More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2) (4 page)

“Really? You think Jackson is dull?” Mark asked, the fierce incredulousness in his tone surprising Sasha. “I’ve never found him to be anything less than intelligent and witty. In fact, I remember a party at Mitch’s back in college where Jackson actually got a drunken sing-a-long going to the music of ABBA. That was quite a spectacle.” He chuckled at the memory.

“ABBA? Seriously? Now, if you would have said he sang to AC/DC or Guns-n-Roses, then I would believe you,” she grimaced. “Or maybe a good rendition of
Sweet Caroline
by Neil Diamond.”

“Hey, now there’s an idea…” Mark pondered, his finger coming up to tap his chin. “You guys could throw a 70’s-themed party. Everyone comes dressed up in glittery disco-era clothes, you play the music of the decade, etc. That could be fun.”

She snorted, trying to picture Rylie dressed up with white pleather boots and mile-wide bell bottoms. And then an unbidden picture of Jackson popped in her head of him dressed like one of the Village people, wearing an open collared button down, chest hair on display, gold chain necklace around his neck, a thick mustache, and a tool belt.

“Yeah, maybe. I do like the Studio 54 potential,” she snickered, her naughty thoughts taking her to all kinds of possibilities. “I guess I could ask Jackson what he thinks about that idea. I’m sure he won’t care, either way. He’ll probably just leave me to all the details, anyway.
Asshole
.”

“Now, now. Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. I think you’re underestimating his creative side. The guy is seriously into music and art. I think he’ll surprise you.”

She nodded in agreement and they continued their discussion for the next few minutes until Mark was called to assist with a trauma. Sasha hated saying good-bye and ending their call, but her spirits were lifted after their conversation. She missed being able to talk to her friend anytime she wanted. Her best times in life had always been spent with Mark.

But now Mark was half-way around the world and Rylie, although Sasha worked with her every day, was wrapped up in her new life with Mitch.

Sasha could feel the first inklings of depression eating away at her psyche. The darkness manifesting like a cloak, slowly creeping over her like the fog over the San Francisco bay. She hated the cloying weight pressing down on her heart, the sadness that occupied her thoughts.

Shaking off the despairing loneliness, she found the TV remote lodged in the seat cushion and started her movie. No more sulking and sadness allowed tonight. No more wishing Mark wasn’t so far way or worrying about her feelings toward Jackson.

For now, she’d let the ballsy-ness of Molly Ringwald’s character in the movie delight her with her sense of style and grace, and lift her sagging spirits.

And a little more ice cream wouldn’t hurt, either.

The Labor Day barbeque party was in full swing when Jackson finally made it out to Mitch’s house on late Monday afternoon.

He was tired, but sated, after his weekend in New York, and had barely gotten home to shower and change before heading over to Mitch’s. Stopping by one of those hoity-toity, granola-like grocery stores, he picked up some made-to-go salads and pasta dishes to bring with him, along with a nice bottle of wine.

Jackson made his way through the crowded house, saying hello and shaking hands with those he was familiar with, scoping out the others in attendance. Since it was a Labor Day barbeque and pool party, most of the guests were dressed in beachwear or board shorts. He himself had dressed casual in a navy blue T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and flip-flops, his hair still a bit damp from his shower.

Dropping off the salads in the kitchen area, Jackson grabbed a beer from the fridge, scanning the patio outside, quietly appreciating the women in their bikinis and swimwear. It was a hot, Boston end-of-summer day, and the heat was oppressive, the air tinged with just enough humidity to have the cotton of his T-Shirt clinging to his back. Maybe he should’ve worn his swim trunks, because a dip in the pool would feel pretty good right about now. Although he was standing in the middle of the air conditioned house, a bead of sweat rolled down his back, landing just at the edge of his waistband.

Even with the cool air blasting through the room, the voice behind him had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Enjoying the view, Rowdy?”

The nickname she used had him stiffening his spine, ready to either throttle her neck or throw her down on the nearest bed and fucking the
rowdy
right out of her. A smile edged on his lips, as he closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet and sultry scent, like amber and sandalwood. Warm, earthy, intoxicating. It invaded his senses, and his body immediately reacted. Gripping the bottle in his hands tighter, Jackson turned around slowly, willing his dick to stand down.

His first glimpse of her had his own voice catching in the back of his throat. Sasha was bent at the waist, digging through the fridge, apparently in search of the beer she liked. Her small frame was clad only in a black bikini, the bikini bottoms barely covering her small, but perfectly rounded ass, which was at this moment pointing straight at him.

His mouth watered, heartrate sped up faster, and his brain fought for control of his hand, which desperately wanted to spank that fine ass.

“Yes, the view is definitely fine in here,” he snickered at his innuendo, already feeling amped up in her presence. The woman did that to him like no other.

Sasha turned then, beer in hand, and gave him an appraising look, a smirk on her full, pink lips. The raven-black curls she normally wore down and loose were pulled back in a ponytail, a few ringlets escaping around her face. Although petite, her breasts were pushed high in her small –
very
small - bikini top, providing him with a killer view of all that lush, perfect flesh.

Jackson had to clear his throat, knowing just how soft and full that perfect flesh felt in his hands. In his mouth. Underneath him.

Goddamn. Pull your shit together
.

She leaned over the counter, her elbows pressed next to him on the granite top, bringing the bottle up to her mouth. Jackson shifted his body to face her, watching as she took a long drink, enthralled by how her lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle. His cock once again ignoring the warning he sent it.

Jackson’s six-foot frame towered over her slim, sexy-as-sin body. Without thought, he unconsciously reached out to nab the loose curl at her temple, tucking it behind her ear.

She flinched before turning her head, the deep-set, brown of her eyes staring up at him in surprise, her lips glistening with moisture that he wanted to suck off.

He dropped his hand quickly, realizing his mistake when she made a quick intake of breath. He’d been momentarily entranced by her close proximity, forgetting about the pact they’d made not to touch each other again. Never to mention what happened between them or the one incredibly hot night they’d shared together in Cabo. They’d agreed to keep it to themselves like a naughty, dark secret.

Yet he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d agreed to that decision, because his body was demanding that he get closer. Because not being able to touch her again, or hear her soft whimpers, or listen to her beg for him to make her come – was driving him insane.

Sasha leaned back, casually perusing him, those dark eyes assessing him from top to bottom and back again, until she stared into his eyes.

“How was your weekend? Heard you went to New York.” She was good at redirecting – maybe she should have become a lawyer instead of a doctor. She’d be good at it.

Finishing off his beer, Jackson tossed it in the recycle bin around the corner, opening the fridge to fish out another cold one. Popping the top, he took a generous swig before responding.

“Yes, I did. I had a good time.” He added an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle.

She snickered. “Yeah, I’m sure those boring, lawyer conferences can be exciting as hell. All that talk about affidavits, Lis Pendens, and tax law probably gives all you attorneys hard-ons.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t go to New York for a conference. I went there to…” he stopped, deciding not to engage, to clearly avoid getting snared into her net. She was baiting him, he knew it. “Never mind.”

She bumped him with her hip. “Oh, come on…what were you going to say? Oh wait,” she paused, licking her lips. The action made him want to bend her over the counter, and take her right there – damn the other party guests to hell.

“Maybe there’s a little hottie you have holed away in the Big Apple. Mmm. I bet that’s it. Jax, you’re such a dog.” She snickered again, giving him a wink, clinking her beer bottle against his to show her apparent approval.

Okay. It was on
.

“If you really must know, Shorty, it’s not just
one
little hottie, but two. I do enjoy my ménage a trois. Just one can never quite satisfy my needs.”

He saw the shock register across her face, and for a split second he thought he’d made a big mistake by making up that lie. Until her mouth stretched into a beautifully amused smile.

“Dayum, Rowdy,” she mused, her small hand slapping him across his chest with a
thwap
. He could feel the burn left from her heat. “I didn’t know you had it in you. But I have to admit, I’m quite impressed. Way to go, stud.”

Her hand moved from his chest to circle his bicep, wrapping her dainty fingers around his arm and squeezing, before stroking down and back up again. His eyes followed the movement before snapping back to her gaze.

Sasha’s voice was now low and raspy, her breath warm against his neck as she reached up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. Her breasts pressed into his arm, the feel so exquisite he had to close his eyes to keep from reacting.

“So tell me…was it girl on girl action? Or did you have a guy with you? Because that could be very, very hot.”

They promised they wouldn’t talk about. They’d avoid the topic altogether. But he couldn’t help it. Her sensual words. Her teasing manner. Her sexy actions. It made him ravenous, and he wanted to torture her just as much as she tortured him. Deciding to take the bait after all, Jackson leaned in, pressing his mouth to her ear.

“Oh, I think you know
exactly
what I have in me. And you like it.”

He let his words linger, as he felt her fingers tighten around his forearm, her breath hitching audibly. And in that moment, when her only response was a gasp, he wanted to prove again exactly what he had and what it did to her.

Going on instinct, his tongue darted out to caress the shell of her ear, then he moved his hand to the center of her breasts, pressing the cold bottle between the dip in her cleavage. She jerked, and a tiny moan escaped her mouth.

Good
. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one still feeling that attraction.

He pulled his hand back to watch the small droplets of condensation left from his bottle slowly drip down her torso, stopping at her belly. He was about to lean down to lap up those droplets up with his tongue when a voice from behind him brought his actions to a halt.

“Am I interrupting something here?”

Jackson kept his eyes trained on Sasha, as she stepped back, giving them some physical distance. With a grimace, he turned his head toward Mitch who’d just walked in wearing a cockeyed grin.

Sasha was the first to recover. “Nope. We’re just talking through the details of your upcoming co-ed bachelor and bachelorette party. How do you feel about circus animals?”

Mitch laughed boisterously at her outrageous question. Jackson enjoyed that about Sasha. She always had a quick wit about her, and could dish it out like no one else he knew. She was a diminutive little minx.

“Well, I can’t speak for Rylie, but I’m not a fan of monkeys. They creep me out. So I’d prefer you steer clear of any circus themes.”

Sasha placed her hands on her hips, covering up the two strings that tied her bikini bottoms together. Jackson’s thoughts went to the last time he saw her in a bikini, when she let him slide his hand down underneath the material, his fingers caressing her wet and swollen center.

“Humph. You’re no fun.”

Mitch’s voice took on a more alarmed tone, the concern evident in his question.

“I didn’t realize you two were planning this together. Any claw marks or bruises yet?”

Sasha coughed, and Jackson just shrugged his shoulders innocently. That’s not to say there wouldn’t possibly be injuries in the future. He was pretty sure she had some nice bite marks on her inner thighs from the last time they were together, and he sure as shit had scratches down the length of his back where her nails dug into him.

“Nah, man. We’ll play nice – at least until this whole crazy wedding is over. Right, Shorty?”

Just to get a rise out of her, Jackson reached out and patted her head, as if to placate an insolent child. She jerked her head back, batting his hand away, letting out a hissing sound. It was an impossibility to hold back his laughter.

“Yeah, that’s right. We’ll play nice, at least until we get through the wedding. That’s why we’re the Best Man and Best Woman.” She smiled brightly.

“You mean Maid of Honor, don’t you?” Jackson chortled, recalling her email and her feelings on that honorary distinction.

Sasha growled, slapping at his shoulder. “I’m
Best Woman
, you schmuck!”

Mitch just shook his head in feigned disgust, Jackson rubbing his shoulder from her puny attempt at an upper body assault.

“Okay, you two. Behave yourselves and quit acting like a couple of juveniles,” he warned, picking up the two beers before heading out toward the patio. “Don’t you dare fuck this up for Rylie. I don’t want my bride-to-be pissed off before she heads down the aisle.”

He gave them both a stern look before disappearing through the doors.

They stood there in an awkward silence for a few moments, Jackson pondering the predicament they were in, taking in the way Sasha was now looking anywhere but at him.

Working together for the unforeseen future was going to be tough. Something was bound to get them riled up. And once that happened, all hell might break loose.

“So back to this party,” she said reluctantly, her finger running over the rim of her bottle. Jackson groaned inwardly, remembering exactly how it felt to have that finger running over the tip of his dick. Her eyes flicked from the bottle up to his face, narrowing as if she were going to say something naughty, but instead looking away at the last minute.

“What do you think about a 70’s disco theme? You know, everyone dresses up in vintage clothing and we party in Hugh Hefner-style.”

Jackson studied her thoughtfully. He liked her idea, but didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to make her work for his praise and admiration, just to get under her skin. Or just get her under him.

His fingers longed to glide over the supple, smooth flesh of her shoulders, and the soft swell of her belly, down to the sweet-scented softness between her legs. He ached with the memory.

To keep his fingers from going where they shouldn’t, Jackson brought them to his chin, stroking at his light stubble.

“Hmm. Maybe…but what about a Star Wars-themed event? I think you’d make a pretty hot Princess Leia in that little bikini outfit she wore in the Return of the Jedi. I’d be happy to play Jabba the Hut, making you my sex slave and chaining you up against me.” His tongue waggled out of his mouth in a crude gesture, his best imitation of the ugly slug creature from the movie.

Sasha’s face crinkled up in horror, her mouth gaping open. “You’re a disgusting juvenile, Jax. That is just sick. I think I’m going to puke.” She bent over at her waist, faking some pretty realistic gagging noises.

Jackson looked around, seeing the alarm and panic on one of the other guests’ faces. Waving them off, he smiled and shrugged his shoulders to let them know it was all just play.