To Catch A Player

“Yeah,” I snorted. “I’ve found myself in a few of those before I realized what was happening. It sneaks up on you.”

“I guess. I’m just worried about Ma. Now she’ll do even more for him, ignoring her own health in the process. If something happens to her…” He couldn’t even finish the thought, and I didn’t blame him. It was happening to me for the second time, and I knew there was only one thing to do about it.

I refilled our glasses. “Then you owe it to yourself to go check on her. Not him. Her.”

“Is that why you keep going to see Bette even though she can’t remember you? Because it helps?”

“Yes and no. I go because she deserves to have someone come visit her, someone who cares about what happens to her and how she’s feeling, and not just because they’re being paid to care. She took me in when she already had a house full of kids. Raised me. Loved me. This is the least I can do for her. No matter how much it hurts.” And it did hurt. It hurt like hell, and I buried my face in a big gulp of fresh tomato and spicy horseradish and vodka.

After a long, thoughtful pause, Jackson sighed. “You’re a good niece, Reese.”

“Thanks, Jackson. You’re a good friend.” I rested a hand on his shoulder and left it a little too long before I remembered that we were friends. Just friends.

I assumed.

He looked at me over his shoulder and placed a hand over mine, brow cocked in amusement. “Is that what I am, a friend?” He leaned back, looking up at me with a playful smile.

“Aren’t you my friend?”

“I am, but am I just your friend? Because I don’t sleep with my friends.”

I sucked in a breath at his words, at his spoken reminder of what had happened between us. And how much time had passed. “We haven’t slept together in a while.”

“I know.” Those two words came out low. Seductive. Then, before I could think of anything clever or flirtatious to say, his lips were on mine. Slow and sweet at first, like the man who’d hugged away my anxiety earlier. Then it grew hotter, like a raging fire of passion that exploded between us. Our positions made the kiss awkward until I tumbled on top of him, and we kissed for what felt like hours, his tongue dancing with mine in a slow waltz that slowly consumed me.

Then a hand slid up my shirt and found a nipple, hard and ready to play. I arched into him and moaned, sliding my fingers through his hair to hold him close. As close as I could get him.

“Reese,” he growled in my ear and rolled us on the hard porch until he was on top of me, rocking back and forth between my thighs. “I need you. Now.”

There was only one thing to say to that. “Yes.”

Jackson carried me inside where he slammed the door and pulled down the blinds, so it was just me and him inside the steamy kitchen, making it even hotter. “Reese,” he growled again, and when he kissed me this time he didn’t stop until I was breathless and begging for more. He didn’t stop until my toes curled. Until my heart was his.

Completely.Jackson“You sure you want to give all this to me?” I held up the oversized canvas bag that held several plastic containers filled with food, specifically last night’s leftovers. There was meatballs and sauce, brioche rolls, pesto, coleslaw and cake. Chocolate fudge cake. And it was all for me.

Reese nodded, looking sexy as hell with her sleep-rumpled hair falling all around her shoulders and down her back. The T-shirt she wore barely covered her ass, leaving miles of leg on display.

“You more than earned it, and if you eat it, then I won’t. Feel free to share with your coworkers, though.” Her lips twitched, because even Reese knew I was too enamored with her cooking to ever share.

I held the bag away from her with a frown. “Is that a requirement of accepting the food?”

She tossed her head back and laughed, in what was slowly becoming my favorite look on her. The laugh was throaty and deep—like a woman, not a girl.

“No,” she said. “If you don’t want to share, you don’t have to.”

When it came to Reese, I didn’t want to share a damn thing. Not what was happening between us, not the time we had together. I wanted her all to myself. All of the time.

“Good,” I told her and leaned in for a kiss, because those succulent pink lips had called to me all night long. Every sleepy smile pulled me in and challenged me to find a creative way to wake her up. To make that smile bigger. The way she nibbled her bottom lip when she was deep in thought or the throes of passion, I wanted a taste. “That’s almost as sweet as all this food.”