Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

It’s half past eight before Nick arrives. When the knock sounds against the door, I’m sitting on the down cushions of the couch, watching, but not really registering, the news. It’s an unusually cold winter here on the West Coast. Or so says the meteorologist. It might rain tomorrow. It will definitely be chilly. I rub my hands briskly over my arms to chase away the sudden prickle of goosebumps.

It’s strange to be set up in a hotel room by a man. Even when I fooled around with Chip back when I was a stupid teenager, this sort of thing didn’t happen. We’d make out in his car or he’d get a cheap hotel room in a part of town where he didn’t think he’d be recognized.

The room Nick reserved for me is nearly on the top floor, and it has two rooms. The bedroom is separated from the living room by a wall that has two doorways, one on either side. There aren’t any doors, so the half-wall provides only an illusion of privacy. But I’m not here to hide in the bedroom. I’m here to have sex with Nick. That’s why I flew three and a half hours. That’s also why my palms are sweaty and my knees are a tad wobbly by the time I twist the latch.

“Hey,” I say softly, as I open the door.

He gives me a tired smile. There are tight lines around his eyes, and a tenseness in his shoulders that he gets when he’s stressed out. One hand is braced on either side of the doorframe as if he’s not sure if he should come in. His own uncertainty actually works wonders on my self-confidence.

“Get in here.” I grab the middle of his crisp white shirt and drag him inside. “Did you have a team dinner?” I ask, as I push him onto the couch. He’s suited up, looking impossibly gorgeous in a dark blue, custom-tailored jacket and pants. His tie is nowhere to be found.

He settles in without argument, spreading his arms wide across the back of the couch. “I had an interview and figured I should dress up for it.”

“You look…unhappy. Did the interview go poorly?”

At first, I can see he wants to protest and deny that anything is bothering him, but I give him The Look. The one I pin on Cassidy when she’s naughty. He caves, just as Cassidy does; although, I think he gives in because he’s exhausted. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the edge of the couch. “I’ve had better. Any vodka in the minibar?”

I walk over and flip it open. “Choices are Absolut and Belvedere.”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

I twist off the top of one tiny bottle and pour it in a glass, topping it off with two ice cubes I fish out of my water glass with a fork.

“Bad day at work, honey?” I joke lightly, as I place the glass in his hand. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he drains the glass.

“I’ll take the second bottle,” he says.

“Coming right up.”

“I should apologize for making you fetch and carry for me, but I’m enjoying it too much,” he says, as I return to the minibar to mix up the last bottle of vodka. This time when I hand him the glass, he pulls me down onto his lap. “Thank you, baby.”

“I don’t mind.” I tuck my head against his shoulder and make circles with my finger across his broad chest. “Want to talk about it?”

“We should be naked by now,” he says, instead of answering my question. Or maybe that is the answer. “But instead, I’m drinking minibar liquor, and you’re wondering why the hell you flew all the way out here.”

“Talk to me, Nick. I’m your friend, right?”

He heaves a long sigh and then drops a kiss on my head before speaking. “Just bullshit. Reporters want to create drama to get those clicks, so they’re cooking up some story about me being a diva. It’ll blow over.” The ice cubes clink as he lifts the glass to his mouth.

Chip’s voice rings so clearly in my head, it’s as if he’s in the room with us. I’ll ruin him.

Every bone in Nick’s body is tense—from the tight grip he has on my hip to the stiffness in his frame. The man needs a little help to relax. I wriggle out of his lap.

His eyes flick open, giving me a sexy half-lidded look.

“Finish your drink,” I order. “Then I’m giving you a massage, and we’re going to watch a movie.”

“You’re not here for that,” he says flatly. The corners of his mouth turn down in a frown.

“I’m here until Sunday,” I remind him, as I reach down and slip off his shoes. I tuck his socks inside his shoes before starting on his shirt.