"Who with?"
I twist my mouth.
"Jackson? Is it a client thing?" Realisation brightens her face. "You're staying over there tonight and going for lunch from his tomorrow. You dirty girl. Go you!"
"So is this suitable?" I was anxious to get over to Jackson's as soon as possible. Some calm away from Sophie's apartment – while I appreciated her having me stay immensely – would be lovely, as would spending time with him.
"Who else will be there?"
"Probably some of his brothers and sisters. I've met nearly all of them so nothing formal." The playsuit is winning in my head.
"Go for it. It shows off your legs which should not be hidden and emphasizes your cleavage." She nodded approvingly. "Don't try to be too modest. I'll leave you to it. I need to freshen up before we head over to Olivetti's." And with that, she was gone.
Jackson's home was a terrace in Rotherhithe Village, set over five floors and looking out over the Thames. It was close enough to walk to, especially on such a beautiful evening with the sun's rays hitting the water of the river. I tried not to be surprised by the house, having a rough idea how much real estate cost in the area, let alone a place like this. I rang the bell, backpack over my shoulder and small overnight bag in case I did decide to stay. That was why I didn't argue with him: I wanted to stay overnight, I wanted him in me and I wanted to know what I sounded like when he made me come, hopefully more than once and I didn't especially want to do a walk of shame the following day. It was seven years since I'd slept with anyone but Richard the dick and nine years since my last one-night stand. I was beyond waddling the walk of shame and not wearing overnight moisturizer. If I slept with Jackson then it was because I'd decided to, rather than gotten drunk and thought it was a good idea.
He answered wearing sweatpants and a vest, automatically stretching out his hands to take my bags. I passed them to him and smiled; I considered myself a feminist but not letting someone else carry my bags a few feet just to prove I could do it always seemed a bit like I was losing out. Clearly, I could manage my bags, just like I could also do all my own ironing. Didn't mean I was going to. "I'm thinking you've planned to possibly stay."
"It's good to have the choice," I said. "I assume you have a spare room."
"I've got three. Let's put these down and I'll give you a tour, then we can get comfortable. Do you like Thai?" I was surprised he didn't rise at my teasing, which made me think as much as he might create an easier pathway to a choice, the decision would always be mine.
"I eat most things," I said. "Thai would be good though." I followed him into a reception area, straight upstairs to an open plan kitchen and living area. Light streamed in from floor to ceiling windows, giving views over the Thames towards Tower Bridge. "This is amazing." There wasn't much more to say that could do it justice.
"I like it," he said. "The light never gets boring and it doesn't feel like London living here – except for the Thames."
The next set of stairs took us to the master bedroom, where he left my bags, and a large shower room. "This is the best shower to use," he said. "There's another bedroom and bathroom on the next floor, two more beds, and baths on the third and a roof terrace on the fourth. I'll see you there when you're ready." He leaned over and kissed my cheek and for a moment I wanted to simply grab him and pull him onto the huge bed nearby, forgetting roof terraces and Thai food. Then he stepped away and gave me a look that smoldered my bones.
Five minutes later I was in Jackson's shower, making his bathroom smell of limes and coconut. The shower pulsed down on me, hard enough to almost massage my skin that was sun-kissed after spending the latter part of the afternoon outside.
Music poured through what I guessed were integrated speakers as I towel dried my hair, moisturized and applied light make-up. I wore a blue lace underwear set; although I'd gone for casual and comfortable with the harem trousers and an oversize three quarter sleeved t-shirt that clung to the right places. If it was cold on the roof terrace than Jackson would have his own personal temperature gauge: my nipples. I didn't think he'd complain.
He was lounging on an outdoor sofa, prodding a fire pit in the center of the terrace. His hair was tied back into a messy bun and he had two empty glasses on the table, an ice bucket with a bottle in next to him.
"Shit," I said, covering my mouth. "I meant to bring wine."
"I'm glad you didn't," he moved his legs and gestured sitting next to him. "My dad and step-mum are touring Niagara, planning to buy a winery. They sent a dozen bottles from different vineyards to try, so we're working through those. They want suggestions by a week on Monday else we're disinherited, apparently." He took out the bottle and began to uncork it.
I laughed, accepting a glass. "This is something else, Jackson, the view is spectacular, especially on such a clear evening. And your house is huge. What made you buy it?"
"The view is spectacular and the house is huge." We both laughed. "No, an acquaintance of my dad's bought it off plan then decided to move to Japan. He wanted to sell quickly to free up some cash and I was looking to move out of my apartment. This place appealed to me. Its location, the design – and it's plenty big enough for a family with good schools nearby should that ever be in my future."
I made the mistake at that point of making eye contact with him and felt the lower half of my body pop into some form of female goo. With Richard I'd never considered children, they hadn't even factored into a conversation. It was all business, driven by me while Richard played golf in order to mix with potential clients. I'd known Jackson personally for three days – not even that – and he'd taken me closer to my something I hadn't labeled than Richard had in six years.
"Good reasons," I said, remaining rational and not lying prostrate on the sofa demanding that he impregnate me with his sperm. "Although I suspect you don't spend much time here."
I tried the wine; it had a certain zest to it that bode well for me drinking the rest of the bottle.
"I moved in here around the time Dad took a huge step back from the firm. It's always been my ambition to run it and drive it forward, developing it in a way my dad never did. He was really similar to Maxwell, obsessed with the law, rather than business and, yes, they're both smart people and can make the right appointments and take on the right clients, neither of them had the interest to drive the firm to where it could be." His passion for what he did radiated from every pore and at that moment I got the connection we had; push. We both pushed – at work, in the gym, with friends and family.
I stretched my legs out towards him, causing him to lift them onto his lap. "You enjoy it though?"
"More than anything. And it freed Max up to pursue his specialism, which made me happy." I sat myself up enough to press my lips to his shoulder and he used his arm to pull me closer.
"You're a good man, Jackson Callaghan."
"Most of the time."
We finished the bottle and then Jackson broke the news that while I was getting ready he'd made Pad Thai, grabbing the ingredients on the way home. We ate in the large kitchen, envy shaking both of my shoulders at the space to prepare food and the logical design of where appliances were kept. I liked cooking, enjoyed fusing flavors and melding textures and I missed having someone to cook for. Jackson's kitchen was a cooking mecca, more so than Sophie's and full of natural light that made the space seem both larger and homely.
