Hold Me Until Midnight Page 2
Everything was just exactly as Clarissa had demanded it.
Everything except for one minor detail: Scarlett, her malleable soon-to-be stepdaughter, had dared to turn down the partner Clarissa had procured for her. The man she had assured Scarlett’s father—a week before she’d deigned to tell Scarlett her plans—would be the perfect match for his only daughter.
A bridesmaid without a suitable partner would upset Clarissa’s demand for pleasing symmetry. And clearly she hadn’t trusted Scarlett to come up with the necessary goods before the big day.
Surreptitiously, she looked over to where Jackson sat behind her immediate family. He caught her glance and gave that slow, sexy smile.
Whoa. Smolder alert. Heat prickled across her skin and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
In a formal suit and blindingly white shirt, he radiated a primitive aura of raw sex and dangerous, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. Exactly what she wanted. There was no way Clarissa’s slimy cousin would hit on her with Jackson by her side.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. The other bridesmaids, all from Clarissa’s side of the family, had begun checking him out as soon as they caught sight of him.
She bit back a smile.
He’s mine.
At least for the night.
Finally the formalities were over. A marquee had been set up by the river, and the early June weather was behaving perfectly for Clarissa. As the bridal party started to stroll toward the marquee, Clarissa’s younger sister, who was only a few years older than Scarlett, fluttered her hand in front of her face in a dramatic fashion.
“Who’s the guy in the seventh row? Ever seen him before? Hey, Scarlett, is he a long lost cousin or something?”
Before Scarlett could answer, another woman chimed in. “I don’t care who he is. Look out ladies, because tonight that man is mine.”
The hell he was. Scarlett had paid top dollar for Jackson’s time and she had no intention of sharing him with anyone. Especially not anyone related by blood to Clarissa.
For the rest of the night, as far as everyone was concerned, she and Jackson were a couple. It didn’t matter that she would never see him again. No one else knew that. Clarissa wouldn’t care who she was dating once the wedding was over. She’d only insisted on pairing up Scarlett with her cousin Edward Saunders so the wedding footage and photos were perfect and well balanced.
The deluded Edward didn’t get that she had no interest in him.
It would have been easier to go along with Clarissa’s wishes and let Edward have his moment of fantasy. For the sake of peace, and to save her father any unnecessary stress, she had almost caved. But that overheard phone call had been the last straw.
She was nobody’s bitch, least of all her new stepmother’s.
With what she hoped was a mysterious smile, she broke ranks with the other attendants and went over to Jackson. Behind her, she heard a collective gasp of disbelief from the bridesmaids. Scarlett Ashford never put a foot out of place in public, and she certainly didn’t get cozy with guys like Jackson.
“Hi, honey,” she said, in case any of the guests were listening. She leaned toward him, intending to give him a quick kiss before returning to the bridal party. But Jackson gave her a wicked grin, grabbed her hand, and pulled her onto his lap.
“You look good enough to eat, babe.” His low growl sent shivers racing over her bare arms and along the back of her neck.
She didn’t have to wonder if anyone was eavesdropping. Everyone appeared to be watching.
Scarlett avoided the media circus that so many of her relatives thrived on, preferring to live a quieter existence. But this little demonstration was necessary.
A giggle bubbled in her chest. At least she didn’t have to worry about being splashed across the gossip pages. The paparazzi had been banned from attending the wedding, and the security was watertight.
“So do you,” she whispered.
His thumb stroked the back of her hand. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“You smell wonderful.” His hot breath tickled her ear and she shifted on his lap.
Damn, that felt good.
“You smell pretty good yourself.” She traced her finger over his shoulder. “Scrub up well, don’t you?”
All she wanted to do was close her eyes and relish the feel of his rigid muscles as they enveloped her. Another couple of seconds wouldn’t matter.
She felt him smile against the soft skin below her ear. “I may be wearing a suit, but just so you know, I’ve still gone commando.”
…
Scarlett tensed and hastily pulled herself upright. Her pupils were huge, her lips parted, and for one crazy second he thought she was going to kiss him. She took a deep breath, and her glossy pink lips curved into the sexiest smile he’d ever seen.
“I should hope you are.” Her voice was low, with a hint of huskiness that arrowed straight to his dick.
He should have known Scarlett would come back with a comment that was guaranteed to turn up the heat.
Much as he wanted to continue this conversation—hell, it was more than conversation he wanted to continue with her—she’d hired him for the specific purpose of showing people she wasn’t available. Since she appeared to be in no immediate danger of harassment from any ex-lover, and a good portion of the guests now knew Scarlett was with him, he released her hand.
“I’ll see you back at the tent.” He couldn’t help grinning when she shook her head at him in mock despair before she turned and caught up with the others.
Her slinky green dress fell to just above her ankles and molded to her waist and ass as though she’d been poured into it. Her hair was a mass of curls piled on top of her head, threaded through with more of the flowers she had in her bouquet.
He imagined pulling out those flowers one by one, and then spearing his fingers through her hair until her blonde curls tumbled around her shoulders.
Why was he torturing himself? Scarlett Ashford was a client. And clients were off limits.
The tie was suffocating him. He tugged it loose and undid the top button of his shirt. He scanned the interior of the marquee for about the sixth time since the speeches had started.
This was Scarlett’s world. Moneyed and privileged. While he’d grown up on the back streets, literally fighting for survival.
As the final speaker sat down, and waiters appeared as if by magic, his gaze once again returned to Scarlett. She was at the top table along with the rest of the bridal party, and the guy next to her needed to back the fuck off. Scarlett was angled away from him but it didn’t appear to deter the little shit. As Jackson watched, the guy took Scarlett’s hand and pulled it beneath the table.
Fuck that. It might be innocent or he might be rubbing her hand along his dick. He pushed his chair back and made his way toward her. Heads turned and watched his progress. Obviously marching toward the top table wasn’t done at high society weddings but as far as he was concerned, neither was hitting on a woman when she wasn’t interested.
He reached the table and planted his hands on the pristine white cloth. Scarlett blinked up at him as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. He turned to the guy next to her. He looked about thirty, and he stared at Jackson as though he was shit on his shoe.
“Hey, babe,” Jackson drawled, returning his attention to Scarlett. “I’m missing you already. Thought I’d take you back with me.”
“Scarlett?” The guy turned to her. “Do you know this… person?”
Jackson watched Scarlett tug her hand free. “Of course I do, Edward.” She sounded breathless. “This is Jackson. My date.”
Jackson couldn’t stop himself. He leaned over the table so only she and the prick could hear. “My lover.”
He wasn’t sure if he was crossing the line. He didn’t care. She wanted someone who didn’t give a shit about causing offense. He was her man.
“Come on.” He took Scarlett’s hand. “You’re joining me at my table.”
Chapter Three
Scarlett clutched Jackson’s hand as he led her through the marquee, after practically dragging her from the top table. He hadn’t even asked her, just assumed she was fine with it.
Not that she exactly objected to his high-handed behavior and, if she was honest, she found it fun. Except for the fact that, again, she was the focus of attention.
“Was that your ex?”
In the four-inch heels Clarissa had insisted her bridesmaids wear, she stood five-foot-eight. Yet Jackson still towered over her like some kind of mythical warrior, sworn to protect her.
I really shouldn’t enjoy that visual so much. It was pretty barbaric.
“Edward isn’t my ex. He’s Clarissa’s cousin. She thought we would make a lovely couple.”
Was it her imagination or did Jackson’s jaw tighten in disapproval?
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll soon get the message you’re not available.”
Her good mood deflated. Jackson had simply been doing his job. The job she’d hired him for. How had she forgotten that, for even a few fleeting seconds?
“He knows I’m not available.” She tried to keep the acid from her voice but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “He just won’t take no for an answer.”
Jackson stopped by a table near the back of the marquee and pulled her tight against his side. He bent his head until his jaw grazed her cheek.
Oh God, yes. His stubble was even better than she’d imagined.
“I can have a chat with him if you want. Make him see the error of his ways.”
It took Scarlett a moment to realize his husky whisper masked a serious threat. Or was he joking? She frowned up into his face.
He wasn’t joking.
“Violence isn’t the answer.” She saw the result of that every time she went to work. “Edward’s a jerk, that’s all.”
“What makes you think I’d be violent with him?”
Although he didn’t raise his voice, she heard the tense undercurrent in his words, as though her remark had hit a nerve.
She hadn’t meant to offend him. She sighed and went onto her toes so she was closer to his ear.
“I’m sorry. I guess it’s because I often want to knee him in the nuts, so I assume everyone else wants to as well.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t sound mad, so why did she still have the feeling that she’d inadvertently crossed an invisible line?
“Hey.” Jackson caught the attention of a passing waiter. Not that it was hard, since most of the staff and half the guests at this end of the marquee apparently could not tear their scandalized gazes away from him. “Can you bring another chair and place setting?”
“Right away, sir.” The waiter darted off, clearly more in awe of Jackson than afraid of Clarissa’s fury at having her table settings disrupted. Still holding her around her waist, Jackson turned to the enthralled guests at his table.
“Mind shoving round so there’s room for Scarlett?” It was phrased as a question but everyone knew it wasn’t.
Once they were seated, Jackson draped his arm around her shoulder. He took his bodyguard duties seriously. She tried not to let that thought spoil the mood. Leaning against Jackson and feeling his fingers idly caress her naked shoulder more than made up for Edward’s attempted mauling during the photo shoot.
“How long have you two been seeing each other?” Zahara, who Scarlett knew was a big deal behind the scenes in the music industry, asked.
“A while,” Scarlett said.
“Long enough,” Jackson said at the same moment. The grin he shot her caused all sorts of warm fluttery sensations between her thighs.
“Haven’t seen you around before. Are you part of the Ashford empire?” Scarlett didn’t recognize the guy who spoke but she recognized his type—a sycophant, sniffing out potential new blood.
“No.” Jackson threaded his fingers through one of her torturously created curls before focusing his attention on the other man. “I run a dojo on Heyward Street.”
Scarlett managed to hide her surprise by picking up her wine glass and taking a sip. Heyward Street was maybe ten minutes away from the Graysons’ office, in an equally run down area of town.
She was grateful he didn’t tell the truth. That kind of gossip was great fodder for the tabloids.
The man grunted and sat back, obviously no longer interested in worming his way into Jackson’s good opinion, since he wasn’t in a position of power in the Ashford empire.
“Heyward Street?” Zahara tapped her sunburst-decorated fingernail against her matching lips. “Isn’t that area in the middle of a redevelopment?”
“That’s right.” Jackson’s fingers played along her nape. It was seriously distracting. “We’re behind the petition to keep the vultures out of the neighborhood.”
“Fascinating,” Zahara said.
“That’s one way of looking at it.” Jackson didn’t raise his voice, but tension radiated from him. It was obvious he was dead set against the redevelopment, and while she privately agreed with him, she didn’t want to get into a heated discussion about it right now.
If Zahara or any of the others persisted with this line of conversation, Jackson wouldn’t hesitate to share his opinion. His total lack of ass-kissing was, after all, part of the reason she’d hired him.
Except she’d only wanted him to pretend in front of Edward and any interfering members of her extended family, not associates and acquaintances of her father. She had the feeling Jackson wouldn’t care about her lines in the sand, even if she’d thought to share them with him.
The best plan of action was to get Jackson outside before he said anything else.
“I need some fresh air. Are you coming, honey?”
He turned toward her. The beginning of a smile quirked his lips and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes. He leaned in close, under pretext of helping her to her feet.
“After you, Scarlett.” His whisper might have been completely innocent but she doubted it, considering the way his eyes locked with hers and his thumb brushed over her hand. Her cheeks warmed and she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She didn’t dare glance at anyone at the table, in case someone had overheard him and possessed a mind as filthy as her own.
They escaped through the back exit. The dinner and speeches had gone on forever, and the sun was low in the sky, casting a magical twilight glow across the river. It was the perfect romantic spot. What a pity Jackson wasn’t really her date.
“Thanks, Jackson.” She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and curled her toes in the grass. Bliss. The damn things had been killing her all day.
“What for?” His smoky voice tugged her back to the present. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.
For an eternal moment she forgot why she had thanked him.
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. It didn’t do a lot to clear her head. “For your quick thinking back there, about running a dojo.”
“I do run a dojo.”
That hadn’t come up in the brief internet search she’d done on Graysons’.
“And you’re behind the petition to stop the redevelopment?” At least she’d heard of that, mainly because Edward was involved on the other side of the fence and had complained bitterly at the last family lunch that the ignorant masses—his words—stalling the planning permission were gaining traction.
“Sure am. Those kids need somewhere to go, besides the gutter.”
Did he know who Edward was? It would account for the look Jackson had shot him when he’d reached the top table. She’d imagined it was because he hadn’t liked the way Edward had been pawing her, but realistically how likely was that?
Edward was the last person she wanted to think about right now, let alone talk about with Jackson. She’d much rather talk about him.
“So you’re a philanthropist. Bit of a dark horse, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never been called a philanthropist before. But I’ll take it.”
He slid his fingers through hers and pulled her toward him. He’s only doing it for show. But it didn’t make any difference. A million tiny tremors raced along her arm.
“Why not?” His sinfully seductive voice wove through her senses and it took her a couple of seconds to realize that he hadn’t answered her question. That he obviously didn’t want to answer her question.
I don’t care. Except the truth was, she did. Crazy, since this wasn’t a real date.
You’re his client.
It was like a wet slap across her face.
She flattened her palm against his chest, just in case anyone caught sight of them.
Admit it. You just want to touch him.
Jackson clearly had no objection to them getting physical, so she might as well enjoy it while she could.
“I think my plan worked. If he thinks I’m going out with you, Edward won’t bother me any more.”
The lazy smile on Jackson’s face vanished. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell him to go screw himself.”
“I’ve done everything but.” When she realized she was stroking Jackson’s chest, she forced herself to stop. “He’s oblivious. Seriously, he belongs in the nineteenth century. As far as he’s concerned no woman is complete without a man in her life. And being without a man is definitely not something she’d choose to do willingly.”
“Then you should’ve kneed him in the nuts like you wanted to. Trust me, he’d get the message loud and clear.”
There was no way she’d ever resort to physical violence, but the grim expression on Jackson’s face, combined with the mental image of Edward clutching his valuables, was too funny, and she giggled. Jackson tugged her closer. It was dangerously intoxicating.