Mrs. Reeves arches her eyebrows at the intrusion.
“Sorry to butt in, Sherry; it’s business!” Jackson bats his lashes at her, takes her hand, squeezes it.
She crumples under the attention. “Oh, no bother! I will catch thisdarlingman later.” She winks at Ethan. Honest to God,everyoneis under his spell.
They step a few feet away from the crowd.
“What’s up?” Ethan asks nonchalantly. Coolly, even.
Jackson’s chest tightens. “Well, first, heeey,” he says, going for the flirt.
This seems to snap Ethan back to reality, back to the fact that just one week ago, they were going at it on his dock. “Heeey. Sorry we haven’t had the chance to hang out more tonight. It’s just—” He lifts his hands, gestures to the crowd gesticulating on the makeshift dance floor. “It’s beensogreat. Made lots of connections. I think even the Andersens are actually gonna have me—”
“Yeah, about that,” Jackson says, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk. In private.”
They walk alongside each other, Jackson steering him away from the crowd, toward the woods. He’s leading him to the far side of the property, to the very back—opposite the rear of the house—where a rust-colored creek meanders. Far away from the front, where the valets are gathered, far away from the spot where Nellie staggered out, tear-soaked, and far away from the back, where the babble of the party is starting to fade in Jackson’s ears, the deeper they make it into the woods.
All around them, a choir of bullfrogs croaks, their throaty song encircling until it feels like they’re in hell and gone from civilization.
“This far enough?” Ethan pants, winded.
“Yes.”
Before he drops the bomb, Jackson would like a kiss. He leans in, slips his hand through Ethan’s. Tugs him toward him, his mouth on Ethan’s in an instant.
Ethan kisses him back, but it’s without the same fervor of the other night. His lips are almost still, his tongue timid.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks.
“Nothing, just—I don’t want us to get caught, okay? Like, I’ve metsomany people here tonight, and well, we both know—”
Ethan’s preoccupation with making connections is starting to gross Jackson out. But he wants to play it smooth.
“No, I get it. You’re right, sorry,” he says, tongue stumbling in his mouth.
“I mean, we can certainly get together soon, though, like…” Ethan brushes Jackson’s lips with his thumb, sending lust surging through his bloodstream. “Like we did the other night. Out at my place—”
“Yeah,” Jackson says breathily. “I’d like that. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Whaddya mean?” Ethan asks, his breath on Jackson’s neck, a hungry thing.
“Well, the other day, when I was out at your place with Charleigh, and you said you wanted to see me again, and soon, so I tried calling. But got your wife. And—” He’s not sure now if he wants to continue.
“And what?”
“Well, later that night, I came on out. Thought I might catch you at the pond. Saw your truck, but—”
“But what?”
“Well, I hiked up to the pond. And at first, I thought I’d walked up on you and your wife, well, y-you know—” Jackson stammers, his words on the spin cycle now. “I sawher, on top of someone. On the dock. I thought, at first, like I said, that it was you, but—”
Ethan winces, his delectable features darkening.
He knows damn well he wasn’t on the dock having sex with his wife, is obviously waiting for the gut punch.
“And I walked a little closer, and that’s when I saw it wasn’t you.”
Ethan drags a hand through his silken hair, clutches at the ends. “What the hell are you saying, man?” His tone is as angry as a startled red hornet.
