style="font-size:15px;"> Sammie rolled over and her arm flopped onto his chest, her fingers on his skin, soft and possessive. She murmured something in her sleep that sounded too much like “boot-scooting boogie.”
He glanced at the top of her pixie-cut, brown hair with colors of caramel, chestnut and rum blending like those of a rare gem. She was cute but not the kind of woman he usually dated. He winced at how that sounded, even to him.
He hadn’t dated her. He’d slept with her.
Yep, Callie wasn’t going to be happy when she found out. Without giving Jackson so much as a verbal warning to be on his best behavior, his sister-in-law had asked a favor of him, giving him her full trust.
Sammie’s had it rough lately. She’s lost her father and her business. Take her under your wing, Jackson. Help her. Please. It means a lot to me.
He’d blown that trust to hell.
Slowly, Sammie lifted her head off the pillow. Disoriented, she peered at him with deep brown eyes. “Jackson?”
“Morning, darlin’.”
Her gaze darted around the elegant room. She blinked and refocused, then shook her head to clear it. All the color drained from her face and her eyes grew round as poker chips. She lifted herself up, the covers falling away from her unclothed body. Her breasts appeared, small, round and firm. Jackson silently groaned. If she were any other woman, they’d be halfway to heaven again this morning.
With a gasp, she looked down and grabbed the sheets to her chest. “Oh, no!” She sent him a questioning stare, blinking rapidly. “We didn’t.”
It wasn’t the usual reaction he received from a woman after a night of great sex. “Apparently, we did.”
She made an unfeminine groan and searched the room, looking for some sign of familiarity. “Where am I?”
“Paris.”
She gulped air and her voice squeaked. “France?”
This was worse than he thought. “Las Vegas.”
She collapsed against the back of the bed, her head cushioned by a feather-down pillow that billowed when she landed. She looked up at the ceiling, clutched the covers to her chin and muttered, “How did this happen?”
He was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, but Jackson had the need to answer her anyway. With his head propped in his hand and elbow braced on the bed, he met her tentative eyes. He gave her the only explanation that would make any sense.
“Boots.”
Sammie’s muddled brain began to clear and through the haze she remembered coming to Las Vegas for a shoe convention. Her best friend, Callie Worth, had insisted that, because Jackson was in Las Vegas at the same time, she meet with him. Jackson had a good head for business. Jackson could help get her out of the financial mess she was in. Jackson could give her sound advice. Sammie had been robbed by her last boyfriend, an accountant who’d known how to juggle numbers and her heart—before absconding with nearly everything she’d owned.
She’d felt like a gullible idiot to have believed his lies.
She still felt that way, only now she had Jackson Worth to contend with, too.
Ever since her father had died a few months ago, Sammie hadn’t made good judgment calls. But this might have been the dumbest thing she’d ever done … sleeping with her best friend’s brother-in-law.
She spotted her clothes on the floor. They painted a vivid trail of lust to the bed. Her blouse, her skirt, her bra and her thong panties were strung like drying clothes on the line, one right after the other. A whimper, bordering on panic, rose from her throat. “How much champagne did I drink last night?”
She cringed, waiting for his answer.
He seemed to be calculating in his head. “Not that much … maybe two glasses.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I—I don’t normally drink. It affects me. I get, uh—”
He sent her a knowing look. “Wild and sexy?”
“Oh, no, did I seduce you?”
A smile caught the corners of his mouth. “It was mutual, Sammie. You don’t remember?”
He’d been helpful, that much she remembered. They’d spoken business for half the night at the bar and they’d had some laughs, too. Then the champagne had arrived. After the first glass, she’d been fine, but she should have stopped at one. Having two glasses of the good stuff, with her sensitivity to alcohol and her slight frame … well, she should have known better.
Sammie had traveled from Boston a few months ago to attend Callie’s wedding and had met Jackson then. They’d had several conversations and had developed a cordial friendship. He was devastating to look at. Gorgeous with a capital G. He was so out of her league that she’d never entertained thoughts of being anything more than casual friends.
She glanced at the silk sheets, the expensive room and the man who was probably buck-ass naked under the covers beside her. Somewhere between the elevator ride up to the room and Jackson peeling off her boots, her mind went a little fuzzy.
Oh, boy. “Not really. I don’t remember … much.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have had that second glass of champagne.”
Jackson stroked her arm, his finger making circles just above her elbow. She trembled from his touch. A jolt of throbbing heat pulsed between her thighs and her memory cleared for a second. She remembered something … how her body reacted when he touched her. “It’s a little late for that confession.”
He was right. Last night at the bar she’d thrown caution to the wind. Tired of being Miss Goody Two-shoes, the bridesmaid and never the bride, and tired of denying that Jackson Worth was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on, she’d done something totally out of character. She’d wrapped herself around Jackson on the dance floor and kissed him. He must have thought her needy and pathetic. “Th-that’s me, always late to the party.”
“Sammie,” he said, his rasp deep and low enough to remind her how much she was missing out on by not remembering last night, “just so we’re straight—you wanted to be at the party.”
“I, uh … I know.” What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to be?
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should have been more cautious. She blamed her behavior on losing her father and her business in a short span of time. But getting real with herself meant facing the truth. Last night she’d needed an ego boost and broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, sandy-haired hunk Jackson Worth was just the man to lift her out of the dumps. Not only was he an eyeful, but he’d been sweet, helpful and attentive. The combination had been irresistible.
Sleeping with Jackson was a stupid move—but not remembering all of it? Now that was just plain wrong. She was experiencing the guilt without as much as a hot spicy memory to go along with it. Now, she’d never know. And there would be no repeats of last night.
Yesterday she’d gone to the annual shoe convention hoping to muster some interest in her failing business. The economy was slumping and only
