distinct shake, before releasing her. “Sonny Side Up, I mean. I noticed your storefront this morning.”
“Thanks. You’re putting a boot store in here, correct?”
Surprised, she inclined her head a little with curiosity. “That’s right. How’d you know?”
“Jack’s a friend of mine. And my landlord, but I forget that on occasion. Like when I crush him on the court.”
She blinked and tried to picture the GQ cowboy in white shorts. “Tennis?”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, no. Basketball.”
“Oh.” That made more sense to her for some reason.
“He told me you’d be coming by to see the place.” He peered over her shoulder at the empty shop behind. “What do you think?”
“It’s great. I mean it will be once I get my merchandise in here. I’ve got a pretty good idea already how I want this place to look.”
“The location can’t be beat. We get our share of local shoppers, but we also do well with tourists. Scottsdale is the Beverly Hills of Arizona.
She smiled. She’d heard that before. “All the better then.”
“I’m glad Worth finally filled this spot. Not good for business, you know, to have empty shops on the boulevard.”
“That’s true.”
“Stop by the café sometime and I’ll buy you a meal.” He winked and started walking backward. “I must get back to the kitchen. We usually pack the house at lunchtime.”
Sammie waved goodbye to him and returned to the empty store, walking toward a back room that would serve as her office. She sat down on a neon green children’s chair that was left behind, she presumed, when the space was called Kyra’s Korner, a playland venue for small children. Jackson said the idea of an indoor babysitting activity center was sound, but it hadn’t been situated in the right location. He had more faith in Boot Barrage.
The thought made her smile. Jackson liked boots. On women. Oh, who was she kidding? Jackson simply liked women, period. And they liked him back.
She leaned forward in the teensy seat, trying to forget about her little rendezvous with him in Vegas. The more she thought about it, the more she was glad she couldn’t remember much of the night she spent in his bed. You can’t long for what you can’t remember. So, it was a good thing her memory of that night was virtually nonexistent.
The back door opened with a yawning sound and she spun her head to find Jackson stepping over the threshold. He bolted the door shut behind him and approached her with a laid-back smile. “Hey, Sammie.”
“Oh, hi.” She wished her breath wouldn’t catch every time she set eyes on him. He was beautiful, no matter what expression he had on his face or what clothes he wore on his body, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Today he had on jeans and a black jacket over a white cotton shirt. His hair, thick and rich as dark wheat, was covered with a tan felt hat. His eyes held a perpetual hint of mischief and were aimed at her calf-length boots.
He studied them, his eyes raking over the soft mocha leather straps and silver studs. She had her jeans tucked into them today, making her feel more like a Southwest woman than a Boston greenhorn.
He met her gaze. “Nice.”
Self-conscious and a little flustered, she rose from the table to face him. “Thanks. I’m a walking advertisement for my boots.”
“Who wouldn’t stop to admire … them,” he asked as his gaze flowed over her legs, moved higher to touch on her breasts and then finally landed on her eyes.
Rattled, Sammie stammered, “I—I uh, didn’t expect you this morning.”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
She shrugged. She wouldn’t argue semantics with him. “Oh, I guess it is. I’ve been busy and didn’t realize the time.”
“Busy? Doing what?” Jackson scanned the room. “The place is empty.”
“I know. I’ve been busy thinking… about what it’ll look like when it’s not empty.”
“Can you put those thoughts down on paper?”
“I already have. I’ve worked on a draft. It’s at my apartment.”
“I’d like to see it, darlin’.”
Sammie balked. “My apartment?”
“That too,but we have that dang pact, remember?”
How could she forget?
“I’m talking about the drafts. I’ve got a crew lined up to build the shelves and counter space and whatever else you decide you want. But I’d like to see your ideas first and go over them. Sound fair?”
Sammie had to get her head in the game. Jackson, obviously, didn’t have a problem being around her, even if he teased her a bit, so she had to stop thinking of him as anything other than her very smart, very business-minded partner. “Yes, that sounds fair. I guess I didn’t think you’d have much time to devote to Boot Barrage.”
Jackson tipped his hat farther back on his head. “Seeing one of my enterprises get off to a good start is always smart business, Sammie. I invest not only my money, but also my time and ideas. So how about we shoot by your apartment, pick up your drafts and then discuss them over lunch?”
Lunch? With Jackson? She supposed there was no getting around spending time with him. He was successful and if he could show her how to make a go of her business in Scottsdale, she should be grateful. “Sure.”
“One more thing,” he said, taking her hand. The connection shot a jolt of heat straight through her system. He tugged her out the back door and into the parking lot. When she stared at him in question, he said with a dimpled smile, “This is for you.”
“I’ve never driven an SUV before.” With trepidation, Sammie sat behind the wheel of the Lincoln Navigator and coasted along the streets of Scottsdale. The new-car scent from the tan leather upholstery filled her nostrils as the shiny dashboard controls twinkled in the early afternoon sun. Everything surrounding her was rich and luxurious, including the man sitting in the passenger seat beside her.
“You’re doing fine, Sammie,” Jackson said nonchalantly, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The Navigator was the biggest car she’d ever driven. “You needed something with good storage space in back for boxes and samples. I figured a truck would be pushing it.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “You figured right. Driving a truck would give me hives.”
“It’s not as hard as it looks.”
“No, it’s probably harder.” She concentrated on the road and the newness of the controls. “I bet you’ve been driving your daddy’s pickup truck since you were fifteen.”
Jackson snickered. “More like thirteen,
