More of that. But maybe a little lower too?
"Something quiet. It's been a busy few days," I said, trying to act nonchalant. "A quiet night in."
"On your own?"
I debated calling his bluff. "Maybe. I could be prepared to spend some time with just one other person, possibly."
He checked his watch. "What's Sophie doing tonight?"
Confusion rankled me. "Do you have plans?" I stood up, putting my now empty glass on the table. If he was playing with me I'd be putting Alice in charge of running the whole rebrand.
Jackson pulled his hair back into a bun with his hand and looked up at me, a naughty smirk on his face. "Yeah, I have a hot date but I think she might be busy."
I glared at him, pulling out what I thought was my best cross school teacher face.
"She said she wanted to spend a quiet night, but maybe not with me. And now she's angry and I don't know why..."
I took a step forward to get close enough to mess with his hair and he pulled me down into his lap, laughing hard then kissing me, not with quite the same depth or intensity as before but there was more sweetness and if there was anything left of me to melt it was in a rivulet running into the Thames. "You're such a..." I kiss him back, omitting the insult.
"Seriously, what do you want to do?" he said quietly, keeping on his lap.
"You've gone along with our plans all day, you tell me." His hand was on my waist, under my vest top, the other pulling slightly on the waist of my jeans. I was hoping I knew what he was going to say.
"My place? Take out? If you'd rather go somewhere quiet I know places, but it might be a nice night to sit on the patio and watch the boats."
"You live riverside?" I said. I knew he had money but places like that were expensive, seven-figure sort of prices.
He nods. "I'd like you to see my home. You can tell me how it'd look in a magazine, you know in one of those cheesy articles where you talk about how inspirational your life is and where your furniture is from, as long as it's not Ikea." His face was deadpan, totally serious and I started to giggle.
"You need to stop laughing," he said, and I realized he wasn't joking.
"Why? Oh." He pressed me closer to him and I felt his erection through his jeans.
"Bouncing around on my knee with that top on and my hands on your skin is not making the walk to my house a pain-free one."
I rested my head between his neck and shoulder, felt the sun on my back and wished I could freeze the moment forever. I nipped his neck, tasted his skin with my tongue and heard him take a sharp breath.
"Let me go home and freshen up, grab a bottle of wine," I said, forcing myself to move. "Text me your address."
Jackson shook his head. "Go home and grab what you need. Freshen up at mine." He swallowed, holding my eyes with his. "Bring a change for tomorrow. I'm having Sunday lunch with some of the siblings. Come with me."
It wasn't a question and I wasn't used to someoneinstructingme. In all the years I'd been with Richard he'd never given me a calm command, one that cleared a path and made a decision easy to take. With Richard, there was always a disagreement, or it was left entirely up to me, or there was a huge passive-aggressive fuss about something I'd decided that he thought wasn't right but didn't say at the time. Jackson's command at first made me want to argue, to fight against it, but then whatever genes I'd inherited from my grandmother kicked in. "Maybe," I said. "I'll pick some stuff up and change at yours then. I hope you've got a good shower."
"You can let me know if it meets your standards." Jackson stretched with a wince. Still hard. I lost trying to hide a smile and he raised his brows at me. "You won't be laughing later."
"You're incorrigible! Text me your address."
I walked off, leaving him laughing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chapter Eight
Vanessa
"Why's half your wardrobe scattered across the sofa?" I jumped as Sophie popped her head into my room. She'd been out with her ex-husband, who was also the financier behind her salons and was then heading to the opening of a new restaurant, so I hadn't expected to see her. And to have to explain.
I held out a playsuit. It was fairly demure; navy blue and button up with pockets, shorts that hit just below mid-thigh. "Do you think this is okay for a Sunday lunch?"
