Page 30 of Big & Bossy

It’s fine. Anything I need to know before you arrive? A wedding, perhaps?

Haha. No. Just wear pants.

Amanda reappeared in front of the table, her lips pursed. “I need to get back to the kitchen for a bit. Will you be okay?”

“That’s fine,” I sighed, gathering my jacket and purse beneath my arm as I stood. “I’ll head home. Jackson’s just texted me that we’re apparently going on a date tomorrow, so at least you’ll have good reading material in the following morning’s newspaper.”

“Oh God. What is it this time?”

“No idea. But I plan to annoy the shit out of him the entire time,” I replied, flashing her a grin. “Have a good night.” She gave me a quick hug before taking off toward the kitchen at rapid speed.

The way my mind kicked back into overdrive as I left the restaurant nearly made me jump. Every thought came pouring back in, a million possibilities, a thousand ways it could go wrong. I had no idea if it really was worth it, despite what I’d told her, not when my own sense of self was on the line.

The warm glow of the street lamps and the few, quick flashes of a camera lighted my way as I walked back to my car. This was going to be my new normal, at least for a while. I needed to get used to it, and it had to work.

I’d given Jackson what I swore to myself I never would; I’d given him the power to be able to destroy me once again, heart and career. And a part of me, a horribly naive part of me, didn’t regret it.

Chapter 15

Jackson

My Harley-Davidson CVO hummed beneath me, its newly remodeled backseat an addition I never thought I’d end up making. But Mandy needed somewhere to sit, and if I was going to turn this into a long-haul situation, I wanted her to be able to ride it with me.

I kicked the foot out and turned it off, letting the heat from it warm my legs as I watched the pool of press people mingling about her front door. They were already beginning to turn, their cameras snapping as I pulled my helmet over my head. I smoothed my hair so I wouldn’t have a helmet-head for the photos they’d inevitably take.

My black riding jeans, white shirt, and leather jacket weren’t my normal attire when getting photographed. In fact, I don’t think they had a single photo of me on my Harley—it was my me-time activity. No one could see my face if I had on a helmet, so I didn’t draw attention. A breath of fresh air.

I almost regretted exposing myself with it as I stepped up to her door, cutting through the sea of people. I can always buy a new one, a different model that they won’t recognize. Two knocks and the door swung open.

I was going to kill her.

“I said wear pants,” I grumbled, stepping through the door and shutting it behind me before the reporters could pick up on my irritation.

“What, you don’t like short skirts anymore, Jackson?” She smirked, leaning onto the back of her sofa as she played idly with her curls. “Are they too much for you to bear?”

I glared at her as I looked her up and down. Any other day, the little black, pleated skirt would be my favorite thing she could possibly wear. But unless she wanted potential burns on the inside of her calves and for the paparazzi to get an eyeful, it wouldn’t do. “We’re going on my bike. I suggest you put on jeans or something.”

“Bike?” She asked, pushing off the sofa and sensually strolling slowly over to the window. Fuck, she’s wearing heels, too. She shifted the blinds, peeking between them. “Oh. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Do I need a helmet? I’ve probably got one in my garage, but it’s for riding a bicycle, not a motorcycle.” She turned to me, that little skirt swaying too much, revealing a flash of her upper thighs in the blink of an eye.

“I brought a helmet for you,” I said, my voice far breathier than I expected. Get it together, Jackson. “Go change, I’ll wait. No heels and put your hair up.”

————

The snap of cameras pinged around us as I showed Mandy where to place her legs in order to not get burned. “These two pipes right here are the exhaust,” I explained, propping her booted feet up on the pedals for her. “Don’t touch them. It can burn even through your jeans.”

“Okay,” she said, the helmet flopping forward on her head as she nodded.

“Shit, that’s too loose, isn’t it?” I stepped closer to her, a whispered sorry under my breath as I lifted her chin with my knuckle. Her eyes went wide as she looked up at me, a perfect little photo-op, and I tightened the latch under her jaw. Just the brush of my fingers against her skin put my senses into overdrive. “There we go. Nod for me, princess, so I can see if it’s tight enough.”

She obeyed without hesitation. It didn’t move.

“Perfect.” Satisfied with the positioning, I threw one leg over the bike, sat down, and kicked the stand back up. “You’ll have to hold on to me,” I said over my shoulder.

“What?” She asked, her brows furrowing. “I didn’t agree to that.”

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