Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel Read Online Free Page A

want to risk that face?”
    “With these guns, nobody would touch my face.”
    She starts jabbing at the air with both fists. There is mischief in her eyes, and I’m hyper-aware of how short the distance is between my body and hers. All it would take is one step, and I could easily thrust my hands right up that flimsy little skirt of hers.
    But considering we’re in a strip club parking lot in the middle of the night, it’s probably not the best first impression to make.
    Finally, she looks away and readjusts her knapsack. I can feel the moment slipping, but my brain is too many beats behind my body to catch up.
    “Is there any way I could convince you to get a post-fight meal with me?” I ask her. When her heated gaze lands back on mine, my entire body feels like it’s on fire. All I can think about is getting my hands all over this girl.
    “Uh, yeah,” she says slowly. “Sure.”
    I can’t help but chuckle at her obvious hesitation.
    “Look, gorgeous, I promise you I’m trustworthy, but if you’re uncomfortable, we can skip it.”
    I raise a brow in her direction and a small smile spreads over her lips.
    “No, I’m in. I’m starving.” She steps forward and looks up at me with those wide aqua eyes. God, this chick is phenomenal. I force myself to look away as I reach for my keys.
    “I’m parked out front. It’s just a block or so from here.”
    As we circle the building, I discover how tiny she really is: her head barely reaches the top of my shoulder. The realization makes me want to tuck her into my side, to figure out a way to shield her from the outside world. When we reach the front of the building, she stops and waits.
    “Here.” I step around her and pull the keys from my pocket. Headlights blink one row away.
    “Oh my god.” She runs through the cars and stops inches away from mine. “Are you for real?”
    In reply, I reach around her to unlatch the passenger door.
    “Seriously,” she squeals, diving headlong into the car. “I cannot believe this is your car!”
    Her enthusiasm charms me, particularly because I, too, am in fucking love with this car. Porsches represent everything I love about luxury cars: they’re curvy, but strong, smooth, but powerful, and just expensive enough to be coveted. The day I signed Halford’s project was the day I went to the dealership, traded in my SUV, and got this baby. Now, here she sits, gleaming softly under the glow of the streetlight, her clean, leathery, new-car smell gradually being replaced by the clean, floral scent of the most intoxicating girl I’ve ever met.
    “So,” I slide into the driver’s seat and slip the key into the ignition, before turning to gaze at Skylar. “Where are we headed, beautiful? What are you in the mood for?”

    * * *
    T wenty minutes later , we’re in the last place I ever would have expected to take a chick—a seedy part of town, pulled up alongside a curb that I am 99.99% sure is not a legal parking space. A paper bag sits between us, delicious smells wafting into the air. With a flourish, Skylar unfolds the top of the bag and picks out one tinfoil-wrapped parcel.
    “Here, try this one. It’s my favorite.”
    I unwrap the edges to find a jumble of breaded something-or-other mixed with purple strings of what I assume is cabbage, all smeared with tiny bits of indecipherable vegetables. Frankly, it looks like shit. But as unappetizing as it looks, it does smell divine.
    “And you’re sure you don’t want to grab a bite somewhere a little … nicer?” I ask.
    “Oh, live a little.” She opens the foil on another taco. “I eat here all the time. It’s one of the few decent places open at this hour.”
    With that, she takes a big, messy bite and grins at me with food bulging from her cheek.
    “See? Not dead yet.”
    I raise a brow, then take a huge bite. I chew slowly.
    “Holy shit.”
    My eyes pop open. The taco is a fusion of flavors: tangy and salty and spicy all at once. The crust on the cod is