Page 62 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Loudly, Jackson says, “A good brother would have just walked past without interrupting.”

Colton laughs from elsewhere in the house, and I snort.

“Maybe it was for the best,” I admit, grabbing the tongs off the ground and wincing when a muscle in my back pulls tight. “I was about to ask you to show me what else your tongue can do. Although I already know the answer to that, don’t I? And it’s one I like a lot.”

Jackson rubs his neck, back to being adorably flustered. My chest feels almost unbearably hot at the sight, and all I want is to kiss him again. To kiss him and never, ever stop. Instead, I take pity on the man.

“Don’t worry about your brother,” I tell him seriously. “And for the record”—Jackson’s huff has me smirking— “that kiss was well worth being caught. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His gaze stays on me, blue eyes bright and assessing. I’m not expecting it when he steps in close, hands almost tenderly brushing my hair back before anchoring in the strands. My breath catches when he kisses me again. Lightly. Softly. He pulls back but doesn’t leave, not entirely. His nose rests alongsidemine for a moment, as if he’s breathing me in, and then he lets go.

Hell.The things he says without words.

Jackson clears his throat. “What were you humming when I came in here?”

It takes me a second to remember. “Oh, uh, ‘I Won’t Back Down.’ Why?”

He shrugs, a small movement. “No reason.”

He makes to leave, but I snag his jacket with the tongs. “Hold up. Where are you going?”

“Back to work,” he says, looking down at the utensil. “You’ll probably wanna wash those again.”

“I will,” I say. “Am I going to see you later?”

“I’d expect so,” he says, brow furrowed.

I bite my tongue. “No, am I going toseeyou?”

Luckily, I don’t have to spell it out further. Jackson shifts, eyes pinging to my lips briefly. “You wanna come over?”

“Yes. Are you inviting me?”

“Yes,” he answers, voice low.

I grin, and his eyes drop to my mouth again. “Fuck, Jack, you better get out of here before this kitchen sees some real action.”

“I was trying,” he says, pointedly eyeing the tongs again. “But somebody stopped me.”

I snort, letting him go. “Get,” I say, pulling out my inner cowboy. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Jackson grunts, taking a step before stopping. “It was worth it to me, too. Just…for the record.”

I can hardly contain my grin. “That record keeps growing. Speaking of…”

“Oh boy.”

“You never did answer my question about how you like to…ride.”

Jackson rubs his temples, but I swear he’s smiling behind his palm.

“So?”

“Nope,” he says, spinning on his heel and heading out the door. “I’m not answering that. I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh, come on!” I call, following after him. “Just give me a little something, please? Top? Side? With a crop?”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles.

---