Authors: Alyssa Brooks
“Why sure,” Veronica beamed as if she’d just been promised forever rather than an appointment. “I’m open anytime that day.”
Kim bet she was.
“That’ll work,” Jackson confirmed. Once again she swore those eyes darted to her chest then quickly back up and he gulped. “Lock up for me, would you?”
Veronica arched, rubbing her body alongside his to whisper in his ear. Laughter ensued, making Kim flush hot as Jackson made a show of slinging an arm around the woman’s waist and tugging her closer, as if to prove which woman he wanted.
Not Kim.
Why? Why wouldn’t he give her the time of day? Why did he avoid looking at her boobs as if she had hair growing all over them?
Wetting mauve lips, Kim glared at him, utter longing in her heart. She knew his every facial expression, his every like and dislike.
His good side.
His bad side.
And she knew Ms. Parker would
not
be coming in next week. By the time the sun rose and Ms. Parker found herself dumped, they’d be out another client.
Why not her,
dammit
?
“
Kimmy
? You okay?”
Courage waning, yet another chance dissolving into thin air, Kim placed her hands flat to the desk, leaning forward just a little so her neckline plunged, revealing even more of her breasts. “There’s
gonna
be a great party at Mel’s tonight. I was hoping, you know, you’d come with me.”
Asking a guy out while another woman dangled on his arm…wholly discouraging.
That guy not even realizing and said woman giggling at you?
Absolutely mortifying.
“Yeah, yeah.
We’ll be there. Hey—” Nose scrunching, eyebrow arching into a peak, he leaned closer to her. “Wait a sec. Are you wearing lipstick?”
The way he said it she might as well have
stupid
tattooed across her forehead.
“What’s gotten into you?” Heat crept up her neck as he shook his head in wonder and barked with laughter, reaching out and pinching her cheek.
Hard, almost as if to punish her.
“See you in a few hours. And I want to meet him.”
Well, that could be easily arranged, now couldn’t it?
As Jackson and tonight’s choice of lover departed the building, Kim felt herself crumpling. Devastated…
With the back of her sleeve she dodged tears then smeared off plastic-tasting lipstick, not caring that she was ruining her stupid shirt. Damn Jackson, he
had
noticed her. He just didn’t want her—that much was crystal clear.
He.
Didn’t.
Want.
Her.
Years she’d wasted years pining over Jackson, following him around like a damn puppy dog.
Always at his side but never in his arms.
Passing up perfectly good dates, even ready to give up her dream job just to give them a chance.
Why?
For pizza and beer, four-
wheelin
’ on the weekend?
To be one of the guys?
And then she was angry. Downright pot-boiling pissed.
Jackson didn’t want her?
Fine.
She got it. But someone else would. She was
done
waiting for him to come around.
Tonight, she celebrated.
Philly.
* * * * *
“Lipstick.”
Waltzing down the sidewalk, Jackson shook his head in astonishment. Despite the gorgeous woman draped on his arm, lush mauve lips danced in his vision. Waves of creamy-white mounds dangled amidst soft pink, made his mouth water.
Made heat crawl along his cock.
“
Damn.
What’s gotten into
Kimmy
?”
What had gotten into
him
? Sweat beaded on his forehead, his fingers tensed around his keys.
Dammit
, he should
not
be thinking about her like this… Not his
Kimmy
. Not ever.
She was his
friend
. And he wanted it to stay exactly that way.
Ronnie released a disappointed “Oh” as they stopped at his brand-
spankin
’-new Jeep,
a shiny
surf blue with chrome wheels, and her lips contorted as if she’d expected something more.
And didn’t they always?
Women.
As if a guy who’d just opened his own design company could ever afford a BMW or something.
Hell, up to right now he’d been mighty proud of his new
buy, that
he was doing well enough to afford it. Jackson hit the alarm, no idea why he said, “
Kimmy
loves it,
borrows
the keys whenever she can get away with ’
em
.”
Ronnie peeled with annoyingly high-pitched giggles. “Probably likes to sit in your driver’s seat and masturbate.”
“Whoa.” Everything in him froze and Jackson, who was about to swing open the door for her, stopped in his tracks. “Don’t
ever
talk about
Kimmy
like that.”
Not ever.
Face flaming at the thought of his best friend doing anything sexual, Jackson shoved away lewd images. He would
not
want her.
Ronnie just shrugged and giggled again. “Okay, whatever. But your secretary’s
crushin
’ big-time.
Obviously.
She just asked you out.”
“No, not
Kimmy
.
She just wanted me to show at the party.”
“Okay. Believe what you want.”
He would. He
had
to. He loved
Kimmy
too much to want anything more with her—nothing good could come out of him acknowledging the change in them lately.
Nothing.
Chapter Two
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
“Don’t fret about it, Kim. Just put it on. Live.
Feel
,” Mel encouraged, lingering in the doorway, sleek corn-silk hair cast over one shoulder. Tall, fair and devastatingly beautiful, not to mention single by choice, Mel was the life of their condo unit, always throwing extravagant parties. “It’ll feel like second skin in no time.”
Didn’t she wish? But Kim had known she could count on the red-lipped, self-proclaimed diva for the direction—the
oomph
—she so needed. She had not, of course, told Mel
why
she wanted to look hot tonight. Only that she needed to.
“I’ll try,” she didn’t exactly promise. “I think I’d be more comfortable venturing out there in nothing but my bare ass though. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about tripping in heels.”
“You’ll be fine,” Mel giggled. “Guests are arriving,
darlin
’. I need to get out there. Just don’t.
Chicken.
Out.”
Blowing her a kiss goodbye, Mel ducked out. Kim swallowed as the door clicked shut with deafening finality, glaring at her reflection.
Imagining him behind her, arms encircling her waist, gathering her into his embrace.
Kissing her neck.
Kim forced the fantasy from her mind. Nope. Not anymore.
I’m just not into getting serious.
That was how he’d broken up with her all those years ago, back in high school just after prom.
Let’s be friends
, he’d offered.
So they had been.
Great friends, the best of the best as years waxed by.
Kim hadn’t loved him then. But she did now.
And she had to face it. It was over.
Finished.
Finite.
She had no hope. Not with him. Jackson didn’t want her, not enough to get over his fear of relationships and give them a shot.
Tears pooled in her eyes and Kim forced them back so not to run the mascara Mel had applied.
Sure, she was just trying to punish him—he deserved it,
dammit
—but tonight she
would
be sexy. As Mel promised, she had the potential with the right clothes on and a few drinks to loosen her up. And if Jackson didn’t like it, he could just be jealous. Just go to hell. She deserved some male attention—and he wasn’t giving it to her. Not in the way she needed. Tonight, she proved—to no one but herself—that she
was
a desirable woman.
And Jackson was just an idiot.
It was the only way she’d get over him.
Clutching to that resolution, Kim shed dark jeans and that
godawful
lipstick and tear-stained pink blouse, cotton panties and comfort bra.
Mel, thrilled Kim was stepping out of the box, had provided this evening’s outfit and a quick trip into Victoria’s Secret, the new undergarments. Moving like a robot, Kim clipped the lacy gold bra into place—
ick
, how it scratched—and stepped into the matching butt digger—er, thong—then a stretchy black skirt. Next came a shimmering black undershirt and cropped gold sweater that buttoned twice at the front. Borrowed jewelry and two-inch sling-back heels Kim was sure she couldn’t walk in…
This time, as she squared her shoulders, wobbling to stand straight in those circus-act shoes and face herself in the mirror, Kim saw
the her
she could be.
Big, beautiful brown eyes.
Full, pink cheeks.
Lush, kissable lips.
Her hands roamed her length, exploring the truth swathed in black and gold.
Compact, shapely figure.
Flat stomach, small waist.
High, perky breasts.
Kim spun a quarter turn, peeking over one shoulder.
Great ass in check.
It was all there, the whole package. She was damn hot.
Take that, Jackson.
Now she just needed someone to make her feel like a deserving woman because she was.
If
she could walk out of this room without breaking her nose.
* * * * *
Veronica dangling on his arm, Jackson strode through the door into the granite foyer, finding the immediate area oddly devoid of partygoers. In the living room several women mingled about, talking heatedly amongst themselves as thumping music and clapping carried from the dining area, leaving one curious just what was going on. And with his friends, one never really knew.
Exactly why Jackson loved ’
em
.
Crazy lot, all of them, and not afraid to have fun.
Veronica though…she might break a nail.
“Looks like this
party’s
started,” he chuckled, feeling more at ease than he had all evening. He nodded a greeting to the ladies in the corner. “Let’s check it out.”
“I’d adore some chardonnay.” Veronica rolled cold gem-like blue eyes. “Will we be here long?”
Had he ever pegged her
wrong.
For all her flirting, Ronnie here was a real bore.
Empty conversation, little in the way of character.
A real rich bitch.
Only reason he hadn’t taken her home after dinner was that he’d hoped a few drinks would loosen her up.
He was beginning to think it would take a miracle, not a bottle. And if she fucked the way she made small talk, he might as well call it a night. A woman like her would never prove the distraction he needed from the one he really wanted. And shouldn’t.
From the next room, cheers erupted. “If you want to go,” he offered, interest peaking over what was going on in the next room, “I’ll call you a cab.”
Her sigh seemed to take an immense effort. “Just get me a drink.”
“
Whooooohoo
!”
Jackson easily recognized that bellow—Carter Jones, the building’s resident beach bum, minus the sand. No job, plenty of money from thin air and a real distaste for rules and manners. Plus an acquired tongue for cheap whiskey. “Yeah, baby! Take it off!
Whhooooo
!
”
“I’ll just get that drink.” Intrigued, Jackson abandoned Veronica to the almost-vacant living room and rushed to the
jampacked
dining room.
“Hey, Jack!” Carter called out, several bodies in, face lit with the goofiest grin. “Kim’s giving a real show!”
“Huh?”
Loud music.
Jackson must’ve misheard.
“Kim, man!”
Carter waved with one finger to the front of the room.
Kimmy
?
From behind some Jolly Green Giant, he caught a glimpse of long, flying honey-colored hair and panic welled. Music pulsing around him, Jackson shoved through the crowd, forcing people aside for a better view.
Jackson felt his heart shut down.
His world squeak to a jarring halt.
There she was, his little
Kimmy
…dancing on the table.
Stripping.
Minus a shirt, in naught but a lacy gold bra that pushed up creamy white mounds, a skin-tight black skirt that clung to luscious curves and heels that accentuated the sexiest legs in existence. Her angled hips pulsed in rhythm to the music, her slim waist swung erotically as her hands waved above her head.
She stumbled a little, quickly regaining her footing, but nothing could subtract from her sensuality.
What the hell was she wearing?
What the hell was she
doing
?
Swaying so sensually.
Showing off everything.
Kimmy
?
Looking like that?
Acting like this?
Like a slut?
Hell, he knew her—she was going to break her neck in those shoes!
Then she whirled around, bending and wagging that ass, and before he knew what he was about, Jackson burst through the crowd with no apologies for the feet he stepped on or the shoulders he slammed and grabbed her by the arm. “Jackson!” she yelped in surprise as he hauled her off the table, pulling her right from the shoes she had no business in and into his embrace. Good riddance.
“My heels!”
Worried about those but not her shirt?
“Let’s go,” he growled from his deepest core. “You’re drunk.”
That had to be it. She was soused.
Out of her mind.
Simply needed to be put to bed—and not his.