Jackson pulls up outside the dorms at exactly seven. He’s driving some kind of sleek black car that looks ridiculously expensive. The windows are completely black, but I know it has to be him. Anybody who could afford a car like that wouldn’t be going to college here.
I take a few hesitant steps toward the car before he opens the door. He steps out, looking sinfully good in the suit he wears. It’s a deep blue and the crisp white shirt he wears beneath makes his tanned skin look flawless. I bite my lip, letting my eyes wander up the few buttons he has undone to the stubble on his face and the strong lines of his jaw. I look at his lips and can still remember their warmth and how he tasted.
Heat swells in my stomach, spreading through my body and making me throb between my legs. I suck in a shuddering breath and walk toward him, suddenly far too conscious of how I must look to him. My clothes probably look cheap. My makeup probably looks like it was done by a child compared to the supermodels he has been with. But I look up into his cold blue eyes and see no mockery or humor. There’s only hunger.
I’m struck by how hopelessly out of my league I am. I’ve stepped into the ring with a man who has years and years of experience where I have none.
A chill runs down my spine.
With only a slight curve of his lips as a greeting, he opens the car door for me, and I can’t help feeling like I’m stepping into his trap.
I don’t focus on that, though. I think back to how good it felt to make progress on the scene I’ve been stuck on for months. For the first time in my life, I can actually feel the end of my novel as a possibility. It could happen, but only if I keep playing this man’s game.
He places a strong hand on my back, helping me into the seat and I feel a tingle of warmth toward him at the gesture. I think back to how he called me princess and can’t help smiling a little. From most guys, the pet name would insult me. It would seem silly or childish, even.
Nothing about Jackson Pierce is silly or childish. Intense, yes. Sexy, yes.
When I settle into the seat of his car, the fabric shifts slightly around me, lowering itself and bulging or tightening in places until it feels like I’m sitting on a cloud with leather finish. I make a point of not going on about how amazingly cool the car is as Jackson gets in the driver’s seat. He’s probably bored to tears of women fawning all over his expensive gizmos. He’s also probably bored of them fawning all over his you-know-what. That thought makes a wave of panic pass over me.
So far I’ve only thought about what I might let him do. Will I let him take me on a date. Will I let him sleep with me. I never stopped to think about what I would do beyond that point. Now I just imagine the long list of women he has slept with and how incredibly beautiful they’ve all probably been. I think about all the experience they probably had in bed and the wild, crazy things they did for him. Sleeping with me will be the biggest disappointment of his life.
“I’m glad you decided to give this a chance,” he says smoothly, gripping my knee and causing an explosion of sensation to trickle up my leg, directly to my core.
I smile, forcing a calm I don’t feel. What would one of my characters say in this situation? “Good. Just remember it’s exactly that. A chance. Not an invitation.” I have to clasp my hands at my side into tight fists to keep them from covering my mouth in shock. Did I just say that out loud?
I half expect Jackson to order me out of his car or even to slap me, but he only smirks and bites his lip in the most unbelievably seductive way. “I’ll make note of that, Miss Tarragon.” His tone says he’s well aware I gave him a fake name.
I avert my eyes, focusing in front of us as he shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road. I forgot about that little fib. He seems to like when I’m playful with him, and seeing his reaction emboldens me enough to push the limits again. “Maybe if tonight goes well, I’ll reward you with my real name.”
He chuckles, sliding his eyes from the road to me for a second. Something passes over his face that I can’t quite place. Anticipation? Lust? I can’t be sure, but I wish I could just pluck the thoughts out of that gorgeous head of his right now, because I feel like I’m walking blind, and every step could take me over the edge of a cliff.
Jackson seems content to drive in silence, but I’m fiddling with my hands and desperately searching for something to say after only a few empty moments. “So, do you do this often?” I ask. I try not to wince at my own stupid question.
“Do what?” he asks. The way his lips just barely curl up at the corners tells me he’s toying with me. He wants me to have to say what I’m getting myself into.
Well, if he thinks I’m going to be squeamish, he has another thing coming. “You know, the whole dark, brooding billionaire buying a girl’s virginity thing.”
The hint of a smirk turns into a full grin. “It’s not just your body I’m after, Princess. I want your purity, too. I want everything you’re offering. And then some.”
I sink back into my seat, staring at the road with slightly widened eyes and a not entirely unpleasant pulsing between my legs. Jesus. How do you even respond to something like that?
“Well, all you have a chance of getting tonight is my name,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“We’ll see.”
We eventually pull up to a theme park. I frown in confusion. “Is this that place with all the whales?”
“It is,” he says.
I glance around the empty parking lot as he helps me out of the car. It’s a very big parking lot and it’s very empty. “I think they’re closed,” I say, suddenly wondering if he brought me out here to an isolated place to murder me in the middle of the night.
“They aren’t closed for us. Come on.”
I follow him, wondering exactly what he’s planning. Does he want to take me through an empty theme park while all the lights are off? Sounds… creepy?
“You know, if this was a movie,” I say, “this would totally be the part where the audience is yelling, ‘don’t go in there, you idiot! He’s a murderer!’” I cup my hands around my mouth to mimic the imaginary audience, but my smile fades at the look on his face.
“I guess this is your first test of trust, then.”
“My first test of trust?” I ask.
“Pure submission requires trust. Consider this practice.”
I clutch my arms around my sides, feeling suddenly cold and hot at the same time. Being with him is so intense. It makes me feel alive and terrified all at once, but I know I don’t want it to stop.
When we reach the front gate, a college kid strolls out of one of the ticket booths, yawning wide. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Jackson pulls a few hundred dollar bills from his wallet and slips them to the kid, who nods.
“Thanks, Mr. Pierce. Want me to hit the lights?”
“Light it up,” says Jackson.
The kid disappears back into the booth. A few seconds later, the entire park comes to life. Rides buzz into activity, streetlights flicker on, and music starts to pound through the chilly night air. Despite my still lingering sense of fear, a smile creeps across my face.
Jackson looks over at me and grins. “I love this place, but I’ve never had the patience to wait in lines.”