Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel Read Free Page B

want to head over there and chat with Black Widow over there?” I nod toward the redhead who is now right side up and appears to be groping her own ass.
    “No no,” Halford shakes his head. “I see you got preferences. Like ‘em small and perky.”
    His peppery eyebrows dance with glee, and for the third time tonight, I must physically restrain myself from getting up and heading for the door. Instead, I reach for my wallet.
    “I was actually going to go get us another round.”
    I do not need a refill; in fact I haven’t taken more than a few sips of the whiskey I’m holding. But I push my still-full glass out of view and rise, asking, “You want anything?”
    “Sit down, Jackson.” Halford pushes me roughly back into my chair and stands. “Tonight’s on me. We’re gonna be partners, right? You designing my shopping plaza, me funding your hospital thing.”
    I force another congenial grin, another tip of my glass to his, but he’s not paying attention; his eyes have already wandered back toward the redhead.
    “At least let me pay for the drinks—a Guinness for me this time.” I press a twenty-dollar bill into his palm, but he pushes it away.
    “Keep your money, Jackson. Better yet, shove it down the panties of that little minx behind you.”
    He winks at me, then staggers away. I turn my attention back to the stage. Thank fuck the girl is still dancing—only now the tiny shorts are gone, and her skin is completely bare but for a thin strip of navy blue lace. She has one leg wrapped around the pole in a way that instantly has me imagining that leg wrapped around me, tight, smooth, clenched. Slowly, seductively she bends herself backward, revealing a pair of perfect, milk-white tits spilling up out of her bra-cups. Her white-blond hair brushes the floor, and I see that her eyes are closed, mouth pursed in thrilled concentration. I immediately want to touch that mouth, run my tongue over those lips.
    But then her face is gone, the muscles of her back rippling as she pulls herself upright and spins to the ground in a tangle of limbs and pole. Compared to the other girls in here, she is a nymph, a sprite, tiny and light on her feet, but holy shit, is she sexy.
    As if she can hear my thoughts, her eyes open. Blue-green, like the ocean, like sea glass. And then, all of sudden, she’s coming toward me on her hands and knees like a sleek pale panther. I want to move, to lean forward, to speak to her, but I’m locked into her sights. I can’t remember the last time I took a breath.
    When she reaches the edge of the stage, I discover that I still have that twenty-dollar bill clenched in my hand. It’s crumpled and damp with sweat from my palm, so I try to smooth it out, readying myself to reach for that bit of lace and—
    “You are so fucking beautiful.”
    The voice comes from my right, and when I turn, I see a man with his entire body bent over the stage, reaching for her. It happens in slow motion: his hands making contact with the soft flesh of the girl’s ass, her eyes widening.
    “Hey!” I yell, and lunge for the man’s collar, blood pounding at my temples. I’ll kill him. I’ll pound his face into— but suddenly, it’s too late. I haven’t even touched him, and he’s collapsed onto the floor in a heaving mess, blood spurting from his nose. Everything comes to a stop as all eyes turn toward the stage. The girl is upright now, her eyes as wide as saucers, rubbing her knuckles.
    The man on the floor opens his eyes and lifts his head.
    “What the fuck?”
    Everything roars back to life as the man leaps to his feet and charges at the stage. A cascade of red streams down the front of his shirt. He lunges. I lunge. Sensual base music fills the room. Oxygen rushes into my lungs.
    “That fucking bitch broke my nose!”

4
    Jackson
    M an . Well, wonders never fucking cease.
    I’m sitting outside Lace, on the curb, inspecting the damage. I barely remember what happened. All I know is the sight of that