The instance to which Charlotte referred had occurred less than a week ago and caught me completely off guard. Jackson had pulled me into a dark room with absolutely no warning, away from everyone, covered my mouth with his and feverishly kissed me everywhere my skin was bare, giving me two orgasms with his fingers before Sienna and Dave had shown up calling my name.
We hadn’t talked about it after. He’d behaved like a gentleman the rest of the night, but he did leave early, explaining that he had to work on his typical Saturday off. I’d expected him to text me or call me and talk about it. But he didn’t bring it up during our text exchanges, and now I was left wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing.
“But, Charlotte, other than this past Friday, the only time he touches me is to either give the back of my hand a kiss or to hug me from behind—” and then he always places a lingering kiss on my neck that gets me hot but gives me no relief “—and I’ve been counting the hugs. He’s given me seven. Total. AND he only touches me if no one is around, which is basically never.”
“Rae, both y’all are still followed by photographers. Of course he’s not going to touch you in public. He’s trying to be respectful of the gossip you have to deal with too.” She seemed to reflect for a moment, then added, “And me, for that matter. I think he’s being careful about showing too much interest in public because he doesn’t want anyone in Green Valley to think the kiss at the ATM was real, because then folks might start feeling sorry for me.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” And that actually made me feel a little better.
“And if he found a way to give you two some privacy at the jam session last week, enough to get a few decent kisses in, then he might be feeling just the same as you—frustrated and wanting more.”
“That’s a good point.” I nodded, thinking back to our hot encounter on Friday. “But what about the boat? No one is with us on the boat. And whenever I invite him over here, he declines.”
“I have no idea why he hasn’t made a move on the boat. But, honey, you got a full house here. Dave on the couch, Miguel in the other room. You might not mind getting busy with your man with two bodyguards nearby, but Jackson is old-fashioned that way.”
I nodded, this all made sense, however— “Then why hasn’t he invited me over to his house?”
“Probably because Boone is there.” She twisted her lips to the side thoughtfully. “But you should ask him about the boat. Ask him why he won’t make a move on the boat.”
“Wait. Back up. Boone? Who is Boone?”
“Boone is that hot deputy that came here over a month ago asking if you had any complaints about Jackson. Remember? It was the day your little assistant rage quit. Or, you fired her. Anyway, Boone is Jackson’s roommate.”
I thought back. “What? Jackson has a roommate? Why didn’t I know this?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. Boone is kind of quiet. I imagine living with him is like living with a ghost. He moved into Jackson’s house over a year ago. I think he rents out his old place and runs a few other rental properties. He takes after his uncle Trevor that way, real good with money.”
I was having trouble following Charlotte’s train of thought since I remained focused on just one part of it. “I feel like the fact that Jackson has a roommate should’ve come up before now.”
“Have you and Jackson talked about all your roommates in LA?”
That had me pausing. “I guess, no. No we haven’t. But they’re not my roommates. They’re staff I pay to—”
“—live with you.” She nodded, wearing a small smile. “You and Jackson only get Wednesdays to be together privately. I don’t figure he wants to use the time to discuss Boone, just like I don’t figure you want to use the time to discuss the people who live with you.”
“That’s true.”
“So—” she sipped from her mug, eyeing me over the brim “—go ahead and ask Jackson today why he hasn’t made a move on the boat.”
I twisted my fingers. “I don’t want to ask him.”
“Pardon me?”
“I told him I would trust him to tell me what he wants—or ask for what he wants—and that I’d let him set the pace. I told him I would be patient.” I winced, bracing for her reaction.
“Well.” Charlotte shook her head, pity in her eyes. “That was a mistake.”
“I know that now!”
“I mean, yes. You should trust him to tell you what he wants, that part was good. But you should never—and I mean not ever—tell a man that you’re going to let him set the pace. Either they’re too fast or too slow. There’s no in between with men. Feast or famine.”
“What do I do?” I covered my face again. “I told him I would be patient, but ever since Friday—especially since Friday—I feel like I’m dying here. I want him so much. And he’s just . . . gah!”
Charlotte made a considering sound, and I felt the mattress lift as she stood. I peeked at her between my fingers and watched her pace the room, her expression thoughtful as she muttered, “We’ll just have to make him lose control somehow.” Her attention flickered over me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glanced down at my green capris and white UV filtering shirt. “Yes?”
“No.” She set her coffee cup down on my bedside table. “You got a—a—swimsuit? Better yet, a bikini?”
“Jackson said it’s not a good idea to go swimming in the lake when it’s this hot.”
“Who said anything about swimming? Just tell him you’re working on your tan.” She wagged her eyebrows. “You’re wearing a bikini, if you got one. And those cutoff shorts. Oh! And that white halter.” She opened the drawers of my dresser and started rummaging around. “What time will he be here?”
“In fifteen minutes.” I pulled off my capris, jumping into action. I wasn’t certain her plan would work, but what did I have to lose? Wearing a bikini didn’t seem unreasonable, wearing a bathing suit on a boat was perfectly normal behavior. And what was the worst that could happen? Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe—
“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time.”
I hesitated, my fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt. “Charlotte, is this dishonest? Or am I—I don’t know—playing games? I don’t want to play games with Jackson.”
“What? No! You’re putting on a bathing suit and hoping for a reaction. Show me a woman or a man who doesn’t dress a certain way hoping for a reaction from the person they like, and I’ll show you a naked gorilla. There is nothing wrong with wanting your guy to admire you. Even married people do this. Stop fretting and go put on this bikini.” She held up a black string bikini that still had tags attached.
I walked over and accepted it, not yet convinced. “I’ll need to put on more suntan lotion.”
“No! Don’t you dare. Make him put it on you,” she said, then she chuckled to herself. Evilly. “That should do it.”