Burn for You (Slow Burn, #1)

by J.T. Geissinger

A sensible man would’ve withered under the stare I sent Rayford. Obviously he wasn’t sensible.

“A woman worth her salt should be the hardest thing a man has to work for in his life, because then she’s a prize, not a gift,” she’d told me. “Anything you get for free is worth exactly what you paid for it: nothing.”

“We’re getting married,” he pronounced, and stared at me.

He took two steps toward me and shouted right back, “I never said anything about sleeping with me! I’m talking about marriage!” We stood nose to nose, glaring murder at each other, breathing hard, our hands clenched to fists. “Oh, I see,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re gay. You need a beard.” Jackson closed his eyes and muttered an oath under his breath. “No. I am not gay.” He opened his eyes. “And you know it, because that kiss we had was hotter than the sidewalk in July.”

“Your metaphors need work.” “Excuse me. Hotter than a billy goat with a blowtorch.” “That doesn’t even make sense. And comparing a lady’s kiss to anything to do with a goat is just bad manners.”

Jackson turned his head and looked at me. The expression in his eyes stole my breath. He said, “The problem is that you’re the only woman I’ve liked in a long time.” He let that sink in, then added, “And I don’t want to be poor. I’d be exceedingly bad at it. For one thing, I’m not nice enough.” “How ridiculous. Not all poor people are nice.”

“I told you. You’re the only woman I’ve liked in a long time. I don’t like strangers. I don’t trust people. Women in particular.” Whew, I wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole. “You just told me I wasn’t nice to you. Why would you like me?” His eyes started to burn. “You’re honest. And real. And you don’t care about my money—” “Ha! So you offer me a million dollars of it?” “I wasn’t finished. You don’t care about my money, and you’re kind, and responsible, and you’re not afraid to call me on my shit, and you’re so fucking beautiful it sometimes hurts to look at you, like I’m gazing into the sun and could go blind if I stare too long.” He stopped talking abruptly, as if he’d shocked himself with what came out of his mouth.

Beautiful. He called me beautiful. That right there was worth more than the money he’d offered.

He said, “Have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I open the door and Miss Bianca sees the state you’re in and turns around and runs off.” “She’s not the running-off type,” I said. “She’s more the light-you-on-fire-and-walk-calmly-away-while-you-burn-to-ashes type.” Rayford chuckled. “This is gonna be fun.” I stopped pacing and stared at him. “Fun? This is the most bizarre and unbelievably serious thing I’ve done in my life, and you’re talking about it being fun?” He smiled. “I meant for me, sir.”

This was the first time I’d seen her out of her chef’s clothes, and my eyes greedily drank her in. The term hourglass figure was invented for women like her. Her waist was narrow, her hips were generous, and her legs were long and bare. And her breasts . . . I almost groaned out loud. The dress had a neckline obviously designed to devastate men. It was cut low enough to give a glimpse of cleavage while still being classy, wide enough to reveal the upper swell of a pair of breasts that appeared to have been molded by God himself. If she wore that with a mind to negotiate for more money, she’d won. I’d willingly hand over my entire trust if I’d be allowed to look at her wearing that dress for more than five minutes.

Rayford ushered Bianca into the library and asked her if he could get her anything. “A three-legged stool and a whip,” she said. When I turned to look at her, she sent me a tight smile. “Isn’t that what every lion tamer needs?”

Holding my hand and gazing up at me, she sighed. “I suppose if I’m going to be your wife, I ought to have a nickname for you. Does anyone call you Jax?” Oh God, she moaned. God, yes. Please—Jax— With a gargantuan effort of will, I pushed aside the memory of the intensely sexual dream I’d had about her after the first time we met. “No,” I said, my voice rough. “No one calls me Jax. No one but you.” When her lips curved up at the corners, I felt like I’d been living my life up to then at the bottom of a dark well filled with trash and slimy water, and someone had just lifted the lid and lowered me a ladder.

“I was just about to ask your mama for some of her recipes when you came in.”

girl...you better get this man before i do

“You heard me. We’re engaged. We’re getting married.” His nostrils flared in outrage. He stared down at me in jaw-clenched fury until finally he said, “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day that Miss High and Mighty turned into a gold-digging whore.” That hurt. It hurt like getting all my skin peeled off and taking a saltwater bath, but I didn’t want him to see it. So I smiled, even though the effort felt like it would split my face in two. “There he is. There’s the Trace I know. Welcome back, player. Now get lost!”

I had no reason to believe he’d be faithful to our pretend marriage. Interesting that it hadn’t occurred to me to ask. Or to ask myself if I would be. He said, “Whatever conversation you’re having with yourself, I’d love to join in. It looks fascinating.”

I said, “I mean, it’s not against the rules.” I can’t describe his expression. It hovered somewhere between serial killer and starving animal. He said softly, “Why, Future Mrs. Boudreaux, are you propositioning me?”

This kiss was cashmere. It was luxuriant. It was decadent, unhurried, sweetly delicious, like stretching out on warm sand and drinking a mai tai. His scent was in my nose: pine and musk and something earthy and fresh, the way the woods smell after it rains. He made that masculine sound deep in his throat that I found weirdly thrilling and pressed his hand into the small of my back. It brought our lower bodies together and provided me with impressive evidence that Jackson Boudreaux was anything but nonsexual. “Oh,” I breathed. His laugh was soft and dark. “Yes, oh. Stop talking.”

so I decided to poke the bear. “Are you lying to me?” Over the phone came a bristling animal noise which, had I heard it while walking outdoors in the dark, would have made me wet myself. “I. Will. Never. Lie to you. Never. Do you understand?” Oh dear. Poking the bear produced unpleasant results.

“What happened?” “She didn’t love me is what happened,” he thundered. “She was only after my money!” After a few moments I realized that sound in my ears was the pounding of my pulse. I breathed out slowly, feeling sick. “It’s different with us,” he said more gently, guessing why I couldn’t speak. “How, exactly?” His voice turned vulnerable, almost boyish. “This time I know.”

Shot through the heart. Bullet to the brain. Fall from a forty-story building. With that one sentence, he killed me in a dozen different ways. “Jax,” I breathed, trembling. “Oh God.”

“I know you’re thinking again because I can smell something burning,” said Jackson drily.

Body snatchers, I thought. That was the only rational explanation for her nonchalance. Aliens had stolen my mother and replaced her with a robot look-alike. Right now the robot was sitting blank eyed in Mama’s armchair downloading instructions from the mother ship.

“Dying isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just the only thing I won’t live through.”

wow

“Wouldn’t you say that was a stroke of genius, Jackson, all those recipes featuring Boudreaux Bourbon?” Very gravely, Jackson replied, “The menu is incredible, but I think her true genius is actually with people.” His eyes found mine. His voice changed. “She knows how to make them feel like they matter.”

With his intense gaze burning into mine, I lost the power of language. My tongue sat in my mouth like a lump of soft cheese. I was going to have to take sign language classes to communicate from here on out.

“You remind me an awful lot of her daddy. Crème brûlée, I always called him. Hard as nails on the outside, but inside all soft and gooey sweet.”

He stalked off and disappeared without saying good-bye. Rayford and I looked at each other. I said, “Just give it to me straight. It’s schizophrenia, isn’t it? I’ve agreed to marry a schizophrenic.” “At least you won’t be bored,” answered Rayford with a shrug. “Crazy people are awful fun.”

I came home to cardboard boxes huddled on my back porch like burglars waiting to break in.

I liked him telling me I looked beautiful. Every time he said it, I felt like a cat stroked down its back.

“May I get you something to eat or drink, sir?” Her husky voice indicated she was on the menu, too. Without even looking in her direction, Jackson flicked his fingers dismissively at her. I wanted to punch the air and do a touchdown dance. Instead I smiled graciously when she turned to me, because it wasn’t polite to gloat.

“Well,” I said, flustered. “Thank you. You’re not half bad yourself.” I knew as soon as I uttered those words I was in for it. He leaned forward like a predator leaning over a fresh kill. “Oh?”

I picked up the box—holding it gingerly with both pinkies out—and opened it. And immediately had a massive heart attack. Through my choked gasps and garbled attempts at language, Jackson said calmly, “And I’m quoting, ‘A five-carat flawless Tiffany brilliant-cut center stone with a pair of flawless one-carat stones flanking it, set in a platinum band.’ No woman is that specific about the ring she wants unless she’s spent a lot of time researching it.” I made a sound that was like, “Grglefarbluhh.”

“Oh, I see,” I said sourly. “Now I’ve discovered the secret. The way to make you happy is to freak out and swear like a sailor.” He stopped laughing and grinned at me. He was breathtakingly handsome when he smiled. How had I not noticed that before? “You make me happy all the time,” he blurted, then froze, a look of horror replacing his grin. I think that was too much honesty for both of us, because I froze, too. I made him happy? How was that possible? He spent most of the time we were together glaring at me and snapping like a crocodile. Except when we kissed. He definitely looked happy then. Or something.

I said firmly, “I’m your friend. Don’t forget that. No matter what you’re dragging me into here, what psychotic ex-girlfriends or crazy relatives or dead bodies rotting under the rosebushes that you’re not admitting to, I’m on your side. Got it?” He swallowed. His eyes went all melty. He tried to cover up his emotion by scowling and looking away, but it was too late. Mama was right about him. The man was crème brûlée. Tough on the outside, but on the inside all soft and gooey sweet. It made me feel good to know that secret, and also surprisingly protective.

The entire effect was one of stately, distinguished elegance. I said, “What a dump.” Standing beside me in the octagonal-shaped foyer, Jackson snorted. I took it as a win.

“Mr. Boudreaux. I’m so happy to meet you.” Then, just to shake off the general sense of doom, I went over and gave the man a hug. Imagine throwing your arms around a marble statue, and you’ll get the idea of how my friendly overture was met. Red-faced, I stepped back and tried to ignore the way Jackson’s jaw was hanging all the way to the floor. Mr. Boudreaux was red in the face, too. He said, “Oh. Dear. You’ll have to excuse me, Bianca, I don’t think I’ve been hugged by anyone in about fifty years.” But he kind of liked it, I could tell. Encouraged, I smiled at him again. “Sorry to be so forward, but we’re big huggers in my family, Mr. Boudreaux. My mama always told me there are few things a good hug can’t cure, and those things are what bourbon’s for.” Mr. Boudreaux stared at me for a moment, then his face broke into a grin. “Call me Brig, Bianca. If you’re gonna be family, we should be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?” Jackson made a soft choking noise that sounded like maybe he was going to faint.

When he was gone, my relief was overwhelming. I said, “Whew! I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” I turned to find Jackson staring at me like I was a stranger. “What?” I said, instantly worried I’d made some terrible gaffe. But he only shook his head in wonder. “You hugged my father,” he said softly, his eyes shining. “I can’t decide if you’re a genius or totally insane.” I beamed at him. “That’s easy. I’m a genius.” “Yes,” he murmured, “I’m beginning to think so.” Then, still shaking his head, he took my arm and led me away.

“You’re thinking again.” Jackson’s voice was muffled in the comforter. He raised his head and glared at me. “Stop it.”

Jackson rolled onto his back and put his hands under his head. That made his T-shirt ride up his abdomen a few inches, exposing a hard expanse of golden skin and a fine trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. I hoped my gulp wasn’t audible.

Holy fuck. I was having a heart attack. No, I was letting my imagination run away with me again. No. I was having a heart attack.

If I thought my silk dress was beautiful, it was a rag in a sewer compared to Jackson’s body. The fine trail of down I’d found so bewitching led up from his abdomen to his chest, where it flared out between his nipples, a dusting of dark hair that was both erotic and exquisitely masculine. I was so used to seeing male models in magazines and online who were waxed to a neutered, eye-watering shine that this almost looked pornographic.

He was big, he was beautiful, and he was giving me a look like he was about to pull my dress up and bend me over the sink, and it was all too much for my poor little ovaries, who did the sensible thing and fainted.

Who could blame you, babe?

He flipped it onto the bed, unzipped it, and rummaged around for a shirt, while I stared helplessly at all those spectacular muscles of his going to work. Seriously, was it necessary to have so many hard, bulging places on a body? Yes! roared my ovaries. Yes, it absolutely is!

I was abruptly so mad at Jackson I could spit. How could he let me wander into the haunted forest without giving me any clues where all the ghosts and goblins were lying in wait?

“Thank you for the wonderful meal and your hospitality. I’m sorry if I’m being rude, and you both seem like lovely people, but now I have to go jerk a knot in someone’s tail”—I glared at Jackson—“and depending on how that conversation goes, I may or may not require a bail bondsman. Have yourselves a wonderful evening.” I left with my chin high, smoke pouring from my ears, the sound of Brig’s startled laughter ringing off the dining room walls.

He was my only real friend.” A sweet smile drifted over his face. “And you.” I was crying openly now, but silently, tears running down my face, my free hand in a fist in my mouth to stifle the sobs.

I’d seen Jackson’s scary side. I’d seen his hidden sweet side, too, and his suave side, and a dozen others. But I’d never seen him dirty.

🤭🤭🤭🤭😈😈😈😈

Staring down at me, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. It parted under his fingers, revealing his gorgeous hard chest, those abs of steel, that fine dark happy trail I found so enticing. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, and I sighed again, wiggling my toes in happiness. “Goddamn, woman,” he said, his voice husky. “You’re gonna turn me into an egomaniac. You should see those eyes. Filthy.”

🤭🤭🤭🤭

Straight-faced, I said, “There seems to be something requiring attention in your underwear, Mr. Boudreaux. Judging by the size of engorgement, it could be a medical emergency. Shall I have a look?” He looked like he was going to pass out. He said faintly, “Yes, nurse. Please do.” It took a geologic epoch for me to pull down his briefs because I was enjoying his expression too much to go any faster. When I finally tore my gaze away from his and looked down, I gasped. “Holy guacamole,” I breathed, floored by the sheer size and grandeur of Jackson’s jutting erection. “Mr. Boudreaux. This is life-threatening.” In a strangled voice, he said, “Perhaps . . . you should administer . . . oral treatment?” I nodded. “I concur. Excellent diagnosis.” Then I applied my mouth and thrilled to the sound of Jackson’s hoarse gasp.

Blinking slowly, she smiled. It was a heartbreaking smile, a thing of such soul-lifting and astonishing beauty I felt like a man who’d just discovered religion. She was my religion. My north and south, my heaven and earth, the axis of rightness around which everything had suddenly aligned. For the first time in my life, all my polarized parts worked as one, humming happily along in harmony with the universe, finally understanding their place.