Mr. CEO(106)

I glance toward the door and notice with a start that it's not totally closed. I'm sure I closed it before, but maybe the latch is broken or something, and in the little gap in between, I can look out into the room. I don't mean to be a voyeur, but seeing Jackson stripping down to just the boxer briefs he's wearing sends a warm tremble through my belly. He's muscular, which I knew, but I didn't realize just how muscular until just now. Now I can see every ripple of muscle, even down to his lower back and along his spine. Yeah, I may have joked with him a little the other day about being nonfunctional, but looking at him now, I can think of plenty of functions that Jackson's body is more than capable of doing well. I clear my suddenly dry throat and cough once. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked how long you think it'll take your friend to verify the addresses?”

The mention of our purpose for being in Miami clears my head, and I pull on my normal pants, cinching the belt that’s already in the belt loops. “Maybe another day. I'll be honest, if she doesn't get back to us by tomorrow, I want to check out a couple of the addresses ourselves. It's more dangerous, but at least it's foolproof.”

“You sure about that?” Jackson asks. I pull my sports bra on, then the light top that I'm wearing on top that'll protect my arms. I’m pretty pasty white. I haven't been spending a lot of time in the sun. “I mean, if they went the whole mile, they could’ve gotten plastic surgery. They might look completely different. I know Mom looks a lot different than she did from even ten years ago.”

“I doubt either of them have gone off the deep end like Margaret has,” I reply, to which Jackson laughs. I know he doesn't have a lot of affection for Margaret, who's treated him nearly as badly as Peter has. Imagine treating your own son like he's the reason your husband cheated on you? Despicable. “Besides, I'd know.”

I go out into the main room, stopping when Jackson turns around. He's pulled on some aqua blue shorts with a white linen belt, and a tropical printed shirt that makes him look like a native. He hasn't buttoned it yet, and I can see the ridges of his chest and stomach muscles through the gap. He looks down. “Sorry, you're a little fast.”

“Not a problem,” I say, going to my bag and reaching in for the sunscreen I made sure to purchase. SPF fifty or bust. “Besides, I'm showing off my belly, why not show off yours, too?”

Jackson shrugs, letting his shirt stay open. “Okay. What's that?”

“Sunscreen. That is, unless you want me to look like a mint candy tomorrow, all red and white stripes. Think you can help me with my lower back?” Jackson comes over and holds out his hands, and I squirt a glob of the lotion into his palm. I turn around and pull my top up a little, making sure he covers it all. “I can get the rest, if you need.”

“Okay, this might be a little cold,” Jackson says, and then his hands touch me. I can't help it, it feels so good to have him touch me, and I shiver slightly. His touch is gentle, rubbing my skin lightly, and I bite my lip to keep myself from gasping when his fingertips brush lower, just into the edge of my belt, on top of my hips. I hear Jackson's breath catch, then his hands come around, rubbing my sides before pulling back with reluctance. “I... I think I got it all.”

I turn around, seeing the same look in Jackson's eyes that I'm feeling inside me, and it's with a slightly shaky hand that I take the lotion back from him. “Thanks.”

I do the rest of my lotion myself and pull out my sunglasses and hat, fully suited up for the Miami sun. “You going to do any sunscreen?”

“I did some while you were changing. Just SPF ten, I've got some tan already. You know, all those hours being a douchebag by the pool with nothing to do but read.”

I chuckle and put my glasses on, casting the room in silvery darkness. “I won't take back what I said, you were a douchebag, but I think my opinion of you has changed a lot in the past few days.”

We leave the hotel, driving down to Miami Beach and going to Ocean Drive. I've seen the place before of course. Any computer geek who hasn't played GTA: Vice City at least once is no geek to me, and the game was modeled after the real Miami. But still, seeing all the art deco buildings and the shops is really cool, and after we find a place to park, we go for a stroll, just walking. It's fun, and when Jackson takes my hand, I just go with it, relaxing and enjoying myself. “Hey, do you have a camera?”

“I've got my phone,” Jackson replies, pulling it out. “Sixteen megapixels and enough memory to put a two-hour high-def video on it.”

“What do you need with a two-hour high-def video?”

“You don't really want to know that,” Jackson says with a playful tone, and I realize exactly what sort of video he's talking about. “I guess what I'm saying is... yeah, I've got a camera.”

“Well, can we get some pics together then?” I ask, letting his little faux pas drop. Hey, he's trying. “Like, maybe a selfie or something? I bet my friend Darcy would love it.”

Jackson brightens a ton and fiddles with his phone, then nods. “Sure. Where?”

We pose in front of one of the shops, and in a spur of the moment I put my arms around his neck and hug him while we wait for the camera to count down. He turns, and we're forehead to forehead when the timer goes off, and as the image comes up, I love it. We're smiling at each other, and I'm looking into Jackson's blue eyes while he looks into mine. “That... is a great shot,” Jackson says. “I'm posting this one on my Instagram for sure.”