“Just as long as we understand each other, Reverend.” Jackson leaned forward and turned away from where we hovered, offering his strong profile. He transferred the knife to the hand holding the apple and caught the phone in his free palm.
My lashes fluttered as he gave us his back, my mind telling me without being asked that the deputy had been working out. He seemed bigger, bulkier, his shoulders broader than five and a half years ago, the sleeves of his short-sleeve shirt not exactly tight at his biceps, but nowhere near baggy either. My attention moved to his butt and thighs just as my escort cleared her throat.
I stiffened, shifting my gaze to hers. She’d narrowed her eyes, seemed to be watching me speculatively, and embarrassment bloomed thorny and hot around my neck. The woman had caught me ogling Deputy James’s butt, and she didn’t seem to like it.
Is this his mother? They were both white, but she didn’t look like him—no clef in her chin, her eyes were the wrong color brown, her upper lip was bigger than the bottom whereas the opposite was true for Jackson. Plus, her forehead was small, her face was heart shaped instead of oval, and the silver in her hair was mixed with black, not blond.
Unless he’d been adopted, this was not his mother. Nevertheless, her stare reeked of disapproval. Fan or no, this woman did not like me ogling Deputy James.
I offered a small smile, which she didn’t return as she asked, “Why’d Sienna Diaz want to give Jackson a pie?”
I shrugged, shifting away from her sudden frigidity. “Oh, you know. Being neighborly.”
The intensity of her squint increased, and perspiration trickled down my back. I looked away and meant to arrange my features in a neutral expression while pretending to benignly study the big room. Except, in the next moment, I found that everyone in the big room—except Jackson, who was still on his call—was currently studying me.
Also, the room had grown remarkably quiet. Crap.
Aaaaaand now we have an audience.
Having an audience didn’t bother me once upon a time, back before I traveled everywhere with a human wall buffer; back before I lived in a heavily guarded mansion with a host of people I paid; back before I never left my house for any reason other than to go from the gated environment of my house to another gated environment of filming locations and sound stages. I’d grown accustomed to living separate, and I hadn’t felt or realized how much until right this moment.
“That’s right, sir. Uh-huh. . . Uh-huh. . . R-right. Glad to hear it.” Jackson leaned forward over his desk, and I didn’t look at his butt, his voice virtually the only sound in the big space. “Okay. Bye now.”
My heart thundered between my ears. I did my best to appear entirely at ease while I gave myself a hurried pep talk. If I could act like kissing Gardner Beatty in Starlight Surprise was an enjoyable experience, then I could act calm now. I could slip into a character far removed from myself and my current discomfort. I could pretend.
Pretending is my superpower.
“Deputy James.” My escort stepped forward and in front of me, his title and last name a sharp rasp, and basically blocked me from his view. “This woman is here to see you. I told her you were busy, but she said it would only take a minute or two. Do you have the time, or should I send her on her way?”
The older woman’s misrepresentation of events shaved away some of my unease, allowing me to focus on a spike of irritation rather than the twenty or so sets of eyes staring at me.
Before he could respond, I straightened my spine and stepped around her, prepared to say hi or some other sort of greeting. But then his eyes—those dark bedroom eyes I’d been fantasizing about for years—connected with mine.
It felt like being slammed into. Or doing a flat belly flop in a pool. Words failed me. Everything failed me. Oh no.
Rae, you are a mess. And this was a huge, huge, HUGE mistake.
Chapter 6
*Raquel*
“Being a sex symbol was rather like being a convict.”
Raquel Welch
Those sexy bedroom eyes of his widened with obvious surprise. He shot up from his office chair and backed up a step, like the sight of me was a shock. Unfortunately, I didn’t know him well enough to know whether the shock was a good one or a bad one.
Jackson breathed out, blinking rapidly. I sensed my escort look between us. I didn’t spare her a glance, but Jackson did. Whatever he saw on her face seemed to sober his. Drawing himself up to his full height, he returned his gaze to mine, dark eyes now shuttered, his expression neutral.
“Ma’am.” Jackson tipped his head toward me, not quite a smile on his lips. “How may I help you?”
I stared at him because . . . ma’am?
Ope! Did he just call me ma’am?
He wasn’t supposed to call me ma’am! He was either supposed to say “Raquel!” as though surprised, or “Raquel!” as though excited to see me. I would then say something friendly and witty and ask if I could have a moment of his time in private.
He wasn’t supposed to regain his composure so quickly, and he wasn’t supposed to call me ma’am like we didn’t know each other. And we weren’t supposed to have an audience or a grumpy-interloper-disapproving escort.
And now I forgot my lines completely. Dammit. What is my line?!
As we stood there, the room near silence, Jackson’s eyebrows ascended slowly while I merely stared at him, struggling to make the words and say the thing. His gaze seemed to grow less guarded and more hey-crazy-lady-are-you-okay? while he waited for me to do something other than look panicked and constipated.
Say something!
Tearing my eyes from his, I looked around without allowing myself to absorb the surroundings, gathered a deep breath, and opened my mouth because I absolutely had to speak, even if my words made no sense. That’s when I noticed the pie in my hand. Yes! Sienna was right, pie is the answer.
I would hand over the pie and then I would promptly leave because this was a bad idea. Clearly, it had been crazy of me to think I could just walk in here without drawing attention and proposition the guy I’d been fantasizing about for over five years. I didn’t proposition people, I didn’t know how. And if I’d known how at one point in my life, I’d completely forgotten now. I was completely out of my depth because I’d spent the last several years of my life exclusively in shallow waters.
“This is for you.” I held up the pie between us, trying not to cringe at the breathless quality to my voice. As soon as he took it, I would smile politely, wish him well, drive back to the carriage house, and hide under the covers for the rest of my days. That’s a good plan. Hiding under covers is approximately my maximum depth.
His gaze shifted from me to the pie and then back again, one side of his mouth curving up. “You’re not going to throw it at my face, are you?”
I breathed a surprised laugh and responded automatically, “I heard it was part of your beauty regimen, and I wanted to help.”
He unleashed a grin and a laugh, his eyes bright. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only him as my stomach did a trapeze routine, swooping up and down. It was disconcerting to realize my memory hadn’t overexaggerated how breath-stealingly attractive he was, especially when he smiled.