Feeling moody and restless, Jackson stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room of his Lake Shore condo, staring out at the myriad of lights twinkling below as dusk settled over the city. It had been one hell of a long fucking week at work, from numerous client presentations to attending a ground-breaking ceremony for a new office building in downtown Chicago to handling environmental issues that had come across his desk. He’d sat through a dozen long, drawn-out meetings with engineering consultants and had stayed late most nights discussing a structural issue that was causing massive delays on one of the firm’s billion-dollar projects.
Tonight, he’d actually gotten home at a reasonable hour, if a regular person considered nine in the evening normal, he thought wryly. He’d taken a long, hot shower, heated up leftover spaghetti he’d had in the refrigerator for dinner, and eaten the meal while reviewing some proposals he’d brought home with him. But here in his condo, where it was too damn quiet and there weren’t any hectic demands constantly diverting his attention, his mind taunted him with the harsh knowledge that he clearly wasn’t good enough to be welcomed into the Kincaid family.
Leaning against the back of the leather couch a few feet away from the plate-glass window, he rubbed at the tension settling in his neck and shoulders. Seven days had passed since he’d walked into Clay’s bar and met his brothers for the first time. Seven days without any contact from them. Their silence spoke louder than words and cut deeper than a knife, and he fucking hated that their rejection affected him on any kind of emotional level. That their approval and acceptance mattered that much to him, because it was the one thing in his life that Paul Stone had cruelly and deliberately deprived him of.
Fuck. He’d never been one to feel sorry for himself. He was a man who made things happen and didn’t wallow in things he couldn’t change. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he’d foolishly believed that by reaching out to the men who shared the same genes as him, it would finally give him that sense of belonging that had eluded him his whole life. But so far, making contact with the Kincaid brothers had only brought him a wealth of disappointment and frustration.
The three of them had made it very clear, or at least Mason had, that they doubted his intentions and believed he had ulterior motives, and Jackson knew there was nothing else he could say or do to sway their opinion. The next move was up to them, and after last week’s confrontation in Clay’s office, he had a feeling that hell might freeze over before any of them made any kind of contact.
But Tara . . . the beautiful bartender was nothing like the terse, skeptical men he’d faced off with. Despite the vulnerable edge he’d detected in her, she’d been warm and encouraging, so sweet and easy to talk to—the total opposite of the women he normally interacted with in his social circle. Tara hadn’t prejudged him based on his appearance, hadn’t made assumptions about his character based on preconceived notions. Instead, she’d willingly given him what the Kincaid brothers had withheld . . . unconditional acceptance. And that open and trusting approach, along with that spark of mutual attraction between them, had visions of her drifting through his mind as he lay in bed at night trying to fall asleep.
His thoughts of Tara always started off innocently enough—remembering her sweet smile or recalling the way that diamond stud above her lip caught the light when she glanced his way—but those chaste images never lasted long before they strayed down a path rife with filthy, forbidden fantasies. The kind that had her splayed out on his bed for his pleasure, naked and needy and begging, while his mouth and fingers and cock did unspeakably dirty things to that soft, wet spot between her legs before he drove balls deep inside of her.
He momentarily closed his eyes and groaned as a jolt of lust tightened in his groin. A familiar throb took up residence, and he didn’t dare press his palm over the hard column of flesh pushing against the soft cotton shorts he’d put on after his shower, because he didn’t trust himself not to wrap his hand around his dick and jerk off right there in front of the windows in his living room.
Jesus, he needed a distraction. He considered turning on his laptop to review the specs he’d just received on an upcoming project, but his mind wasn’t in work mode. He could call his best friend, Wes Sinclair, to meet him at The Popped Cherry, a trendy bar they frequented in downtown Chicago, but he wasn’t in the mood for the kind of socializing that usually led to fending off women he had no interest in. Or he could always go to bed early, but Jackson wasn’t tired, and, well, he knew how that would end . . .
He knew where he wanted to be. The same place he’d thought about going back to for the past week, and it had nothing to do with wanting to see his brothers again and everything to do with the sexy bartender he couldn’t get out of his head.
Fuck it. He glanced back at the clock on the wall. It was nearly ten at night on a Wednesday. He knew Kincaid’s closed at eleven Sunday through Thursday—yeah, he’d looked up that information because this wasn’t the first time he’d contemplated a return. The strained way things had ended with his siblings had kept him from following through on the impulse, but tonight, he didn’t give a shit if Clay, Mason, or Levi had an issue with him being at the bar. Kincaid’s was open to the public, and he was a paying customer.
The gloom hanging over him dissipated as anticipation took its place. Before he talked himself out of his spontaneous decision, he changed into a pair of jeans and a casual shirt and arrived at Kincaid’s twenty minutes after leaving his condo.
He walked inside the establishment. Rock music played through the sound system, but the place was surprisingly empty. No customers, and he didn’t see the two bar waitresses from last week, either. He did hear voices and sounds coming from an area that appeared to be a kitchen, so he assumed the bar was still open, even if it was a slow night.
He glanced over at the bar, and a smile curved his lips as he caught a side view of Tara as she wiped down the counter, probably cleaning up for the night since they closed in half an hour. She was singing along to “You Give Love a Bad Name” by Bon Jovi, oblivious to the fact that he was standing just out of her line of vision. Which he didn’t mind one bit, because it gave him the opportunity to watch as her breasts swayed against her tight T-shirt each time her arm swept back and forth across the surface of the bar, and she shook her perfect ass and swayed her hips in time to the beat.
Heat coursed through his veins and his cock stirred. Oh, yeah, he was feeling much better already. Relaxed and amused and getting more and more aroused with every second that passed. All thoughts of work fled, along with thoughts of his brothers. Just seeing this woman seemed to calm the storm of emotions that had been raging through him earlier.
This was exactly what he needed. She was what he needed. Tara provided a lighthearted diversion in a life that suddenly felt much too complicated, and she also made him realize how much he’d missed wanting to be around a woman for the sheer pleasure and enjoyment of it. Without any pressures or expectations.
As Tara sang the ending lyrics to the song, she glanced his way and did a quick double take. Much to his disappointment, she abruptly stopped cleaning the counter, which meant her bouncing tits came to a standstill and she no longer rolled her hips in a way that made him envision her sitting astride his cock, gyrating on top of him, and giving him a provocative lap dance using the same sensual technique.
Those gorgeous blue eyes rounded in surprise at seeing him, then quickly ebbed to genuine delight. “Jackson,” she said, her voice breathless, and he didn’t think it was from all her singing and dancing.
“You recognized me,” he teased as he came up to the other side of the bar across from where she was standing. The fact that she could tell him apart from his twin this time told Jackson that he at least had some distinctive traits.
A sexy, mischievous grin found a place on her full, kissable lips. “Of course I recognized you. Clay has never stared at my ass before, and he’s never looked at me like he wants to . . .” As if she belatedly realized how much she’d been about to divulge, her words trailed off and her soft, creamy complexion turned blush pink.
Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart. It was the last thing he wanted with her, and he dared to finish that sentence, just to test the flirtatious waters between them. “Like he wants to do bad, dirty things to you?”
Tara swallowed hard but never broke eye contact with him. “Umm, yes. That.” She sounded flustered but not at all offended by his blatant words that summed up just how strongly he was attracted to her.
“Guilty as charged.” His tone was playful as he slid onto one of the empty barstools across from her. “On both accounts.” Because yeah, he’d stared at her perky ass and he definitely wanted to do wicked things with her.
She laughed, the sound just as inviting as she was. “At least you’re honest.”
“Always,” he said, and meant it. After being lied to his entire life, about numerous things, integrity was the thing he valued the most, in himself and from other people.
“If you’re looking for Clay, he isn’t here,” she said, obviously assuming the reason for his visit.
He smiled at her. “I didn’t think he would be.”
“Oh.” She tipped her head to the side, looking adorably curious. “Then what brings you by?”
He met her gaze. Held it intently. “You.”
She looked both shocked and undeniably pleased. “Why me?”
“I believe we just established the why,” he said with humor as he clasped his hands on the bar. He wasn’t one to play games and decided to take the direct approach so she’d have no doubts about his interest in her. “But just in case you missed all that flirtatious banter about me eyeing your sexy backside—and maybe, if I’m lucky, eventually we’ll do dirty, bad things together—I’m very attracted to you. I thought the attraction was reciprocated.”
“It was. It is,” she added, quick to change past tense to present. “I just thought you were here to see one of the guys.”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, they have no desire to see me.” Saying the words out loud felt like a physical punch to the gut. “I haven’t heard from any of them since last week, so I’m pretty sure I’m persona non grata around here. But I thought you were worth the risk of getting thrown out on my ass if one of them happened to be here.”
She didn’t laugh at his comment as he’d hoped. Instead, her lips flattened into a disappointed frown. “I’m sorry that the guys are being so stubborn and shortsighted about you.”
“Don’t be.” He shrugged it off, not wanting to get into a conversation about his brothers’ rejection. “It is what it is.” With every day that passed, he was becoming more resigned to the possibility that the situation might not ever change.
“Yeah, good mantra,” she said, her eyes suddenly sparkling with approval. “It’s mine, too. It’s gotten me through some tough times in life.”
He wanted to know about those difficult circumstances. Wanted to know why there was a slight edge to her yet she could be so kind and compassionate, too. It was a combination he found intriguing and tempting, and it made him want to peel back all those fascinating layers to discover all of the secrets that lay beneath.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, pulling his attention back to her. “Bushmills, neat?”
“Not tonight.” It was late, and he didn’t want any alcohol to dull his senses, not when he was around her. “I’ll have a soda water with lime.”
While she made his drink, he withdrew his wallet, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and pushed it across the counter toward her as she set his order on a cocktail napkin in front of him.
“Keep the change,” he said.
“Seriously?” She crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance and eyed the money but didn’t pick it up. “It’s soda water, for heaven’s sake.”
“I know exactly what it is,” he said, squeezing the lime into the sparkling water before dropping the piece of fruit into the liquid. “But that’s not the point.”
He’d already made that particular point last week when he’d paid for his drink then, as well. It was an argument she wasn’t going to win.
She knew it, too, because she picked up the cash with a frustrated sigh. “I see you have your brothers’ obstinate streak.”
“Must be a family trait.” He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh at how cute she looked being miffed with him. Cute and hot, he amended as his gaze focused on those pouty lips of hers . . . which then transitioned to lustful thoughts of her soft mouth and all the ways he’d imagined defiling it.
She turned away to put the money into the cash register, and predictably, his eyes lowered to her perfectly rounded ass. Jesus, he was such a fucking pervert. Not wanting to get caught leering at her again, he made sure he was looking above her chest by the time she faced him again.
“What time do you get out of here tonight?” he asked, then took a drink of his lime-flavored water.
She began washing glasses in a small sink behind the bar. “I’m the only one in the bar closing up. It was so slow I sent the waitresses home. The guys in the kitchen finish with their clean-up around eleven thirty, so that’s when I lock up.”
“Any plans after that?”
“At midnight?” She laughed as she dried a martini glass. “The only plan I have is to crawl into my nice, soft bed with a book and read until I fall asleep.”
And there went his rampant thoughts again as he envisioned her in his bed, stripped naked and legs spread, her creamy skin a stark contrast to his navy blue comforter and all that thick, luxurious black hair spread across his white pillow. No doubt, if he had her anywhere near his bed, reading or sleeping would be the last thing she’d be doing.
Not that they were going to have sex tonight, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought of the possibility of fucking her. Yeah, that was a nightly fantasy that always left him hard and aching. Just like he was beginning to feel now.
He shifted on the barstool in lieu of reaching down to adjust his dick that was pressing against the fly of his jeans. Grateful that she didn’t have a view of his lap and his lack of physical restraint when it came to thoughts of getting down and dirty with her, he shifted the conversation back on track.
“I know I might be cutting into your beauty sleep, but would you like to go and get a coffee at that twenty-four-hour donut shop down the road once you’re off for the night?”
Any other woman he’d gone out with in the past would have scoffed at the suggestion of going to what they’d consider a substandard eatery, let alone accompany him to this run-down neighborhood in Chicago. But Tara’s eyes lit up at the invitation.
She batted her eyes at him in a playful manner. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Stone?”
“Yes.” A part of him was relieved she hadn’t flat out turned him down. She at least looked as though she was considering his offer. “I’d take you somewhere far more impressive, but there’s not much open at this time of the night.”
“Lucky for you, donuts are my weakness and one of the few things I can’t resist,” she said, rearranging a few of the bottles of alcohol that were lined up in a bin. “And oh, my God, Angelo makes the best apple fritters in the entire city, and just thinking about them is making my mouth water.”
Her enthusiasm made him grin. “Is that a yes?”
“That is a hell yeah,” she said, and laughed.
Now that he’d secured more time with Tara, he let her continue with her clean-up of the bar, doing his best not to distract her so she’d finish as soon as possible. At eleven straight up, she locked the main doors and cashed out the register and took the money back to the office. While she was gone, a young kid came out from the back area and began putting chairs up on the tables.
As he swept the floor, he kept one eye on Jackson, and it was clear that the kid had heard about him and couldn’t decide if he was a threat of some sort or not. It all depended on what information had filtered through the gossip mill about his meeting with the Kincaid brothers. If Mason was to be believed, then Jackson was sure he was branded as public enemy number one.
“That’s Elijah,” Tara said when she came back from whatever she was doing in the office and saw him glancing at the boy. “He’s a great kid. Clay found him rummaging through the dumpster for something to eat and gave him a job.”
Before Jackson could reply, a man’s voice spoke.
“Tara, are you about finished up?” the guy asked as he limped into the bar area. “The kitchen is clean and—”
His words abruptly stopped as the man’s one good eye that wasn’t covered with a patch stared at Jackson in that way he was becoming all too familiar with. Perceptive and a whole lot standoffish. Now that the employees at Kincaid’s knew about him, they weren’t so quick to assume he was Clay.
“You must be the twin,” the other man said gruffly.
“That would be me,” he replied in a pleasant tone as he extended his hand toward the man in a friendly gesture since he was standing close enough. “I’m Jackson.”
The guy hesitated, then finally stepped forward and clasped Jackson’s hand in his strong, unrelenting grip, silently sending a message Jackson would have had to be an idiot to miss. This man was clearly Team Kincaid, and if handshakes could talk, this one would say you do anything even remotely sketchy and I will gladly kick your ass.
“Hank,” he said brusquely, introducing himself before he glanced at Tara behind the bar. “You almost done out here?”
“Yes.” She stacked a few racks of clean glasses on top of each other. “If you and Elijah are finished, you can go ahead and leave. I’ll have Jackson walk me out to my car.”
A muscle in Hank’s jaw ticked. “I don’t think Clay would be too happy if he found out—”
Tara held up a hand. “Let me deal with Clay, okay? The boys might have a personal issue with Jackson, but I don’t. Since they aren’t here and I’m in charge, I’m assuring you that I’ll be absolutely fine in this man’s company, so I’ll see you and Elijah tomorrow afternoon for your shifts.”
Boom. Mic drop.
Jackson tamped down the grin threatening to appear. Beautiful and defiant—a woman who knew her own mind and was strong enough to assert herself when warranted. Another huge fucking turn-on, especially when he thought about controlling that rebellious streak of hers in the bedroom. Calling the shots. Pinning her down while she bucked beneath the onslaught of his mouth and fingers. Taking her hard and deep and demanding her surrender.
He exhaled a slow breath, which helped, somewhat, to banish those images from his mind. Hank scowled at him one more time—and thank fucking God he wasn’t a mind reader—but didn’t argue further with Tara. Within the next five minutes, Elijah and Hank were both gone, leaving him alone with Tara.
“You all are a loyal bunch, aren’t you?” he asked wryly.
“Hank’s a good guy,” she said as she bent down to retrieve her purse from a locked cupboard. “But yeah, he’s loyal, too. He’s former military and he lost his leg and right eye to an IED, which also caused facial nerve damage. Clay hired Hank when no one else would.”
Jesus, there was no way he could compete with Saint Clay. Not on any level. As much as his twin irked him for being so cool and reserved with Jackson, he had a lot of respect for the man and how he treated people. It said a lot about Clay’s character and the kind man he was. One with integrity, despite his shitty upbringing.
“Is this donut date going to be an issue with the guys?” he asked, keeping his question light and humorous as he slid off his barstool. Jackson didn’t want to give a fuck what any of his brothers thought about his interest in Tara, but he also didn’t want them to give her flack about him, either.
She came around the bar, keys in hand as she switched off the lights in the main area. “As much as I love those three guys like they’re my brothers, they don’t have a say in who I see.” Now that she was on the same side of the bar as him, she stopped an arm’s length away and met his gaze. “Are you having second thoughts about me?”
The unexpected hint of doubt and insecurity swimming in her blue eyes had him instinctively reaching out to touch her, to reassure her that he wasn’t a man easily intimidated when he wanted something. And his desire for Tara was only growing stronger, not lessening in any way, and he wasn’t ready to walk away from whatever was happening between them.
He brushed his fingers along the soft skin of her jaw, and when her lips parted slightly and her eyes softened, it took every ounce of restraint he had not to slide his hand around the back of her neck and pull her mouth up to his for a hot, deep, claiming kiss. Instead, he settled with the knowledge that she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had followed through with the impulse. Her clear consent would have to be enough for now, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stop with just one taste.
He gently caressed his thumb along her full bottom lip before dropping his hand back down to his side. “Believe me when I say I’m not even close to changing my mind about you,” he promised her.
Her tongue skimmed across the place his finger had just touched, and she looked up at him with a smile that was filled with relief and quickly turned to bright-eyed sass. “Good. Now let’s go get donuts.”
