Girl's Guide to Hunting & Kissing. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
wanted this outrageous woman more than he wanted his next breath. And no matter what he told her, Jackson didn’t have any intention of backing off all together. She might look at him and draw conclusions about him from the suit, but she had no way of knowing the restless man inside it.
The restless, determined-as-hell man inside it.
He hadn’t won a reputation in the courtroom by trotting out generations of Taggart good breeding and polite manners. No, he’d earned a win-loss record any prizefighter would envy by single-minded pursuit of his goals.
And somehow over the course of this evening, Summer Farnsworth had become a goal he damn well planned to attain.
SUMMER HAD ALWAYS been able to size up people.
As a child, she’d known when her parents had chosen a good cult to get involved with and when they’d landed in a militant crowd that would make all their lives a living hell.
Right now, her sixth sense told her she could trust Jackson Taggart—even if he seemed to be thinking some deep thoughts right now as he stared back at her. He might have used underhanded means to meet her, but she had to give him points for originality. In fact, she was damned flattered he’d gone to so much trouble not to spook her.
At six-foot-plus, he dwarfed her by a good five inches. His neatly buzzed sandy hair was bleached blond at the tips, attesting to a Floridian love of the sun. A strong jaw, cheekbones she would kill for and steely blue eyes made him a gorgeous man.
It was the suit that had thrown her.
Crisply pressed and perfectly pleated, his olive suit looked expensive, high-class, and just a little too starchy for her tastes. Not that she’d ever been quick to judge a book by its cover, but something about his slick exterior made her think he wouldn’t appreciate a woman who wore a bustier in public.
Then again, he might not be the tattoo-bearing, earring-wearing superstud she’d been hoping to meet, but the beach-bum muscle-heads she used to date hadn’t exactly provided lasting fulfillment.
Jackson Taggart was considered one of Miami Beach’s hottest bachelors, and he certainly filled out his suit in all the right places.
Maybe she just needed to get to know him a little better before making any decisions. If he turned out to be a stuffy, no-fun politician type, she would be able to walk away from him easily. But after their intriguing meeting, she could at least find out more about him.
“You don’t have to go.” She nodded toward the intimate sitting area on the other side of the room. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me about your political ambitions instead?”
The smile he shot her sent a shimmer of tingly heat through her. The man would win any election with a grin like that.
“You’re going to make me accountable for my actions now, too, aren’t you?” He extended his hand in the classic “after you” gesture.
Had she ever dated a man who’d done the “after you” thing?
She obliged him, making her way to the newly varnished settee so he could have the safer seating of a taupey-gold colored wingback. Only, Jackson didn’t take a seat. He prowled about the bordello, about her, at a leisurely pace.
Summer watched him for a moment as he lightly fingered the shirred-velvet walls, exploring their lush softness.
Clearing her throat to cover the sudden catch in her breath, Summer chose to ignore his wandering fingers and answer his question.
“I just figured since you tricked me into this meeting, the least you can do is let me in on the truth behind all the Miami Beach gossip. Is it true you’re going to make a late election bid for state legislator?”
“You follow politics?” He glanced her way as he moved on toward the cherry armoire. Slowly. Deliberately.
She had a momentary vision of him in the courtroom, stalking the witnesses on the stand with his deceptively casual stroll.
“Not usually. But it just so happens your photo ends up in the paper on all the same days mine does so I’ve been sort of following the rumors surrounding you.” The media continually questioned his integrity when, in fact, it obviously had been his father who’d screwed up by accepting kickbacks from criminals in his long-ago position as an FBI director.
Still, the local paper had been quick to put Jackson under a microscope, scrutinizing every facet of his personal and professional life. Which, now that she thought about it, was a definite strike against getting involved with this man. Summer’s funky clothes and penchant for wearing crystals to resonate with whatever energies she happened to need in her life at the moment would never bear up well under a microscope.
Especially not when her mood crystals were paired with a straight-laced politician.
“They’re not true.” At the moment, he had walked somewhere behind her, so she couldn’t gauge his expression. Instead, his voice rumbled through her from a few feet away, the low, quiet intensity of his words giving passion to the statement. “I’m trying to understand my father’s decisions but that doesn’t mean I’m doomed to make the same ones.”
He seemed to loom closer as he spoke. Summer’s neck tingled all over again with that sensation of being watched. Studied. Assessed.
Goose bumps rose on her arms, the sensation not entirely unpleasant. She fought to stay focused on their words instead of the peculiar physical dance taking place in the room. That chatty sixth sense of hers told her she was way out of her depth with this man.
Curving her hands about her shoulders to warm the chill bumps away, Summer considered Jackson’s tenuous position in the public eye.
“Believe me, I wouldn’t want to be judged by my parents’ actions.” She adored Willow and Phoenix Farnsworth, but their lifestyle was far from normal. “I don’t know how you handle so much inquiry into your business.”
She’d hated that about the cults her parents had continually joined. There were too many bizarre rules, too much close contact with people who wanted to regulate your life. No, thank you. She would not “regulate” anything about herself again. Ever.
Jackson shifted behind her. Moving closer?
She waited, wondered what he might be doing back there until the soft fabric of the crocheted shawl she’d worn earlier fell around her goose-bump-covered shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Jackson’s hands on the garment for a fraction of a second before he released it, those long tanned fingers nearly grazing the back of the settee. Nearly grazing her. She sensed the heat of his body, could almost guess what those hands would feel like on her.
And instead of chasing away a chill, her shawl only increased the cool quiver dancing along her skin.
Tugging the ends of the shawl a little closer to wrap around her midsection, Summer watched as Jackson resumed his lazy prowl around the room.
As if he hadn’t just sent a shock wave of latent desire through her system.
He toyed with a framed photo on the writing desk, a gilt frame that she knew perfectly well contained turn-of-the-century erotica in the form of a naked woman playing piano.
“I remember going to my first press conference riding on my dad’s shoulders. I guess it hasn’t bothered me in the past because I was used to it. It’s getting a little too intense for me now, though.” His gaze traveled from the photo to her. He studied her with those magnetic blue eyes, his relaxed posture totally at odds with the heat of that steady gaze. “I came to the club tonight to take my mind off the whole mess. The pressure has been…distracting.”
Summer shifted in her seat, too aware of this man. The bustier that had felt so sexy an hour ago, now seemed to constrain her, provide too much friction against her breasts.
In an effort to get her mind off her rising temperature, she redirected their conversation. “You know, you never answered my question