Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Timing matters, and I’m not sure Marlow and I will ever be on the same page.
Cammie announcing two minutes drags me from my thoughts to see her leading Cade inside where the masses have gathered to celebrate together. Tealey and Rad are right behind them, but Rad stops to ask, “You coming, Jackson?”
“No.” I peer into the crowd, disappointment . . . reality, settling in when I don’t see the one person I was hoping was coming to meet me. “You guys go on.”
Couples move closer, arms around each other, and the music fades under the sound of the countdown.
As my friends disappear into the center of the revelers, I turn around, resting my forearms on the ledge again. It’s not so bad to have the city before you, the lights bright and the sound of horns below adding to the melody of the end of another year.
With the doors left ajar, I hear Morgenstern announce into a microphone, “Ten. . . nine. . .”
“Hope the invitation still stands.”
I turn back, surprised by that voice—the only one I wanted to hear. Marlow—that dress showing off those hourglass curves of hers, long hair freed from the clip holding it up earlier, and high heels that make her legs look a million miles long—with a tentative smile as if she didn’t know I’d be waiting for her.
“With me, the invitation is always open.”
“Thought you might have other plans by now.” She looks around, and I suspect it’s to make sure no other woman is out here before taking a few steps closer. As if she doesn’t know me at all . . . or maybe she knows me too well.
I’m not sure. Our arrangement hasn’t really been defined before.
She’s gone on other dates.
I have.
For some reason, we keep meeting in the middle.
“Eight . . . seven . . .” Morgenstern continues.
My heart starts to beat faster. Being alone with her always does that to me. “No plans.”
Coming even closer, she maintains a few feet between us. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d have plans with me.”
“Six . . . five . . .”
“I always have plans for you, but most are not appropriate to discuss in public.”
“Four . . . three . . .”
“Good,” she replies, raising her chin. “I have no interest in discussing it when we could be—”
“Two . . . one . . .”
I take her hand and pull her into my arms, our mouths crashing together under the sound of the city coming alive at midnight. Our lips caress and then open, our tongues eager to reacquaint themselves.
Kissing wasn’t always on the table with us, but tonight, our guard is lowered and our bodies are hungry for the connection. Marlow will blame the champagne. I’ll blame my weakness for the stunning beauty.
Either way, I cup her face and then look into her eyes. As she searches mine and curiosity overtakes her Bahama blues, I ask, “Want to go to my place and ring in the new year?”
She smiles coyly. “I thought we just rang it in.”
“No. We’re just getting started.”
2
Jackson St. James
New Year’s Eve traffic is a mood killer.
Reaching over, I take hold of Marlow’s hand and kiss it. Her body has never been off-limits for the gesture. Only the intimacy of her mouth. I don’t have issues with boundaries, but now that the flood gates have opened, damn, I want to kiss her again. Since we have some time to kill, we might as well dive right in. “We kissed back there.”
A flirtatious grin appears. “We did, and now I’m wondering why we weren’t doing it all along.”
“You’re reading my mind.”
Ironic. I’ve always found her quite difficult to read. She’s the queen of hearts with a million walls surrounding her like a fortress. Untouchable in so many ways, except when we’re alone . . . or maybe it’s only when she’s lonely.
She licks her lips, and I can’t stop staring at them. Remembering the delicate taste of champagne as it lingered, a hint of something sweet when our tongues touched for the first time, I drag my tongue over my lower lip in hopes of tasting her again. Fuck, I’m getting hard from the tease and start to wonder if kissing is even on the table or if New Year’s Eve is just a special occasion. “We’ve kissed before.”
“Not like that.”
“No, not like that.” Another car honks its horn at us. Our driver flips him off while grumbling up front about staying in his own lane.
I look around, making sure the situation won’t escalate, and then sit back when I see the other driver turn to take a different route.
“We have bad timing,” Marlow says, picking up where we left off.
Finding her eyes in the cab's darkness, I ask, “You and me?”
“No, the traffic. We should have left earlier to avoid it.”