‘Greg, if he had anything to do with it, it’s not about the girl, it’s about you.’
‘Jackson,’ Gregory interjects, ‘go and enjoy your weekend. You live here. How much harm can I really come to?’
Jackson nods in agreement then stands at attention, feigning a cough when he notices me.
‘Are you talking about my dad?’
Gregory turns from his stool, his stoic mask replaced with a rabbit-in-headlights expression.
‘Well?’
‘No.’
‘Bullshit! Tell me what you were talking about.’
‘Scarlett, Jackson was concerned by your reaction the other night, that’s all. It got him thinking about security.’
‘You mean the state of my dad’s room?’
Jackson steps from behind the breakfast bar. ‘You didn’t seem to think he could get to the stairs himself, Scarlett. If he couldn’t then someone?—’
‘Jackson!’ Gregory barks. ‘Enough. It’s ridiculous. You’re scaring her, for Christ’s sake. Unnecessarily. You’ve put two and two together as usual and come up with a fucking detective plot.’
Jackson shakes his head but backs down.
‘So I shouldn’t worry?’
Gregory rests one elbow on the counter and drops his hand to his thigh. ‘No. You shouldn’t worry.’ He pats his leg. Eyes wild, salacious. ‘Get here,’ he says in a way that makes me want to submit to his every demand.
My sore muscles react, bringing back memories of every luscious stroke and caress of last night. I force myself to remember that we’re not alone.
‘Morning,’ is all I can manage to say.
‘Good morning, Miss Heath,’ he returns with that enchanting part curl of his lips.
Jackson subtly exits, leaving the two of us alone in the kitchen.
‘I like this on you,’ he says, tugging each side of his shirt collar, pulling me between his legs.
He strokes his fingertips down my cheek. His touch delectable. His smooth, orange-flavoured lips press against mine and my body intuitively leans into his.
‘Mmm, I like your juice,’ I say, tracing the inside of his top lip with the tip of my tongue until he groans.
He flashes a boyish grin and gives me one final peck on the lips. He holds me between his thighs by the small of my back, my hands resting on his shoulders.
‘Gregory, is Jackson serious about my dad?’
‘No, baby. He has an overactive imagination. Years in the forces will do that to a man, apparently.’
He drops his head to the bare flesh of my chest and his hands roam to my arse cheeks.
‘I like when you call me baby.’
He pulls the lapel of his shirt to one side and digs his teeth into the round of my breast. ‘And I like calling you baby.’
This is weird. Yesterday, he was my client. Ex-client. Now, I’m happily pushing my female bits against his male bits and he’s sucking on my breast.
He slaps a palm against the bare globe of my arse and I squeal at the oddly erotic sting. ‘Now, what would you like for breakfast?’
