Flirting with Disaster (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 2)

But that would go over almost as well as She’s a lesbian, too, so Tom kept his mouth shut. Plus, girls’ night intimidation aside, he really should be the one listening in. Still...they were already talking about sex.

Then again, they were already talking about sex.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take it.”

“Good. I already made the rounds. No tracks anywhere. I’ll take a drive up the road to those summer cabins, just to scope it out, and let you know when I’m back so you don’t shoot me through a window.”

“I’ll do my best not to.” Tom squared his shoulders and faced Isabelle’s cabin. The curtains had been drawn at his insistence, but he could still see the shadows of the women as they moved around the room. One of them was dancing to the faint thump of the music, and he suspected it was Isabelle.

His initial impression of her had been of a guarded person. Reserved. But that had been so wrong. Distrustful of strangers, maybe, and of law enforcement definitely, but she wasn’t reserved. She was...free. Bold. And honest about everything except her past.

And judging by what she’d been saying when he walked in, she was also fond of penises. He really couldn’t overlook such an important aspect of her personality.

Tom was a guy who normally walked the straight and narrow, even if he had to fight his baser impulses to do it. He knew how important that was. Knew what the risks of giving in to a mistake were.

But what if giving in to the attraction meant that he could help Isabelle? What if he could get her to trust him? Still...baser impulses had a way of convincing people they were doing the right thing when they weren’t. He’d have to proceed with caution.

That in itself was problematic, because Isabelle didn’t seem to know much about caution. Look at the way she’d leaned into his kiss. The way she’d teased him. The way she’d dared him to do it again.

The woman was dangerous. Like a drug that could get into his veins and pull him deep under. A drug that smelled good and tasted even better.

Damn. He wanted it. Wanted her. Bad.

No. Tonight he needed to concentrate less on her cleavage and more on eavesdropping when her guard was down.

A good plan. But when he stepped inside the cabin again, Isabelle was slipping off the sweater that had kept her mostly hidden, and now it wasn’t only cleavage. It was her arms, pale and so much softer than his. Her shoulders, strong from so many hours holding a brush at delicate angles. And her neck, naked and bare with the way she’d pulled her hair up again.

That was another thing he liked about her: the careless way she twisted her hair off her neck, exposing her vulnerable spine to his gaze. He liked looking at the careful steps

of the bones as they descended to her back.

Tonight she wore a necklace that wound around before dipping all the way down to the rise of her breasts, resting just where he wanted to press his mouth.

Damn it.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching Veronica,” Jill said from his side.

“She seems fine,” he said without looking at her, but when Jill held a tray of little pastries out to him, he turned to face her before taking one. “She likes being out here in the woods,” he said. “Isabelle.”

“She’s comfortable with solitude.”

“Is that what it is?”

Jill studied him for a moment before walking away to set the pastries on the living room table. The other women pounced on the food, but Jill returned to his side. He fought the urge to shift under her direct gaze. “What do you think it is?” she finally asked.

“I think she doesn’t trust people.”

“True. But people aren’t very trustworthy, are they?”

He didn’t flinch at that, but he wanted to. “I’m the wrong guy to ask. I encounter a lot of bad people, so I’d definitely say no. But is there something more specific? Something I should know?”

Her surprise seemed genuine. “About Isabelle? You’d have to ask her.”

“You never have?”

Jill shook her head. “Life is hard. I’m a black gay woman who was born in the South a long time ago. I’ve been hurt by more people in my life than I’ve been helped. By people I loved. If I had to guess, I’d say the people Isabelle loved hurt her, too.”

Tom nodded and glanced toward the window, wanting to look away, but the curtains closed him off from distraction. “It’s always the people you love, isn’t it? Otherwise it wouldn’t hurt.”