Before she could second guess herself, she set out across the deck. A gust of wind off the mountain set the flames in the pit dancing and reminded her she ought to have brought a sweater. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
She hesitated at the steps leading down. Jackson sat with his back to the house, elbows propped on the arms of the chair. He appeared mesmerized by the flames. He hadn’t exactly invited her to join him.
“It’s warmer closer to the fire, Julia,” he called without looking her way.
The night chill seeped through the short cotton dress she wore and turned her exposed toes to ice. The heat of the fire would feel really good about now.
He shifted in his seat and studied her over his shoulder.
The fire behind him made his expression unreadable, but she could imagine his arched brow. She lifted her chin and marched down the stone path to the chair beside his.
“I wondered if you’d come out,” Jackson said, his focus once more on the dancing flames.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?”
She decided not to mince words. “I guess because of your mood when you left my parents’ house tonight.”
He slanted her an affronted look. “My mood?”
“Brooding is the word that comes to mind. Or maybe just flat-out verklempt.”
The cheek facing her creased as the corner of his mouth kicked upward.
Tension she hadn’t realized she held eked out of her. Jackson, the larger-than-life, self-assured stud, she could handle. Pensive Jackson rattled her.
“I’ve never been verklempt in my life—not that I actually know what that word means.” His eyes narrowed on her, and his smile vanished. “Jules, you’re not wearing enough clothes.” He extended an arm toward her. “Come over here.”
The frigid air had permeated her very bones. But the thought of moving closer to Jackson had all her nerve endings tingling and not from the cold. Good thing her wiser, adult self knew better than to get sucked in by the self-admitted scoundrel.
“I’m okay.” She held out her hands toward the fire.
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t relax over here knowing you’re sitting there freezing.” He paused. “But then I get it. You’re afraid you can’t resist me.”
His cocky attitude and, yes, a freezing gust of wind had her out of her chair and at his side in seconds flat. “Where do you want me?” Oh God.
