Free Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel by Eve Jagger

came over here to his house in the first place.
    Before he can move, I’ve already risen. I need to get away from him, immerse myself in something cold, shock my body out of this hazy state of desire. I move through the living room, then the dining room, and finally come to a glassed-in “porch.” It’s essentially another living room, only encased in floor-to-ceiling walls of glass. Outside, heavy iron lounge chairs line the glittering aquamarine pool—evenly spaced and immaculately clean. The beauty of this place makes my head swim.
    I approach one of the glass walls and follow it to the corner where I find the handle I was looking for. The “wall” is actually a sliding glass door.
    “Skylar, wait.”
    I don’t turn back. Instead, I pull the door open and step outside. The concrete is cold and rough beneath my feet, the air wrapping me in a thick chilly blanket. Not exactly swimming weather. But I don’t care.
    Without turning to see if he’s followed me, I undo the top buttons of my skirt, and shimmy it down over my ass. Without breaking stride, I step out of the skirt and continue right up to the pool’s edge. The night air is still, the water as smooth as glass.
    “Skylar!”
    I turn and look over my shoulder. Jackson is standing just outside the open door, backlit by the house. I could run to him, and we could talk, analyze what is happening. But I’d rather do this.
    “Bombs away!” I shout. And then I close my eyes and leap.
    The sting of the water slapping my skin is a shock, but as I sink down into it, the warmth seeps into me and the sting fades. Breathing out in a cascade of bubbles, I rise to the surface and shake droplets from my eyes.
    Jackson is standing at the pool’s edge, undoing all of those buttons he just so carefully fastened. His body is perfect, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, that V of muscle and pelvic bones pointing down, down, down. I smile.
    “Coming in after all?”
    He glances toward me. “I was thinking you might need supervision.”
    “I’m pretty sure I already have super vision. Because in spite of those boxer-briefs, I can see a very erect—”
    “Don’t make me come in there and get you.”
    I float on my back and kick water in his direction, splashing him in the shins.
    “Oh, now you’re getting it.” With that, he peels down his briefs and dives in after me. I kick more urgently, trying to swim out of reach, but he catches me by the ankles and yanks me under. I come up spluttering.
    “Some supervisor you are!” I say. After some good old fashioned splashing and chasing, we wind up at the corner by the steps, his arms wrapped around me.
    “See, isn’t this fun?” I ask as we both gaze out on the shimmering surface of the pool.
    “What do you mean ‘see’?”
    “You weren’t even going to get in the water!”
    “True.”
    “So see? Look what you would have missed.”
    “I was right though: it is chilly. You’re getting goose bumps.” He runs a hand up my arm, which indeed is bumpy with gooseflesh.
    “Oh stop!” I shrug off his arms and turn to face him. “What makes you so against having fun?”
    “I’m not against having fun.”
    “Oh yeah? What do you do for fun?”
    He looks thoughtful. “I hang out with my buddies. Drink beer. Talk about girls. Well, their girls, and my lack thereof. My best friend owns an underground fight ring so we spend a lot of nights at the fights. That’s really fun.”
    So he’s the only bachelor in his group of friends. Interesting.
    “Okay. What else? Do you guys party? Go on trips?”
    “We actually co-own a few clubs in Atlanta, so we manage those together.”
    I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds a lot like work.”
    “So?”
    “So work’s not fun. Work’s work.”
    “Work can be fun. I love what I do.”
    “Fine. So you hang out with your friends, or coworkers, or whoever they are. And . . . what. Is that it? That’s all you do for fun?”
    His silence stretches to the point of