Aja bit the inside of her lip to make certain the tongue-lashing she was struggling to swallow wouldn’t escape into the air.
“Jackson, the women who work on my ranch are more than parolees. Yes, they made choices in the past that led them down an unfortunate road, but that doesn’t define who they are.”
“You sure about that?”
She gave him a terse look, wondering if the asshole he was displaying was for her benefit or if this was his natural disposition.
She was about to give him a piece of her mind when he took a sip from his coffee cup, leaving an errant drop on his bottom lip that he summarily collected with a single swipe of his long, pink tongue. The world somehow slowed down as she watched with envy.
She closed her eyes to retreat from one tempting image when her brain decided to conjure up the picture of him standing in front of his desk when she arrived.
He was tall with tight, low-cropped dark curls at the top of his head and a full, neatly trimmed beard whose lines looked as if someone had carved them into his face. She wondered if his beard would prickle to the touch, like sharp wire against delicate skin, or if it would tickle and entice, inviting someone to stroke it. Her fingers itched to find out. That beard was a statement, a promise a person was in for a rough ride and they would like it.
Her mind’s eye took the scenic journey down the length of him. Dark-brown eyes stared back at her. She’d swear she’d seen a spark of interest in them when she’d stepped inside this room. The deep brown skin on his face and neck and the loving way the fabric of his shirt and slacks outlined the solid build of his body made her blood run hot. He was beautiful and strong. A proud Black man who exuded confidence with each breath he drew.
“Ms. Everett?”
The use of her formal name cleared some of the haze clouding her brain. She focused on the voice; it was deep, but not as full as Jackson’s. She followed the sound until she was staring at Storm Cordero.
He was Latinx, slightly shorter than Jackson, but not by much. His build was broad and wide, his corded muscles filling out the plain white shirt he wore. With a head full of midnight curls and a smile that said he liked trouble more than he should, Aja could see how women could easily fall for a man like that. But other than good looks worth a passing acknowledgment, nothing about him spoke to her or pulled at her the way the dark, brooding vibes his boss was giving off from the other side of the table did.
Storm’s face, bright with amusement, and dark eyes shining with laughter said he knew she wasn’t paying attention. She was busted.
A quick glance around the table told her Colton and, thankfully, Jackson were engaged in eating and not looking directly at her. But Storm knew she was watching his boss like a starving woman watched a fine cut of steak.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat yourself, please?”
The side of Storm’s mouth tilted in a lopsided grin and he replied. “Sure. I asked how Ms. Daniels and Ms. Osborn were chosen for this program. Did you select them yourself, or was it a random lottery? What criteria were used to determine they’d be suitable candidates for this Pathways program you mentioned?”
Storm’s questions were still centered on Seneca and Brooklyn, but they didn’t sound as accusatory coming from him as they did Jackson.
“I volunteered at the state penitentiary shortly after I arrived in Fresh Springs. I instantly saw that all the women in that horrible place weren’t the monsters the world makes them out to be. I wanted to help. The Pathways program is a way for me to do that. Seneca and Brooklyn were two of the top candidates who fit the program’s requirements. They each were model prisoners. They’d both been granted recent paroles with two years or fewer left on their sentences. They also had to have a marketable skill they could use to assist with the restoration of the ranch.”
“What specific skills do they have?” The deep rumblings of Jackson’s voice made her feel both intrigued and anxious at the same time. She glared at him briefly before answering.
“Seneca is a former IT network director. She knows how to build computer networks, which is essential for a resort business. Everything from booking the cabins to payments to communication between the staff is all done digitally. If we don’t have a proper network set up, we can’t make money.
“Brooklyn is an architect. She’s responsible for renovating the existing cabin structures and creating designs for new buildings I want erected on the property. She’ll work closely with the construction crew I’ve hired to turn this dusty plot of land into something tourists will pay good money to stay at.”
Jackson pushed his now-empty plate away from him and picked up the pen and paper he’d rested beside it. “And you can afford to fund such a major project on a lawyer’s salary?” He hadn’t bothered to look in her direction. Instead, he gripped a pen between his fingers and kept his hand hovering over his notepad as he awaited her responses.
Prick.
That wasn’t the lone insult she could think to appropriately describe Jackson. From where Aja sat, he was rude, dismissive, and didn’t appear at all capable of thinking beyond the obvious. Why her uncle believed he would be an answer to Aja’s troubles was beyond her. But when he lifted his eyes from his all-important notepad and allowed the weight of his stare to pour over her, Aja was certain of one thing. Bending him to her will might not be as easy as she’d believed.
In the depths of his dark eyes she saw a flash of power that rivaled her own, and as she watched his eyes fall from her face and down the not-so-subtle line of her cleavage, Aja felt a wave of trepidation pulse through her. Wanting him she could handle. Him being unable to keep his eyes off her ample bosom wasn’t anything she couldn’t manage either. But seeing the way need blazed in his eyes every time he watched her gave Aja pause. Because that fire called to her in ways that would make it so easy for her to surrender to him.
Aja pulled her eyes away from his face, needing a moment to get herself together and get back to the plan at hand. She needed to be more strategic in her handling of the man sitting directly across the table from her. Otherwise she was figuratively and possibly literally screwed.
Chapter 4
“I’m not your average lawyer, Jackson.”
I’m pretty certain nothing about you is average.
Jackson bit the inside of his jaw to keep from speaking those words and tried to think of monotonous things—like office inventory requisition forms and doing payroll for his unit—to cool his blood.
He hazarded another glance at her and knew in that instant he’d lost the battle to keep his mind focused on this case. The table hid half of her, but her curves were still on full display in the V-neck of her fitted blouse and vest.
