where are we going?”

That was a good question. He’d already checked out of his hotel. The plan had been to head back to DFW Airport, drop off the car, pick up his own, and drive back to Shreveport. “You live nearby?”

Another nod. “On Record.”

He had a vague idea where that was. Close enough to Woodall Rogers for him to navigate back to DFW. “Anyone there? Roommate, family?”

“No.”

“Okay. We’re gonna drive over there. You scream, try to signal anyone, and I kill both of you. Understand?”

A third nod.

He let her go, bringing her right arm down so that he could link his left through it and hold her in place. “Let’s go.”

****

For once, Ria was grateful for the insanity that was Dallas traffic. It meant she had to concentrate on the cars, trucks, and pedestrians trying to cut her off and not on the man sitting next to her, a Glock pointing at her stomach.

She pulled into the parking garage next to her apartment building, heading up to the second level and parking in her assigned slot. His car didn’t have her parking sticker, which could cause trouble if he stayed for more than an hour. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “We’re here.”

“All right.” He slid the gun into a holster at the small of his back. “I’m gonna come around and get you. Just sit there and be a good girl.”

She nodded, mouth dry. He got out and moved quickly to the driver’s side, opening the door for her like they were on a date. “Come on.”

She undid the seat belt and let it slide back, taking his hand and getting out. He held onto her while she locked and closed the door. The garage was half-full of cars but no people. Nearby, the Woodall Rogers Freeway roared with traffic, the echoing noise more than enough to cover a single shot even without the silencer.

She led him to the elevator. When it opened, she wanted to cry when she saw one of her neighbors, an annoyingly bubbly blonde named Katie. As far as Ria could tell, the woman’s two hobbies were bathing in Dior J’adore and hitting on anything with a penis and a pulse.

“Oh, hey, girl!” Katie caroled, before spotting Jackson. She batted a thick set of false eyelashes at him, stepping back to make room on the elevator. “Can y’all believe this weather? It’s so nice out there today!”

“Uh, yeah,” Ria mumbled, getting on with Jackson in tow. “Nice.”

The large man crowded the small car, pressing up against Ria. Katie peered up at him with a flirtatious smile. “Well, hello there, handsome. I know I haven’t seen you around before.”

Ria felt the gun press against her side, urging her to say something. “He’s a friend. From, um, work.” Stupid puta, go play with a fucking vibrator and stop trying to get both of us killed.

Katie cranked the flirtatiousness up to eleven. “Work husband, huh? I know how that goes. Well, if you don’t have enough to do, handsome, come find me. I bet I can keep you busy.” The elevator door opened and she strutted off. “Y’all have fun now!”

The doors closed again and Ria’s muscles unclenched. “You can kill her if you want,” she muttered.

He snorted. “At least she wouldn’t leave any brains on the wall.”

A manic giggle bubbled up and she swallowed it. The elevator finally opened on her floor and she turned right, leading him to her apartment door. Pulling the keys out of her purse, she couldn’t stop them from jingling as her hand trembled, fumbling to fit the key in the lock.

A big, warm hand covered hers, guiding the key home. Que alguien escuche mi rezo y que me saque de aquí.

May someone hear my prayer and get me out of here. When there was no reply, she knew she was on her own. Taking a deep breath, she let him in.

****

Colton eyed the apartment. It was small but decently laid out, the entry opening directly onto the kitchen with a combo dining room/living room beyond. A balcony at the far end let in bright Dallas sunlight, reflected by the white walls and woodwork. A door to the right led to the bathroom, judging by the glint of tile he could see. There was another door on the opposite wall, presumably to her bedroom. “This the only entrance?”

Ria nodded, biting her lip. “There’s the balcony, but we’re five floors up.”

He grunted. That idiot blonde had one thing right—it was a nice day, too warm to keep his suit jacket on. He stripped it off and tossed it on the tiny kitchen island. “Any pets?”

She shook her head, wisps of hair working out of her neat chignon. It made her look softer, not quite so buttoned down. “I’m allergic.”

He had to admire her self-control. Most women would have screamed their heads off once they saw someone they recognized, but this sweet little thing had played it cool, then suggested he off the idiot blonde. He liked that.

He decided to probe a bit. “Boyfriend?”

Another headshake.

“Come on. Pretty lady like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

Mahogany eyes hardened, meeting him head-on. There was fear there, but fire as well. He liked that. “I’m choosy about who I date.”

That had to be a poke at him. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he drawled. “Classy lady like you, I bet you only go out with men who make half a million a year, minimum.”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t make me sound like a snob.”

He sighed. “That doesn’t make you a snob, cher, just realistic. All women like a man with money.”

Her glare heated. “I don’t care if a man has money. Most rich guys I’ve met are assholes. I’d rather have a loyal guy who’s poor than a rich jerk.”

Loyal, not good. Interesting. He appreciated the difference. Good guys were a dime a dozen, but loyalty was a rare and precious thing, especially in his line of work. “I hear you. So, no pets, no boyfriend. What do you do for fun, Miss Guzman?”

She frowned at that. “How do you know my name?”

That was easy. “I always scope out a location before I start a job. Who’s working there, what they’re called, are they connected to anyone important. When I found out that Freddy Ray had a secretary, I made the appointment just before lunch so that he’d send you out. I was only supposed to kill him, not you.” He shook his head. “I really wish you hadn’t come back.”

“Yeah, so do I,” she muttered, folding her arms across her stomach. “So what happens now?”

He leaned a hip against the kitchen island, studying her. God, he wanted to strip that J.C. Penney office gear off her and burn it. She needs to be in something sexy, like stockings and a garter belt. Even better, stockings and a garter belt and tied to his bed where he could fuck her into oblivion and listen to her scream his name as she came. “Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?” he said softly. “How much do you think your life’s worth?”

Her little chin lifted, a kitten facing down a black bear in her territory. “I’ve got a little over five grand in the bank. We can go right now and take it out.”

He wanted to laugh, but he knew she wouldn’t take it well. “I don’t get out of bed for five grand. Besides, I don’t want your money.”

That made her blink, lips parting just a little. Two spots of pink bloomed on her cheekbones, spreading into a dusky flush. “Dammit. I—what do you want?”

“I think you know.” He closed the distance between them, stalking her until she bumped back against the wall. She was so petite next to him, a creamy café au lait handful. “I saw the way you were looking at me in the waiting room.”

Her throat worked as she stared up at him, pupils blown wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes, savoring the softness of her skin. “You wanted to climb me like a tree, baby girl. Which is fine by me.” He leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear. “Because I want to take off your clothes, lay you out on your bed, and fuck you until all the neighbors know my name.”