Say My Name (11 page)

“Tempting,” I admitted. “But I like this dress too much. And I’m starving.”

“Then let’s get you fed.”

We turned, strolling the tree-lined plaza until we reached the grassy area and the Visitor’s Center—and the funky-looking hamburger stand.

“Googie Burger,” Jackson said, pointing to the angular building that reminded me of both the old Jetsons cartoon and Tomorrowland at the Disneyland Park in Anaheim. “Opened here not too long ago.”

“That’s really its name?” I asked, studying the walk-up hamburger stand and the tables that surrounded it.

Jackson eased us into the line. “Yup. Do you know why?”

I cocked my head. “Is this a pop quiz?”

He laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

“I can hardly have grown up in Los Angeles, love architecture, and not know about Googie,” I said. “It’s like a subset of futuristic design. Very Atomic Age. Starbursts and roofs that slope up. And lots of boomerang shapes. The building at LAX, the iconic Las Vegas diamond-shaped sign, about a zillion car washes. It’s all over the place. Do I pass?”

“Flying colors.”

“But the really important question is, how are the burgers?”

“As excellent as the building,” he assured me. And he was right. Soft buns, perfectly cooked meat, crisp lettuce and tomatoes, and French fries to positively die for. We chatted while we ate, talking about everything and nothing, and when I reached over to wipe a bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth, I was struck hard by the realization that though I barely knew him, being with him was so easy that it felt as though we’d been together forever.

That perceived familiarity didn’t lessen the heat, though, and when he caught my finger and drew it into his mouth, I gasped aloud, as much in surprise as from the sudden explosion of sparks that originated at my fingertip and then pooled, wild and needy, between my thighs.

He kept his eyes on mine, then so slowly I thought I might just melt, he teased my finger with his tongue before dragging his teeth gently over my skin as he released me. “Tonight,” he said. “I’m going to taste the rest of you tonight.”

My lips parted as if to respond, but I couldn’t manage words.

He smiled, a little smug and very sexy. Then he stood and held out his hand to me. I took it willingly.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought I’d show you some of my favorite places. You said you grew up in LA, right? How long have you been in Atlanta?”

“Not long. I came right after I graduated in August. I met my boss out there—he was brokering a deal for Damien Stark, so I knew that Reggie was legit. Reggie Gale,” I added. “He needed an assistant, I wanted real estate development experience, and so it just worked out.”

“Stark,” Jackson said, his voice flat.

“You’ve heard of him, right? Retired from the tennis circuit not long ago, and he’s exploded onto the business scene. He made a huge profit with some real estate investments before he retired, and he parlayed that into a tech company and a whole bunch of other ventures.”

“I’ve heard of him. I’m not entirely sure what to think of him. Or of his success.”

“Really?” I shrugged. From what I’d seen Stark was damn talented. “I actually applied for an assistant job with him, but when Reggie offered me this position, I took it. Closer to real estate.”

“And Gale brought you to Atlanta.”

“So it’s only been a few weeks. And everything’s been so busy with the Brighton Consortium project that I haven’t had much time to get to know the city. So, yeah,” I said. “This is perfect.”

I didn’t mention that it was especially perfect since I knew that my time in Atlanta might be short. Once Reggie had fired me, I’d sent an email to the HR department at Stark International asking them to please consider my application if the assistant position hadn’t already been filled. Even if I didn’t get that job, I knew I’d probably end up back in LA. I had friends there and connections. And at the end of the day, it was all about finding a job.

Right then, though, I didn’t want to angst about my job prospects. Instead, I simply wanted to enjoy the time with Jackson.

It ended up being an even more wonderful day than I imagined, with Jackson taking me around the city, showing me his favorite buildings, and telling me why he liked them.

We started by having a post-lunch drink at the Marriott Marquis with its alien-looking atrium that rose up to dizzying heights. We hit the Georgia Aquarium next, which had that same futuristic Googie quality. We entered, then went to the largest tank and sat in the dark. I couldn’t say what creatures lived inside that massive habitat. All I knew in that moment was Jackson. His heat, his scent, his presence. I could barely think, much less focus, and when he brushed his lips against my temple, even that sweetly innocent touch was enough to have me writhing with need and anticipation.

From under the water at the aquarium, he took me underground to a subway station. “This one is my favorite.” Jackson spread his arms out to encompass the Peachtree Marta station one hundred and twenty feet below the ground. The ceiling and floor were finished, but the sides of the tunnel were rough, blasted rock.

“This is where men shaped the world the way they saw fit,” Jackson said, his words echoing my earlier ones. “Seemingly simple, but now thousands of people can move through bedrock, and the design—with the exposed rocks—drives that home.”

He ended our tour at the sleekly stunning High Museum of Art with its original design by a Pritzker-winning architect and subsequent enhancement by an Italian architectural maestro. We wandered its galleries, exploring it thoroughly, but spending most of our time checking out the current Cézanne exhibit and studying the prints in the permanent photographic exhibit. Our Day of Architecture finally ended at Table 1280, the fresh-to-table restaurant inside the museum.

“There’s more,” Jackson said, as he lifted a strawberry to my mouth. “But the more time I spend with you, the less interested I am in architecture, and the more interested I am in getting you naked.”

I almost choked on the berry. “Not very subtle, are you?”

“I know what I want,” he said. “I know it, and I go after it. I told you that last night. And, Sylvia, I thought we were clear that I wanted you.”

“What you want? Sounds a bit one-sided.”

“It’s not,” he assured me. “I know what you want, too.” The way he smiled reminded me a bit of the wolf with Red Riding Hood.
The better to eat you with, my dear.
“Don’t I?”

Oh, dear god, yes.

I ignored the wild pounding of my heart as I pushed my plate away, the slice of cheesecake uneaten. I didn’t understand the intensity of my reaction to this man. All I knew was that Jackson shifted something inside me. And so help me, I liked the way that felt.

The short walk to his car seemed unbearably long, and the drive was almost painful. The thrum of the engine drove through me, and every time he shifted gears, I felt the shift in power between my legs. My nipples were hard and painfully sensitive as they rubbed the lace of my bra with each movement.

I was on edge and frenzied and just a bit out of control. I wasn’t a woman who swooned around a man. Just the opposite, in fact. Usually I clenched up or went cold if a man came after me with as much intensity as Jackson had. Granted, he wasn’t demanding or forcing or giving ultimatums. Hell, he’d even pulled back that very first time when he’d ordered me to take a walk with him.

But that didn’t change the fact that his entire persona was control and power. Exactly the kind of thing that usually made me edgy and off center.

So why wasn’t I feeling that way now?

Then again, right then, I really was on edge. But a different kind. A better kind. My skin tingling, my sex throbbing. My entire body was primed in anticipation of his touch. A touch that I wanted. Maybe even needed.

“Go ahead,” Jackson said, his voice soft but with a subtle hint of authority.

I turned to look at him, not understanding.

“Touch yourself.”

This time, there was no denying the command. Nor was there any denying my body’s immediate and visceral response. The instant firing of my blood. The sudden ache between my thighs. The tightness in my breasts.

I swallowed and forced myself not to clench my hands at my sides as panic began to bubble up inside me, all the more unwelcome because I’d thought with Jackson I was past it. “I don’t think so.”

My words were firm, and I was proud of myself for hiding my anxiety.

“You want to,” he said simply.

“No, I—”

“Don’t discount your desires, Sylvia. Do you think I can’t feel it, too, the heat you’re generating? Do you really believe that I don’t know damn well that if I slid my finger inside your panties I’d find you hot and wet for me?”

I pressed my lips together, both aroused and frustrated that he could so easily see what should have been hidden.

“I thought of you last night,” he continued. “I sat in my living room with a glass of bourbon and I thought of you.”

I shifted a little so that I was looking straight at him, but I said nothing.

“I imagined you in your apartment, in your bed. I imagined you naked, Sylvia. Your legs spread, one hand on your breast, the other sliding down until your fingers found your clit, so hot. So sensitive. Did you tease yourself, baby? Did you play with your clit, then slide your fingers down? Were you hot and wet and tight? Did you fuck yourself last night, Sylvia? Did you thrust your fingers deep inside? Did you imagine it was my cock inside you? Tell me, baby. I want to know.”

“Yes,” I murmured, both because it was true and because I wanted him to know.

“Then do it now. Why deny yourself a pleasure you so clearly want?”

“I—Jackson, no.” I dragged my teeth over my lower lip. I expected a flood of horrible memories and clenching anxiety so intense that I’d end up closing myself off and letting the world turn gray just so I could find a space inside myself where I could breathe.

Except the flood didn’t come. On the contrary, little by little the panic faded, subsumed by the power of my desire.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Nothing more. Just close your eyes.”

Since that was easy, I did.

“You’re beautiful.” He reached over and stroked my cheek, then ran his fingers through my short-cropped hair. “So goddamn beautiful. And even more so with the sun on your skin. Can you feel it, low in the sky, bursting through that window? Touching your skin? Firing your senses? Making you soft and warm and languid?”

“Yes.” My voice came out a whisper, and I hadn’t even noticed how relaxed I’d become in the few short moments when his words washed over me, seducing me with as much precision and technique as the hands I knew would certainly follow.

“Put your hands on your knees, Sylvia.”

I did, then drew in a calming breath. My skin felt too tight and my body too hot. I had no word to describe the way I felt other than
need.

And what I needed was Jackson.

“Unbutton your dress, Sylvia,” he demanded. “But don’t open your eyes.”

I swallowed, then reached down and found the last button. It slid easily through the hole. The next was about four inches higher, and I unbuttoned it as well. Then higher and higher until I reached my crotch.

“Jacks—”

“No.” His fingertip pressed softly on my lips. “You don’t talk. You don’t think. You only do and feel. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded.

“Now finish the buttons.”

I complied, my hands shaking slightly as I reached my waist and then unfastened the buttons that rose up the bodice to end at my breasts.

“Now spread your legs, and open the dress as you do.”

I was breathing hard by then, imagining what he saw. The yellow material thrust aside, and me in black lace and stockings, my breasts plump in the lacy bra with the minuscule cups. With my eyes closed, I was lost in a sensual cloud, attuned to the movement of the car and the sound of his voice, but I didn’t expect the brush of his fingertip over my nipple, and I couldn’t withhold my gasp of pleasure as his touch sent a shock of sensation through me from breast to sex.

I arched up, letting the glorious feeling rush through me, and I didn’t even hide my smile when Jackson murmured, “Yes, oh, baby, the way you respond, it’s fucking incredible.”

Incredible.

I swallowed a sigh. If being incredible meant that I could feel that way, then I was absolutely beyond thrilled.

“Now tilt your seat back,” he said. “Just a little. That’s good. Now can you still reach your knees? Not quite, but that’s okay. I want one hand on your thigh. Good girl. Now take the other and move it up to your breast. No,” he corrected, “not like that. Trail it up,” he said, placing his right hand over my left, and moving our joined hands slowly and gently up my thigh.

The sensation was amazing, and as our fingers continued their journey over hips and torso, I tilted my head back, lost in a heated and erotic assault upon my senses. Our movement stopped just under my left breast so that I could feel the soft lace against my fingertips, and as Jackson eased my index finger up higher, I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, then bit down when my hand found my nipple, hard and erect over the cup of the bra.

“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Play with it. Touch it. You feel it, I know. That tightness in your nipple. You want to pinch it. To feel it hard between your fingers. Do that, baby,” he said, and I heard his low moan when I did as he asked, then arched up in surprised pleasure as the electricity jolted through me all the way to my sex.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice so low and tight that I knew his arousal came close to my own. “Slide your right hand up,” he said, and I was astounded by how eagerly I complied. I trailed my fingertips along the inside of my thighs, then found the edge of my now-soaked thong.

“There you go, baby. Spread your legs wider and pull the material aside. I want to see your cunt. I want to see just how wet you are. I want to watch as you slide your fingertip inside. And I want to watch your body tremble as you go right to the edge. But not over, baby. You don’t go over until I’m deep inside you. I’m going to fuck you hard, baby. So deep and so hard that you’re going to scream my name when you come, and I’m going to capture the sound with my mouth.”