Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

That was before my brother got sick.

That was before him.

Stop it.

I clenched my fists and forced the memories away. I was about to go out on a real date, a very rare occasion for me. And dammit, I liked the way I felt. I wanted to hang on to the feeling. More than that, I deserved to hang on to it.

I busied myself with making coffee, then didn’t want to drink it for fear it would linger on my breath. When the quick, firm knock sounded promptly at ten-thirty, I just about sprinted to the door.

“Hey,” I said, breathless as I flung it open, and even more breathless when I saw him standing there, tall and lean, his dark hair windtossed just enough to give him a sexy, reckless vibe. When he stepped inside, his primal, raw scent enveloped me. Earth and wood and rain, blending together in a way that was uniquely Jackson.

“Don’t move,” he said as he stood just inside my apartment. “I want to look at you.”

“I like the dress,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said as his gaze raked over me with such intensity that I was certain he was seeing both the dress—and what was underneath.

“I like the lingerie, too,” I said boldly, and was rewarded by the heat in his eyes and the way his jaw tightened, as if he was fighting for control.

“Do you?” he said, and those two simple words seemed to hold a world of questions.

I lifted my chin slightly, and when I spoke, my voice was breathy. “Yes. Do you want me to show you?”

“Very much. But not until tonight. In the meantime, I’ll think about just how I’m going to reveal it.”

“Jackson—” There was no disguising the need in my voice.

He shook his head, his eyes full of passion and promise. “Tonight. Right now I’m taking you to lunch.”

I bit back the flurry of questions—where were we going, what were we eating, when would we be back—and forced myself to simply go with it. To let Jackson take the lead. Strangely, it wasn’t hard. Though I rarely slid out of the driver’s seat, with this man it just seemed natural. As if something inside me knew that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t push me too hard.

But whether that impression was accurate or simply wishful thinking, I really didn’t know.

Back in the Porsche, Jackson easily maneuvered the Saturday morning traffic. We ended up at Centennial Olympic Park. I’d only been in Atlanta for a few weeks, but I knew the park well. Reggie’s office was only a few blocks away down Marietta Street, and I’d come to the plaza during my lunch hour once or twice. It’s a big space, with grassy areas, a reflecting pool, and the famous Fountain of Rings.

“A picnic?” I asked as we got out of his car. “There’s no basket.”

I half-expected him to open the trunk and pull one out. Instead, he just took my hand. “Burgers,” he said, and I laughed. “Is that bad?”

I shook my head, still laughing. “I went out for burgers on my very first date. And I was feeling some of those first date nerves when I was waiting for you. I guess it just struck me as funny. What?” I added, noting the intense way he was looking at me.

“You just surprise me. There are things you’re holding back—no, don’t worry, I’m not going to press you—but then there are times when you’re disarmingly honest.”

“Not usually,” I admitted. I didn’t say that I felt comfortable with him. Too comfortable, perhaps.

I didn’t say it, but I was certain that he knew it.

“Should I point out that we’re in a park?” I asked brightly, hoping to signal a change of subject. “Unless you’re planning to grill, that’s not the traditional location for a burger and fries.”

“I thought you already realized that I’m not the traditional sort.”

I narrowed my eyes, but he didn’t explain further. Instead, he led me across the plaza, the Fountain of Rings shooting water high into the sky as children watched and ran and splashed in the jets. “Want to?” he said, eyeing the streams.

“Tempting,” I admitted. “But I like this dress too much. And I’m starving.”

“Then let’s get you fed.”

We turned, strolling the tree-lined plaza until we reached the grassy area and the Visitor’s Center—and the funky-looking hamburger stand.

“Googie Burger,” Jackson said, pointing to the angular building that reminded me of both the old Jetsons cartoon and Tomorrowland at the Disneyland Park in Anaheim. “Opened here not too long ago.”

“That’s really its name?” I asked, studying the walk-up hamburger stand and the tables that surrounded it.