Girl's Guide to Hunting & Kissing

JACKSON STRAIGHTENED his tie outside the doorway labeled Bordello on a creamy slab of light-colored marble. The maid’s cart still propped the door open, so he hung back a moment to gather his thoughts while a sultry blues tune drifted through the open archway into the hall. He began to button his suit jacket and then, on second thought, left the olive gabardine garment undone.

If Summer proved to be half as flirtatious in person as she’d been over the phone, maybe he wouldn’t be leaving his jacket on for long anyway. A woman who designed sexy bordellos for a living couldn’t be all that reserved.

Besides, he possessed privileged information to give him an edge in his seduction quest.

He knew Summer’s secret fantasy.

Not that he planned to use the information—yet. His knuckle hovered over the door as he debated tonight’s approach. When she’d given him her name over the phone, he’d identified her as one of the four primary owners of the revamped club. Translation—she was hip-deep in scandal and controversy herself these days. Many Miami Beach residents had been cheated out of their investments with the club’s former owners and they didn’t necessarily approve of the business’s reorganization and reopening.

Just what a politician needed—to be linked to someone making all the wrong headlines.

Still, he wanted Summer. Badly. And he couldn’t officially call himself a politician yet. Despite pressure on all sides, Jackson hadn’t thrown his hat in the ring for state legislator in his district.

Reaching around the housekeeping cart to rap on the bordello door with a bit more force than he’d intended, Jackson made up his mind to live for himself tonight. He’d been a prisoner to the press and his family’s high-profile lifestyle too damn long.

He waited, watching the propped door swing all the way open while Billie Holiday belted out a torch song within.

Summer Farnsworth and her bedroom goddess mouth were there—utterly delectable and framed in a backdrop of crimson. Her ruby-red dress blended with the rest of the room while her creamy pale skin and platinum-blond hair stood out all the more. Shoulders bared in a tiny top that had to be some sort of undergarment, she had untied the ribbon that laced the outfit together.

Could she be thinking along the same seductive lines as him tonight?

His gaze searched her face for those answers, but she seemed to be studying him with every bit as much fascination. Her eyes lingered on his tie.

He could have sworn she mumbled something about no tattoo under her breath, but obviously he’d misheard.

She glanced up at him while she refastened the loosened ties just above her breasts.

Damn.

“You’re Jackson Taggart.” Her lips cocked in a wry grin not exactly brimming with enthusiasm. Tiny crescent moons dangled from her ears.

“Didn’t I mention that on the phone?” Of course he knew damn well he hadn’t. His family name carried all the wrong connotations in the press lately.

“You just said Jackson. I would have remembered the Taggart part.” Still, she stepped aside and gestured him in. “Let me get your phone.”

Not wanting to push his luck, he stood just inside the doorway and waited while she crossed the room to a sitting area. He watched with appreciative eyes as she edged her way around the antique furniture, her gently swaying hips inviting attention.

She bent to retrieve his phone from a table covered with silky black satin and lace. Good God, the woman had buried his phone in lingerie.

Knowing he was going to be shown the door in about two seconds if he let this silence stretch out any further, he tore his eyes from Summer and her undergarments with an effort. “I have to admit, I was pretty curious what a bordello looked like. Thanks for letting me in.”

Cradling the phone in her palm, she tapped the antenna against her chin in a rhythmic motion. “I’m banking on your very public reputation that you’re a gentleman. Just in case, I told my girlfriend to make periodic drive-bys to make sure I’m safe in here. If she doesn’t hear from me at the designated time…”

She shrugged, leading him to believe he’d be a dead man with the bodyguard.

Still, he had to admit it was a clever plan. “Good thinking.” But he had no intention of cruising forward too fast and possibly overstepping his welcome. “Being in the public eye definitely gives me a high level of accountability for my actions.”

And, lately, his father’s actions.

She wandered closer, still toying with his phone. “So you need to color inside the lines in your type of work, Jackson?”

His name on her lips slid over him like the silky blues music—sweet and seductive. “Can’t hurt to play it safe when you know your actions will only be dissected in the morning news.”

Pausing a few feet in front of him, she extended her hand and the cell phone she carried. “And yet you followed me tonight.”

Mesmerized by the way her mouth curled around her words as she spoke, Jackson almost missed their meaning. “What?”

“You weren’t exactly coloring inside the lines when you followed me and Brianne to the bordello earlier.” Her gray eyes pinned him, measuring him.

Suddenly his tie felt way too damn tight.

“You knew?” So much for smooth-talking his way into meeting her. He obviously wasn’t nearly as slick as he’d thought.

Waiting for her to boot him out into the hallway, he took the phone she still held out to him. His fingers brushed hers, sending a current of pure sensation through his hand.

“I’m very intuitive.” She shrugged and the dangling crescent moons in her ears grazed her shoulders. “Highly developed sixth sense. Want me to guess what you’re thinking right now?”

He was thinking how fast he’d blown his chance of ever being naked with this woman. “I’m rather hoping you won’t guess, actually. And I’m sorry about following you. It certainly hadn’t been my intent to make you uncomfortable.”

“No?” She smiled as if thoroughly enjoying herself.

Jackson was now totally out of his element. “I only hoped to meet you, but you left the lounge before I had the chance.”

“So you put your phone on the housekeeping cart on purpose?” She studied him so hard Jackson wondered if she was attempting to read his thoughts again.

Just in case, he concentrated on thinking about what a good guy he could be. Normally.

“I wanted to find a way to meet you that wouldn’t make me look like Joe Stalker.” He backed up a step toward the door, knowing he sounded like a lunatic. Good thing he hadn’t told her he’d been lured to follow her by her lips. “I’ll understand if you want me to take off now.”

Even though he’d hate it.

He wanted this outrageous woman more than he wanted his next breath. And no matter what he told her, Jackson didn’t have any intention of backing off all together. She might look at him and draw conclusions about him from the suit, but she had no way of knowing the restless man inside it.

The restless, determined-as-hell man inside it.

He hadn’t won a reputation in the courtroom by trotting out generations of Taggart good breeding and polite manners. No, he’d earned a win-loss record any prizefighter would envy by single-minded pursuit of his goals.

And somehow over the course of this evening, Summer Farnsworth had become a goal he damn well planned to attain.

SUMMER HAD ALWAYS been able to size up people.

As a child, she’d known when her parents had chosen a good cult to get involved with and when they’d landed in a militant crowd that would make all their lives a living hell.

Right now, her sixth sense told her she could trust Jackson Taggart—even if he seemed to be thinking some deep thoughts right now as he stared back at her. He might have used underhanded means to meet her, but she had to give him points for originality. In fact, she was damned flattered he’d gone to so much trouble not to spook her.

At six-foot-plus, he dwarfed her by a good five inches. His neatly buzzed sandy hair was bleached blond at the tips, attesting to a Floridian love of the sun. A strong jaw, cheekbones she would kill for and steely blue eyes made him a gorgeous man.

It was the suit that had thrown her.