Naughty by Nature Page 6

  “Come here, you.” Jax lands his palm over my cheek and plants a slow lingering kiss right over my lips. He pulls back, and I’d swear on my life that the chuckle he’s giving is entirely due to the fact my cheeks have ignited a deathly shade of garnet.

  “I still can’t believe this is real.” Deb pulls the three of us into an awkward embrace. “Did your mother mention anything about the POTS gala?”

  “Yes!” I give a little enthused hop. “And we’ll be there with bells on.”

  “Bells!” She claps up a storm. “Wedding bells, I hope.” She gives a little wink as she cinches her purse over her shoulder. “You know as happy as I am for you both, I’d like to think that my Dalton is smiling down on the two of you twice as hard.” Tears glitter in her eyes as she brings her dead husband into the mix, and my stomach clenches. It’s all fun and games until someone drags a dead body into the room. And in this case, it’s Jaxson’s father. He was a great man, and I cried as hard as Jaxson did the day we lost him.

  Jaxson pulls me in close as he looks to his mother. “I’d like to think so, too.”

  She shakes her finger at her son as she heads for the exit. “A lot of people thought the two of you belonged together from the start, but he believed in you like no one else.”

  “Oh,” I whimper without meaning to.

  “I’ll catch you two later. Don’t behave now—you hear?” She gives a wicked cackle as she closes the door behind her.

  I bury my face in my hands a moment. “I’m sure your father would be rolling in his grave if he knew what we were up to.”

  “Are you kidding?” He gives my shoulder a quick rubdown. “He’s probably cheering us on from the sidelines. He always thought those two were trouble. He used to call them—”

  “Lucy and Ethel.” I nod. “But he was wrong. They are way worse than that.” I glance around the room. “Did I interrupt anything?” The enormous table behind him is laden with trays of crudités, still heaping with ignored carrots that line the periphery like little nubby fingers, and mounds of untouched broccoli. “A carbohydrate intervention perhaps? When did Stade Steel outlaw donuts?”

  He lets out a laugh, and his fingers dig into my side before brushing over my left boob.

  “Sorry.” He winces as he holds his hand up like a thief. “You do realize that wasn’t a cheap ploy to land on second base.”

  “I don’t see why not. Your body is practically programmed to round out the bases on opening night. So all things considering, I guess I’m okay with it.”

  His watery blue eyes steady into mine. “You still okay with this?” He gives my finger a tug when he says it.

  “If it brings an ounce of emotional distress to the women who have specialized in giving us emotional distress all our lives, I say we walk to third the next time those two are in the room. What is third base, anyway?”

  “Come on, Eight Ball. You do realize your other nickname in school was practically third base personified.”

  “If you’re talking about Pop Top, that nickname was exclusive to Jugs Larissa Magee, and why the hell are you employing her after she tried to pants me in the middle of the quad on homecoming day?”

  Jax softens into me, that smile of his wanes just a bit, and there’s a veiled look of sadness in his eyes. It’s easy like this with Jaxson, and I’m not sure what could possibly pain him about that. Then it hits me.

  “I’m so sorry.” I press my hand to my chest. “That was totally insensitive of me. I know how much the passing of your dad still affects you. It affects me, too.” My voice crawls down to that deplorable level reserved for talking to infants and small furry pets—and apparently, family grief as it were.

  “It does?” He tips his head and gives that lazy smile that makes my thighs quiver.

  “Yes, it does. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my employing Larissa offends you. I should have known you’d breeze back into my life one day, fully amped to unleash vengeance on our mothers, and it would bring you right here to my boardroom.” His eyes bear into mine with a look of wonder. “What has you back in Oak Grove? Are you a permanent fixture, or should I prepare for heartbreak?” His left eye comes this close to winking, and my sweet spot pulsates on cue. I love it when he does that. It’s been his odd physiological response whenever he’s attempting to veil the truth. But, wow, is it hot as a kiss from the sun. I’m pretty sure having routine orgasms around the boy you lusted after religiously isn’t the best idea, considering he’s setting the orgasmic bar pretty high. Those California nights are about to get longer and far lonelier once my feet touch down on L.A. soil.

  “Prepare for heartbreak. I have a new job starting a week after we collectively dash our mothers’ hearts.” God—I am such a liar! Although I’m hoping something will materialize for me in that regard. I guess it’s not really lying. I’m sort of tossing positive energy out into the universe.

  “New job.” That pained look comes to him once again. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing great out there.” He takes a deep breath, and that enormous chest of his rises and falls. “So I have you all to myself for the next few weeks.” His tongue does a quick revolution around those cushion soft lips as if he were readying to eat his favorite meal, and my eyes linger on the gloss left in his tracks.

  “All to yourself,” I muse. My breathing becomes labored as the air seems to thicken unnaturally. Jaxson steps in closing the gap between us, and the warmth of his body radiates over me. There is something simply intoxicating about a man in a suit, but there is something downright delicious about Jaxson in a suit that makes me punch drunk with lust on a level that I can hardly stand.

  He reaches over and hitches my hair behind my ear in a move so sweet it makes my legs clench in an effort to keep my ovaries from attacking him.

  “Come on, Eight Ball,” he whispers in a seductive way that only Jax knows how to do. “I’ll give you a quick tour of the building.” He threads his arm though mine and nods. “For my mother’s sake.”

  “Oh, right, for her sake.” I swallow hard as the girth of his body relaxes against mine. Jaxson strides us down the hall and shows me off like a brand new sports car. I’d be remiss if I didn’t note the fab way every single female on the floor drops her jaw in our honor, but the most noteworthy jaw drop is the one we’re experiencing now as we come upon Larissa as she chats stereotypically by the water cooler while her nipples peer out for a chance to peek at Jaxson themselves.

  “What this?” Larissa bounces the girls right over as she demands explanation.

  “The cat’s out of the bag.” I wrap an arm around this steely handsome man by my side. “Our mothers are finally getting what they wished for—the two of us are—” Just as I’m about to spear Larissa in the heart with an icicle in the shape of Jaxson Stade’s most prized member, he clears his throat.

  “Having some fun,” he interjects.

  “Really? Having some fun?” She steps back, looking a little affronted by our effort to have a good time. “Finishing one another’s sentences?” Her mouth opens wide. If Dalton is truly looking out for us, I’d appreciate it if he sent a giant red-eyed horsefly to zoom right down her throat. It would totally be worth the projectile vomiting that would inevitably ensue.

  “We’d better go.” I give Jax a tug in the opposite direction. “He was just about to lead me to his lair. Rumor has it, he’s really good at bending the masses over his desk, and there are just some things that a girl needs to find out for herself. Toodles!”

  A dark laugh thunders from his chest as he navigates me deeper down the labyrinth that is the penthouse floor of Stade Steel.

  “Why did you tell her we were just having fun?” I resist the urge to smack him as he opens the door to an office the size of my apartment back in L.A., and I forget to take my next breath. Glossy dark wood floors and walls adorned with oversized canvases that practically span to the ceiling greet us. An enormous white sofa and a full black granite bar sit
in the corner. The desk itself is a testament to the product Stade Steel rolls out by the bolt with a large black leather seat situated behind it.

  His hands come up over my shoulders as he offers an impromptu massage. “Because that’s what we’re having, isn’t it? Fun?”

  “Fun,” I whisper as I turn around to face my childhood friend as the dangerously gorgeous man he’s turned out to be. His eyes are fastened to mine, his expression serious, and there’s just enough dark stubble shadowing his cheeks to give him that rough around the edges look that he practically invented. “Is that what you want? To have fun with me, Jaxson?” My throat is so dry I can hardly get the words out.

  The idea of a laugh rumbles from him as his thumb finds his way over my cheek with a quick sweep. “Yes, Poppy. I plan on having just that—a lot of fun with you.” He says fun like it’s a dirty word, and dear God Almighty, I’m hoping it will be.

  Fun. That’s the last thing I expected to have on my trip back to Oak Grove.

  It’s the last thing I expected with Jaxson Stade—but deep down, it’s exactly what I hoped for.

  Jaxson

  Days float by with Poppy by my side. It’s a surreal feeling to have her here, to have her near me at all. But I realize it’s all for show, with each outing we partake in is well-orchestrated to either directly or indirectly involve our mothers. First, there was bowling, which she beat me at legitimately, and I’m still pretty ticked about it. Next, there was a bar crawl at Starry Nights with friends. And let’s not forget that each time I picked up Jensen from daycare, Poppy was right there making sure we went for hot chocolate right after. I think Jensen is starting to like Poppy just as much as I do. And I do like Poppy. I’ve always liked her. And yet there’s something about this revelation that saddens me.

  What the hell is there to sadden me about hanging out with Poppy? Yes, things were great when we were kids, but that gray zone we entered once puberty hit threw us off track. Something went wrong that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not like we were together. We dated other people. And then, like a spear to the heart, it hits me. That right there is the tender spot that never truly healed. Poppy might have dated other people all those years ago, but tonight Poppy Montgomery is dating me—and unfortunately, this hot date involves my mother.

  The doorbell rings, and I head straight over to find Poppy’s smiling face on the other side of the glass. I thought since my mother will be glued to the television tonight watching her favorite standby, Ice Skating with the Stars, Poppy should come over for dinner and a movie. That way my mother gets to watch the real show firsthand, and I get to reap the benefits.

  “I can’t believe you live at home.” Poppy’s perfect bowtie lips contort into all sorts of delicious shapes I’d like to dive my mouth over.

  I realize that Poppy just said something to me, that the words were most likely an insult, but I’m too mesmerized watching her cherry red lips and the magnificent way they move. Hell, everything about Poppy is magnificent tonight in that short white dress, the black leather boots that come clear to her thighs.

  Crap. I am in trouble. I’ve never been around a gorgeous woman who looked like a stick of dynamite going off in your face and not gotten laid.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers as she gives a quick glance around. “Where’s your mother?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” I offer a lazy smile. “She’s in the living room. Why don’t we say hello before I have you cook me a meal?”

  “You’re such a sexist pig.” She strides right past me, and the scent of her perfume pulls me with her like a leash. Sweet. Poppy holds the scent of a flower just like her name suggests. And damn, she looks good from behind. “Aunt Deb?” she calls as she heads straight for ground zero. I haven’t heard her call my mother that in eons. It makes me long for those olden, golden days of our fantastic youth.

  “Oh!” Mom jumps at the sight of us from the couch. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she cradles a pint of ice cream on her lap with a spoon spiked through it. “Goodness! I was just about to indulge. You two want to take a seat? It’s quarterfinals night!” She claws at the television just as the intro comes on.

  “No thanks.” Poppy wraps a slender arm around my waist, and my dick startles to life. “Jax here was just about to fix us dinner. Would you like something to eat?”

  Mom’s brows jump with amusement, and she gets that look in her eyes that spells out danger ahead. “I’m betting this is a private menu he’s concocting just for the two of you.” She says concocting as if it were a sexual term, and my appetite takes a nosedive.

  “It’s pizza,” I flatline. “We’re making our own. You’re welcome to join us.” I lay the invite out like a threat, and she smirks my way.

  “Heavens no. You two have fun. I’ll be right here if you need anything. Bon appétit!” She lifts her spoon into the air before taking a bite.

  “Pizza?” Poppy practically skips to the kitchen. “God, I’ve forgotten what a palace you live in. Are you sure we need to make our own dinner? That’s something only peasants do.” She gives my ear a quick tug, and a jolt runs clear down my right side from her touch.

  “What a coincidence?” It takes great restraint not to take her in my arms. “Tonight we dine like peasants. Besides, you love pizza.”

  “Only if you’ve got anchovies.”

  “We’re going old school because I have more salted greasy fish than you’ll know what to do with.”

  I pull out the spread I had my mother’s personal chef put together. Yes, we might be eating like peasants, but the food was prepared for us as if we were kings. I lay out over twenty potential toppings and roll out six balls of dough onto the marble counter.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” Poppy marvels as I sprinkle the counter with flour and hand her a rolling pin. “You do realize this is the only house with a built-in pizza oven in all of Oak Grove.”

  “I bet you every house in L.A. has two—one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom.”

  A laugh belts from her, and it warms me right down to my feet. “And why pray tell would they have a pizza oven in the bathroom?”

  “Because they’re weird like you.” I brush my finger over her nose, but those eyes. When we were kids, I’d openly stare at her neon green eyes, and she wouldn’t mind. I’m still not sure that hue is found anywhere else in nature. “And I bet they sandwich pray tell in between every sentence.” I pick up a ball of dough and pretend to fling it at her.

  A sharp laugh pumps from her. “Don’t you dare turn this into a food fight.”

  I spot my mother watching us from the reflection in the wall mirror hanging before her.

  “I’ll turn it into whatever I like.” I pull Poppy into my arms, and we do a little twirl right here in the kitchen. “A pair of sixty-year-old eyes is watching from the living room,” I practically mouth.

  “Almost sixty,” Poppy corrects because she’s a smartass that way, and she knows I secretly love it. Her arms find their way around my back as she looks up at me from under her lashes. “By all means, let’s put on a show worth watching.”

  “I don’t know, Pops. Ice Skating with the Stars is pretty heavy competition.” I press my lips close to her temple, and I can feel her body quiver beneath me. I may not know how Poppy feels about me, but I know the female body. I can read its every quiver, its every shiver like sheet music, and hers just gave me the green light. I’d love to act on it. I’d love to land a kiss to that perfect mouth of hers, take her upstairs and love her the way I’ve wanted to for so long.

  She pulls back, her hands pressed to my chest as if holding me at bay, and she might have to. Her body might be sending me signals, but mine is programmed to receive.

  Her breathing grows erratic as her tits dance up and down. Look up, look up, I repeat over and over to myself. Nothing ruins the intensity of a moment more than a quick glance to the girls. And this is Poppy. As far as she goes, I shouldn’t even b
e aware of the fact she has them, let alone have thoughts of landing my mouth over each one. I could map out nine different ways I’d love to devour them.

  She clears her throat. “I think we’d better make some pizza before that oven burns the entire house down. It’s getting pretty hot in here.”

  “Sure thing, Eight Ball. I’ll turn on the pizza oven.” I give a little wink, and she swats me. Poppy pulls her phone out and puts on some music, a playlist she calls Sedated, and we get down to the very serious business of building our own pizzas. I’m just about to put all six into the oven, and Poppy comes at me with a handful of purple onions.

  “Wait! One more dash for good luck.”

  “Good luck for what? You keeping the vampires at bay tonight?”

  “That’s garlic, you moron, not onions—onions make them cry. Which reminds me.” She tosses on a few cloves of the demon-warding root, and I dive the pies into the fire before she decides to toss on a watermelon. “And I’m not trying to ward off any vampires.” She glances to the living room, and I do the same. Sure enough, we’ve sidelined my mother’s icescapes for the evening because her attention is zeroed in on us.

  Poppy doesn’t miss a beat. She lands her fingers in my hair, raking her nails gently over my scalp over and over again, and I’d be a liar in the pit of hell if I didn’t say it feels damn good. Poppy looks me right in the eye with those lawn green lenses, her lips form into the perfect little pout, and it’s taking superhuman strength not to kiss them. “I have a feeling it’s you I need to keep at bay.” Her finger touches my nose when she says it, and her hips swivel against mine as we start slow dancing to the music. “I saw the way you were looking at my boobs.” She makes a face, and I cringe.