Must Be Crazy: (Melissa and Jackson) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 2) Read Free

scooting that hot little ass around on her stool. “The proper way to drink a good Scotch is straight up with a splash of water. A Scottish mineral water like Highland Spring is preferable, but since we’re in Danny’s Tavern, a bit of tap water will have to do.”
    I gape at her while Danny pours us each a measure of the Glenlivet twenty-one-year-old, adding a splash of water. I eye my glass while she takes her first drink. This woman wants to tell me how to drink Scotch?
    Who the hell does she think she is? And why is this kind of turning me on?
    I take a sip, fully expecting to put my glass down and argue with her. It slips down my throat, smooth as anything. Huh. It is good. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
    She takes another drink and glances at me from the corner of her eye, a little smirk on her face.
    Oh, hell no. She is not getting away with that.
    I grab my glass and move down the bar to sit next to her. “Jackson Bennett,” I say, holding out a hand.
    She takes my hand and shakes it. Her grip is firm, but her hands are soft, almost delicate. What a contradiction she is, all curves and edges.
    “Melissa Simon,” she says. “Thanks for the drink, Jackson.”
    “The pleasure is all mine, Melissa,” I say. The pleasure could be yours, if this goes well.
    “So what brings you to Jetty Beach?” Melissa asks. “Since I know you aren’t a local.”
    “Business,” I say.
    “That’s a very nonspecific answer,” she says. “What sort of business?”
    Wait, does she not know who I am? “Development, investments. I have my hands in a lot of different things,” I say. “I’m working on a deal down here, and it could be the first of several.”
    “Sounds fascinating,” she says.
    “And what is it you do, Melissa Simon?”
    “I’m a teacher,” she says. “Fifth grade.”
    This just keeps getting better. She’s a schoolteacher? Hot for teacher, indeed. My dick stirs in my pants. “Do you teach in town?”
    “Yep,” she says. “Born and raised here. What about you? Where are you from?”
    “I grew up in Chicago, but now Seattle. I live on Queen Anne.”
    She smiles, but doesn’t look particularly impressed. She’d be impressed if she saw the view. I try a new angle. “So, how do you know so much about Scotch?”
    A new smile crosses her face. There’s depth behind that smile. “My daddy. His little girl was not going to grow up to drink Scotch on the rocks. He fucking raised me right.”
    “What does your daddy do for a living?”
    “He’s a commercial fisherman,” she says.
    “I guess that’s why you drink Scotch straight up and have a mouth like a sailor,” I say, imagining that dirty little mouth wrapped around my cock.
    “Mouth like a fisherman,” she says. “Sorry about that. My ability to censor myself is eaten up during the school year.” She holds up her drink. “And drinking brings out the worst in me.”
    “No need to apologize,” I say. “What kind of fish?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “What kind of fish does your daddy catch? When he’s being a commercial fisherman.”
    People wonder why I’m successful, but it’s pretty simple. A lot of it comes down to being able to read people. Melissa’s eyes light up when she talks about her dad. It will work in my favor to ask personal questions she feels good about answering.
    “Crab in the winter, longlining for black cod and halibut in the summer. He goes salmon fishing when they’re in season, mostly just to fill our freezers though. And he smokes it. Oh my god, his smoked fish is to die for.”
    “Is it? I can’t say I’m a fan,” I say. I’m lying. I love smoked salmon. But I want to see what she’ll say.
    She arches her eyebrow at me. “Oh, captain, you have a lot to learn.”
    “Maybe you’ll have to teach me.”
    She laughs a little, but I can tell I’m getting to her. I keep my eyes on her, not bothering to hide that I’m staring.
    “What?” she asks.
    “I was just wondering how I got so