“You wouldn’t be crashing because I’m inviting you, as my guest,” she said with an encouraging smile. “It’s my party and I want you there. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
He scrubbed a hand over his clenched jaw, clearly torn. He hadn’t said yes, but he hadn’t flat out refused her, either, and that’s what Tara concentrated on.
“I’d really like you to be there, and I honestly think it would help your cause if you met Samantha, Katrina, and Sarah, because they’re the ones who can sway the guys. Really.”
He didn’t look totally convinced, but the small, wry smile curving the corner of his mouth told her he was considering her invitation. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”
She shrugged. “The very worst that could happen is that they tell you to leave, though I’m pretty sure they won’t. They might be acting like closed-minded idiots right now, but you all have to start somewhere, right?”
Tara had no idea why the brothers hadn’t reached out to Jackson since meeting him. Their distrust of outsiders was a typical reaction for the three men, and she could only assume that they were still trying to process Jackson’s existence. Sure, they might be surprised to see him at her party, possibly even wary at first, but she was determined to give all of them a nudge in the right direction. And hopefully, with Samantha, Katrina, and Sarah as buffers, their significant others’ cool demeanor toward Jackson would start to thaw.
“So, what do you say?” she asked persuasively, knowing he was close to agreeing. “Do you want to pick me up at three on Saturday?”
He released a heavy breath and finally nodded, clearly wanting what she was offering. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”
She grinned triumphantly as she took her cell phone from her purse. “What’s your phone number so I can text you my number and address,” she said before he had too much time to think about his decision and have second thoughts.
He gave her his contact information and she typed it in, then immediately sent him a message with her street address, which also gave him her cell number. Once that was done, she dropped her phone back into her handbag, then poked him playfully in the chest.
“Technically, this is a date, so no backing out,” she said impudently.
He caught her hand before she could pull it away and flicked his tongue along the pulse point in her wrist, his gaze hot and seductive and amused. “Or what?” he murmured.
That quickly, that easily, a renewed longing sizzled through her. “If you cancel, there’ll be no sinning for you, that’s what,” she replied with sass.
“Damn,” he muttered with a feigned frown. “You drive one hell of a hard bargain.”
She laughed lightly. “It’s called an incentive. Just keep your eye on the prize, Mr. Stone, and don’t forget how Saturday night is going to end.”
He grinned at her. “And how’s that?”
God, he was so charming, with just enough bad boy thrown in for good measure, which made him incredibly difficult to resist. But then again, she’d already decided that she was going to enjoy him, the flirting, the sex . . . whatever this was between them.
Leaning toward him, she placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, then whispered in his ear, “Saturday night will end any way you want it to,” she promised.
He pulled back slightly, so she couldn’t miss the carnal look in his eyes, the salacious expression flashing across his bold, masculine features. “There’s always sin number four, where you’re sitting astride my cock as I—”
She quickly covered his mouth and groaned, her body and senses already on overload and on the verge of spontaneously combusting from all his dirty talk. “You’re seriously killing me.”
He pulled her hand away, a smirk on his lips. “What I plan to do to you won’t kill you, but it might just make you scream with pleasure. In fact, that’s what I’ll be aiming for. Numerous times.”
Tara didn’t think she could be any more aroused, but Jesus, the man was lethal and every sexual fantasy she’d ever had. Saturday seemed like a lifetime away, but she was pretty damn sure that sinning with Jackson Stone was going to be worth the wait.
Chapter Six
Jackson walked into The Popped Cherry, the trendy bar in downtown Chicago where he’d promised to meet up with his good friend, Wes Sinclair, after work. It was nearly six thirty on a Friday night, and the place was already packed. As he made his way through the crowd, he glanced over at the bar as Tate Morrison, one of the owners of the place, glanced up from the bottle of vodka he’d just picked up.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Tate greeted him without breaking stride on the cocktail he was mixing.
“Good.” Jackson stopped next to a barstool where Tate’s significant other, Logan Mitchell, was sitting, and shook the other man’s hand. The dark-haired, good-looking guy was a lawyer at Mitchell and Madison in the city, and his half brother, Cole, had been counsel on Jackson’s divorce three years ago. They’d remained good friends since then.
Jackson casually leaned an arm on the counter next to Logan. “How are things at the office?”
“Busy.” Logan took a quick drink of his gin and tonic. “Which is always a good thing, so I’m not complaining.”
Jackson raised a brow. “Can’t be too busy if you can still find time to harass Tate at work.”
Behind the black-framed glasses Logan wore, his blue eyes gleamed with humor. “Being part owner of the joint, it’s my job to make sure I keep Tate in line.”