An Island Affair. Monica RichardsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Jasmine
I took the liberty of undressing him. Inch by inch. One piece of clothing after another starting with his tool belt, which I tossed carelessly into the sand. I loosened the belt on his Levi’s 501 jeans, slid the zipper down and gently caressed him in places that required careful attention. I lifted his shirt and brushed my hands against his torso. His abs were rock-solid, and his chest protruded against the snug red T-shirt that restrained his biceps. He was gorgeous: a copper-colored man with black curls. I wanted his lips to touch mine, his tongue to dance inside my mouth.
He reached for my hand...and I jolted back to reality.
“I’m Jackson Conner.”
I almost missed the introduction. I was too busy fantasizing about him—undressing him in my mind. It seemed unlawful for a man to look like that, to cause things inside of me to react that way.
“Are you Jasmine?” he asked with a bit of agitation in his voice.
“I am...yes.” I smiled and took his outstretched hand.
“So you’re Edward’s little sister,” he teased with a smile that was far more beautiful than the ocean that lapped against the shore next to us.
“I’m Edward’s sister, yes. Not his little sister. As you can clearly see, I’m a grown woman.” I lowered my voice almost to a whisper. “Nothing little about me.”
I expected Jackson to affirm that I had it going on.
“Just a figure of speech,” Jackson muttered.
“Let’s just keep it professional, shall we?” I said. “I wouldn’t want you getting off course or distracted.”
“I’m not easily distracted, and keeping things professional is exactly what I had in mind,” said Jackson. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go over the construction plans with you.”
He delivered his remarks in a businesslike manner. And whatever thoughts I had in my mind about ripping his clothes off quickly disappeared. There were no compliments or acknowledgments. He simply laid out the details of his plans for my family legacy and quickly asked if I had any questions. My immediate opinion was that he was cocky and arrogant. And I didn’t particularly care what he thought about me. Not as if I had earlier. In fact, that morning I’d been running behind schedule, not because I was handling other business, but because I’d spent too much time on my appearance. I was glad I’d spent those extra moments. Not because I cared what he thought, but because I now wanted him to see what he couldn’t have.
Things had started off smoothly that morning before I left home. As I’d dressed, my hips had swayed to the sounds of Beres Hammond’s “I Feel Good.” His voice had teased my senses; nostalgia almost brought tears to my eyes. It was great to be home. I missed the Caribbean and everything about it. The music, the food and our family home that rested on the shores of the beautiful ocean. I had grown to love California, but nothing could compare to Eleuthera.
Life in the Bahamas was carefree—magical even. Especially now that the Grove would soon be up and running. The anticipation was like expecting a newborn baby. Not that I would know anything about that. I hadn’t yet had the privilege of birthing anybody’s child. I didn’t even have a man in my life—which was an integral part of having a baby. Though I’d been with my share of guys, I’d only fallen in love with one—Darren, my high school sweetheart.
Darren had always been that guy—the one I’d dreamed of marrying. However, after a surprise visit to Darren’s college campus, I quickly discovered that another young woman had become the apple of his eye instead.
As I listened to Jackson, I smoothed down my skirt—the one that hugged my hips so nicely: hips and glutes that I’d worked so hard for the past several months with a personal trainer that I could barely afford. Living in California, I’d felt an enormous amount of pressure to look good and become successful. In less than a year, I’d drained my entire savings trying to achieve both. It was difficult finding work as an actress in a city where everyone was a Hollywood hopeful, and beautiful women were as common as the grains of sand on the beach. Even with confidence and my spicy Bahamian accent, California had proved too challenging and extremely lonely.
I adjusted my long, curly hair, pulling it off the silky, sheer blouse, and caught a whiff of my cologne, again glad I’d taken the time to look my best. First impressions were important. And if I wanted to be taken seriously by our family’s contractor and business partner, I had to look the part. No half stepping.
Prior to today’s meeting I’d only seen pictures of Jackson Conner. The pictures had been dead-on. The man was definitely a looker. And now as I got a good look at those eyes in person, I was sure they were a color I’d never seen before. Of course I’d seen gorgeous men—LA was full of them—but Jackson was different. He was self-assured and had a commanding presence. He was manly—the type that would grab your hand tightly and lead you to places that you wouldn’t normally go on your own. He seemed like the type that made your heart beat at a rapid pace by simply entering the room.
“I was thinking that we’d begin renovation on the first property there,” he said as he pointed toward one of the older homes along the beach. “We’ll restore the old hardwoods and the cabinetry. It needs a new roof, and we should bring those old windows up to date.”
“I think a front porch would be nice. In fact, each home at the Grove should have a front porch.”
The Grove was our inheritance—properties that had been passed down from my grandfather Clyde Talbot to my siblings and me. The six of us had collectively decided that the three historical beachfront properties on Harbour Island would be converted into beautiful bed-and-breakfasts. Each would have its own distinct personality, theme and name. The Talbot House would have flair and spunk and boast bright colors. The Clydesdale would have a musical ambience where portraits of jazz and Caribbean music legends would adorn the walls. My grandfather’s baby grand piano would reside in the Grand Room of the Clydesdale. And lastly, Samson Place would be the most tranquil of the three homes. Decorated in tropical Caribbean colors, the beachside home would be the most coveted retreat for lovers. The Grove would be a place where tourists could relax and experience the Eleuthera Islands Bahamas in its truest form.
* * *
Now as I stood in front of this very gorgeous man—a man I’d be working with for God-only-knew-how-long, spending countless hours with—I knew that this would be a much more challenging task than I’d ever anticipated.
“I agree that each property should have a front porch,” said Jackson. “But...”
“And the Clydesdale should have a huge cabana on the back big enough for tables, a fully stocked bar and a dance floor.”
“You have a big imagination, it seems,” Jackson said.
“Yes, I do. And you should, too, considering you’re the engineer of this project.” I walked toward the back of the house, and Jackson just stood there. I urged him to come along. “Follow me, and I’ll show you exactly where I want the cabana to be.”
Jackson followed me, and I wondered if he was enjoying the view of my rear end as we headed to the back of the house. I smiled wickedly at the thought.
“Well,” said Jackson, “I can appreciate your ideas for this project, but I have clear guidelines from