Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel Read Online Free Page B

tender and the cabbage is crunchy. I take another bite.
    “This is amazing—I’m shocked.”
    “Right?” She swallows, and I resist the impulse to wipe a smear of sour cream from her upper lip. “You’re not quite getting the full experience, though. Usually I sit on the curb to eat.”
    She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes.
    “Although I could get used to these digs.”
    “So you’re a taco-eating . . . dancer?”
    I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this gorgeous, graceful woman, who is so full of contradictions and complexities, is also a stripper.
    But she’s unfazed by my comment. “I also have a dangerous right hook.”
    I wink at her. “And you accept rides from strange men.”
    “You’re not strange.”
    Her eyes are wide again, trained on me with an intense seriousness. My immediate impulse is to reach out and lock a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her lush mouth beneath mine. Instead, I force a laugh.
    “Of course I am. You’ve never met me before.”
    “You introduced yourself in the parking lot.”
    “Right, okay.”
    I swallow the last bite of my taco and reach back into the greasy bag.
    “What’s this?” I pull out something long and flat.
    “Who knows?” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Guess you’ll just have to unwrap it and find out.”
    I’d rather unwrap her: peel back the corner of her skirt and run my hands along those smooth thighs . . . Refocusing on the foil, I begin to peel it away. It’s a steak quesadilla.
    “My point is that you don’t know anything about me,” I continue. “I could be anyone. And not only did you get into my car without reservation, you just treated me to the best tacos I’ve ever eaten.”
    She shrugs.
    “What can I say? Your car looked trustworthy, and I won a bet. Had to treat someone, and Missy doesn’t get out for another two hours.”
    Her explanation is so simple and straightforward, I can’t help but laugh.
    “Plus, I know lots of things about you.”
    “Oh yeah?” I raise my eyebrows and take another bite.
    She nods. “You’re rich, but not too rich. And you didn’t grow up with money.”
    I cock a brow at her. “And why would you assume that?”
    “You drive a Porsche,” she says simply. “You’re rich enough to splurge, but you’re not such a he-man that you need everyone to know exactly how rich you are. Also, based on what happened in the club, you’ve never been in a fight in your life.”
    I cross my arms over my chest and smirk. “How do you know?”
    She cocks an eyebrow. “Who knocked that guy out, me or you?”
    “That’s just because you were too quick. I didn’t even have a chance.”
    She shrugs. “You’re lucky he was so drunk or you’d have lost some of those perfect teeth of yours.”
    I snort a laugh. “My sucker punch might be a little rusty, I admit. But watching you go all bad-ass was sort of worth it.”
    She smiles. “It didn’t make you self-conscious?”
    She casually takes another bite of taco, her lips curling into a smirk as she chews. I swallow hard. Seeing her like this: leaned back, legs spread across the car seat— my car seat—primes my body. It takes everything in me not to reach across the car, rip that taco out of her hand, and put my jealous mouth where it’s wanted to be all night long.
    When she notices me watching her, she licks orange grease from her fingers, one by one. The last one, her thumb, she sucks extra slowly.
    Holy fuck.
    “No,” I finally murmur. “It didn’t make me self-conscious.”
    It did make me hot as fuck, though.
    “You’re staring.”
    Her words are a soft, sexy observation and I force my eyes away from her, out the windshield into the hazy night. Even without looking at her, I can feel her closeness, can see her every curve in my mind’s eye.
    “I can’t help it if I like what I see,” I say, still staring out the slowly fogging glass.
    She makes a sound deep in her throat, almost like a growl.
    “You