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Jackson reads me too easily. He stretches his hand over mine, gently kneading until I relax my fingers. God, touching him feels good. Dammit.
I pull away quickly when we arrive at the men’s store. Jackson leads me inside with his arm around my waist this time. That simple, innocent contact overwhelms my brain, exactly what I feared would happen. His grip is solid, possessive. Even the light drumming of his fingers on my hip dares me to try and escape. The problem is that I don’t want to, but he can’t know that.
A dapper gentleman welcomes us with a measuring tape draped around his neck. He invites us in, and I’m deposited on a comfortable bench while Jackson gets the Amina-style treatment from the tailor.
Jackson’s measurements are taken, with him grinning when asked to flex his arms. The SEAL winks at me when he catches me watching. When satisfied, the tailor drapes the tape around his neck and scampers off, picking this and that. Jackson hops down and sits next to me on the fancy settee. He doesn’t tease or make conversation, and there’s no awkward silence to fill.
When the tailor returns, Jackson pats my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before disappearing into the changing room. My breath escapes my lungs in a heated rush, and my eyes drift closed. I’m picturing that same hand wrapped around my throat.
A flurry of goosebumps spread across my body at the visual. My imagination itches to imagine what would happen next, but a voice dashes my fantasy. “What do you think, miss?”
My eyes fly open, and I hope what I was envisioning isn’t plastered all over my face. Jackson stands in a sleek suit, adjusting his cuffs while the tailor kneels to pin the slacks. I have to say, the man looks just as good in a suit as he does in his uniform.
Jackson watches me closely, his hopeful grin telling me he’s anxiously awaiting my appraisal. “That works. It’s fine. You look…good.”
He winks, which I should find corny and annoying. Instead, it’s playful and cute.
The tailor finishes with Jackson and rushes him back into the dressing room. He has Jackson try on a few different styles of tuxedoes. The sight proves to be almost too much for my self-control. Jackson looked good in a suit, but Jackson in a tux is utterly fucking devastating. My willpower will definitely be tested on this mission.
We finish here faster than at the boutique, though we take nothing with us. The made-to-measure tux will be a rush job for Spain, and the suit is receiving what alterations can be completed in time for tonight. Jackson had asked about wearing his dress uniform, but Knot shot him down. While maintaining Jackson’s true vocation, we don’t want to flaunt it.
Bash suggests getting some lunch when we’re back in the car again. When Jackson reaches out for my hand this time, I don’t hesitate. His touch just feels too damned good. Even if just for a little while, I refuse to think about the consequences…until I catch Bash watching through the rearview mirror.
Chelsea
The afternoon goes by in a blur. Jackson and I are pulled in different directions as soon as we walk into Dillan Knot’s enormous house. Knot takes Jackson to brief him on the venue and discuss further plans with the admiral. I’m left out simply because hair, nails, and makeup take forever, and the techs are waiting to transform me into the socialite of the century.
Four hours later, I’m waxed, smoothed, painted, pampered, and styled to within an inch of my life. Apart from feeling like an overworked lab rat, I look amazing. I’m genuinely stunned by the reflection staring back at me when the technicians finish.
A knock sounds on the door of my borrowed suite, but I can’t look away from the mirror to see who it is. A gasp and mumbled curse have me turning around to see Jackson in a similar state of polish, minus the makeup and nails.
He’s openly gawking until I prop a hand on my hip. “If you keep making that face, it’ll freeze like that.”
Jackson shakes his head and smiles sadly. “I’m jealous of myself. Here I am, staring at the most beautiful woman in Virginia, and I can only pretend she’s mine.”
His words paralyze me. I don’t know how to respond. Luckily, Knot and his wife save me from doing so when they push past Jackson to enter the room.
“Oh my God,” Trish squeals. “You look perfect.”
For the first time in my adult life, I agree.
Knot clears his throat and nudges Jackson with an elbow before addressing me. “Let’s get you up to speed and on the road.”
The four of us walk to the living room, where Knot details the evening’s plan. Except for his reaction upstairs, Jackson hasn’t spoken a word.
“I set up an account with twenty-five thousand dollars for the fundraiser. Don’t be assholes but make a splash. Remember, we want this guy sniffing after you for campaign donations. It’s casino night, so play what you like and act natural. The limo will drop you back off at Knot Corp. later. Jackson, Wrench took the liberty of hotwiring your truck. It’s parked next to Chelsea’s ride.”
Knot ushers Jackson and me out the door, where a black stretch limo waits. The CEO of Knot Corp. regards us carefully but doesn’t voice what’s in his eyes. He doesn’t think we look believable.
I cozy up to Jackson, bringing a hand to his chest and leaning against his shoulder. Jackson picks up on what I’m doing, wrapping an arm around me and kissing the top of my head. I let my eyes drift closed momentarily and then check my boss again. “That better?”
He grunts. “Make sure you stay in character the whole time.”
Knot walks off, and Jackson releases me to open the door. “Like I said. Hell of an actress.”
I elbow him playfully and step inside the lavish interior. The driver closes the door behind my fake husband, and I take a moment to admire my loaner wedding ring. The engagement ring is not one I would ever pick. It’s way too big and flashy for my practical style. I suppose it will serve its purpose, which is to attract attention. Jackson wears a much simpler platinum band.
“Is there anything else I need to know about you before stepping out of this car again?” Jackson asks. “Like maybe an allergy I should watch out for?”