Twins For My Bestie’s Brother (Billionaire Daddies)

11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Lily

W e’ve chosen a perfect place as far as visibility goes. On the rolling hill of the great lawn at the center of town. From here, we have a view of all the paths, the gazebo, and the playground. There are people everywhere .

Just as we predicted there would be.

I haven’t had much of an appetite if I’m being honest. My belly is full of butterflies, and they seem to have taken up permanent residence. Each time he comes to pick me up in the morning for our walks, I’m in knots over seeing him. I’ve started putting on makeup for him which I hope he doesn’t notice. Well, I hope he notices I’m looking nicer than usual. But I hope he doesn’t notice I’m trying .

Today was no different, walking over to the bookstore where we arranged to meet, picnic basket on my arm.

And now, sitting here with him on the hillside, I can’t seem to settle the butterflies.

It’s the quality of his smile, his fleeting eye contact. Something so utterly boyish and yet . . . Jackson is entirely man.

Now, he sits across from me on the blanket, his long legs folded in a crisscross. I know under those pants are tight calf muscles and . . . much more. I hate myself for thinking about him this way, but I can’t help it.

I felt him under me in the car. How hard and wanting he was.

Big.

That’s not just something you forget.

“These are amazing,” Jackson says, picking up another macaron. “Your mom seriously made these?”

“She’s been perfecting the recipe for a while now,” I reply.

He pops the light blue macaron into his mouth and furrows his brow as he identifies the flavor.

I lean back on my hands. My arms have started breaking out into goosebumps. I didn’t expect it to be so chilly and definitely opted for style rather than comfort. Jackson is a gentleman, but even gentlemen get distracted by something they like.

And . . . I think he likes me. The way I’m shaped. And whatever.

“Blueberry? With something else?”

I smile. “Yes. Blueberry cheesecake.”

“Ah . . . that’s the tanginess. Right.”

The only thing that would make the picnic better is alcohol. Maybe that would settle my nerves. But drinking in the park is forbidden. I stretch my legs out long past him, “accidentally” brushing up against his knee.

Jackson lifts his hand, hesitating. “Should I . . . touch you?”

I roll my eyes. “How romantic.”

“No one said anything about actually being romantic,” Jackson says.

No, no one did. And yet so many moments between us have felt like the height of romance. Just walking over here hand in hand felt more swoon-worthy than anything I’ve experienced in years. “Yeah, you can touch me.”

Jackson delicately places his hand on my calf. Our eyes meet briefly before he looks away. “The Sullivans were looking at us.”

“Ah, have to perform for the Sullivans.”

“They’re friends with the Worthings, aren’t they?”

“Are you trying to get a rumor about us started?”

Jackson’s face grows red under his beard. “Well, there are already rumors about us?”

I’ve heard as much. And yet . . . “Are there?”

“Tia. Of course. Telling people we were all over each other at the reunion. That’s what Kayla heard, apparently.”

“All over each other? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“That’s Tia, isn’t it?”

I scan the park, spotting a few people around our age taking an evening walk with their children. It’s strange to get to be this age and see people you grew up with having babies when you still feel like a baby yourself. “Okay, there’s Mark and Gina. What are we going to do for them?”

“I think it’s your turn. I did touch your calf after all.”

“Yes, the drama of a calf touch.”

Jackson grins. “Back in the day, this was as good as sex.”

My stomach flips. Not just back in the day. Right now too. Just as good as sex. “Well, I’m kind of cold,” I say, tipping my shoulder up.

“Yeah, serves you right for your outfit.” It’s an excuse to let his eyes roam downward. It’s funny how being objectified by a person you want doesn’t feel like objectification at all.

“I wanted to look cute,” I defend.

Jackson chuckles to himself and picks up the bomber jacket he sloughed off earlier. “You know what I’m going to say to that, right?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Do I?”

Jackson pulls himself forward on the blanket so his hip is against my thigh now. The place where I tattooed myself emanates with warmth. It’s still healing. But I think his closeness has something to do with it too. He wraps the jacket around me, but instead of letting the fabric drape over my shoulder, he pulls himself into me. “You look cute all the time,” he says.

“No one is listening to our conversation, Jackson. You don’t have to . . . ” I trail off as Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to my shoulder, sending more goosebumps across my body for different reasons. “Okay, what the fuck, Jackson?”

He laughs. “Sorry, I thought asking wasn’t romantic.” He kisses the muscle leading from my shoulder to my neck.

“You’re just really committed to the bit right now.”

Another kiss to my neck. I sigh. I can’t help it. I’m warm all over. And between my legs . . .

“We’re trying to trick people, right?” he asks, lifting his head to look at me.

He’s so fucking close. Doesn’t he know how I’ve been thinking about every kiss since Saturday night? “Yeah, but people are idiots. We don’t have to be so . . . ”

Jackson’s mouth quirks up to the side.

“You’re enjoying flustering me.”

“Of course, I am.”

I stare at his mouth. Part of me wants to say fuck it and go for it. Not care who is watching. If they’re even watching.

“Don’t look now,” Jackson says.

My body tenses.

“Will is down there.”

Any excitement is tempered by the awful feeling in my gut. “Oh, God.”

“It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. Just look at me,” Jackson says.

I try to breathe evenly, but it’s hard. Will’s mere presence in my universe sends me spiraling.

“Lily.” Jackson places his hand on my cheek. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

I allow myself to be arrested by his blue-eyed gaze. I’m safe here. Despite all the risks we’re taking, the way we’re kidding ourselves, being here with Jackson is safe. He’d never want me hurt. And that’s more than I can say for the man we’re trying to make believe we’re in love.

In love. Not just a relationship.

In love.

“Kiss me,” I say, a hunger at the back of my throat I don’t mean to release.

Jackson doesn’t question me. But he doesn’t rush either. He takes it slow, probably timing it exactly right for maximum effect on Will’s jealousy. And maximum effect on my horniness. Dear God, he’s killing me. I can smell the macaron on his breath, the sweetness. I want to taste it. Want to delve my tongue between his lips and—

Where did this come from? I never saw him this way growing up. Nothing more than objective attractiveness.

And now . . .

Jackson presses his mouth to mine. A seal.

I place my hand against his chest and let my fingers curl into the place his button-down parts so I can touch the bare skin of his neck. So warm.

Jackson moves in closer, placing his hand on the ground beside my hip. And the kiss deepens. Not just his tongue in my mouth, but a sound from his chest. A small huff of need.

We’re idiots to think we can pretend we haven’t unlocked something here.

Everything about this is so natural. I embrace him, hooking my arms under his and clinging to his shoulder blades. The way we indulge in each kiss, the way we ebb away from each other, nuzzling noses, needy for more, yet trying to take our time so it doesn’t end.

The second it ends, we are again Jackson and Lily, faking it.

We’re faking it. We’re faking it faking it faking it. None of this is real, Lily, none of this is—

Jackson wraps his hand around the base of my skull, tipping my head back for more. He’s really selling this kiss. I won’t dare think he’s enjoying it.

Suddenly, he breaks away and glances down the hill. “You think he saw?”

I tuck my chin on Jackson’s shoulder under the guise I’m watching Will walk away. In reality, I’m trying to be close. To inhale all of his musk. Delicious dark wood and tobacco. But I can’t ignore the sight of Will, walking away, hands in his pockets, head fallen forward. “He looks like he’s moping.”

“Good. As he should.”

Jackson releases me, which means I have to release too. I do so begrudgingly, returning my hands to the ground behind me. Hopefully, he doesn’t see how my nipples have perked up from being close to him or feel the heat radiating from between my legs.

Jackson looks out at the park. A light breeze tousles his golden hair. “Crowd is thinning out.”

I follow his gaze. It’s true. The playground is empty. Evening walkers are fewer and farther between. Soon we will be left alone. With no reason to pretend anymore.

“Ten more minutes, then,” I say.

“I’m in no rush,” Jackson replies.

I bite the insides of my cheeks. Is he in no rush because he enjoys being with me like this? Because, despite every intention, I enjoy being around him.

We sit in silence, which would be comfortable if not for my racing thoughts. I want something more. Want to do that again. I have to remember the lines. We came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to enjoy each other’s company. It was to make others think we’re enjoying each other’s company. How I’ll keep this up for a month, though, I’m not sure.

“What was it about him, anyway?” Jackson asks.

I blink. “About Will?”

Jackson nods but says nothing.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I was fifteen and . . . he liked me. Isn’t that sometimes all it takes? For someone to make you feel wanted?”

“That’s why it lasted all these years? He liked you?” Jackson asks. His expression is seemingly apathetic, but his words are tight and stilted.

“I mean, no, we had a lot in common. We met in art class. We both liked that. He understood that about me, I guess. It was fun.”

Jackson presses the tip of his tongue to the dip in his upper lip and nods.

“I liked the way he drew me,” I say, knowing I’m blushing.

Jackson finally looks at me again. “The way he drew you?”

“Yeah, I liked the way I looked in his eyes. I mean, come on, you know what it’s like to be a teenager. You think you’re not good enough in so many ways, and suddenly someone makes you feel . . . wanted. Just for being.”

The hardness in his expression softens.

“So, when he drew me, I wasn’t the weird girl with unruly curly hair who liked wearing clothes that weren’t trendy and didn’t like to talk in class unless I was calling someone out for being an asshole. I was . . . ” I don’t like thinking about the good times. The way Will and I fell in love. Because it was a farce. A smokescreen. “Like you said, to him I was always beautiful. Back then at least.”

Jackson runs his hand down his beard. “You’ve always been beautiful to me, too, Lily.”

I let my eyes flutter shut. Yes, it feels fucking amazing to hear him say that. And it’s confusing me. “Jackson—“

Before I know what’s happened, I’m flat on my back, and Jackson is on top of me. My lips are engulfed in another kiss, and I’m too stunned to know what to do with my hands.

I feel him between my legs, hardened against his fly. I lift my legs until my feet are planted flat and my knees frame his hips.

The kissing is frenzied and untamed. I love it. I love every second of it. But why? Why now?

Jackson tears his mouth away from mine and pushes his face into my hair, his lips skimming my ear. “I don’t need to fucking draw it to make you know it, Lily.”

I suck in a breath.

“You’re beautiful. Period. And I’ll tell you a million times if that’s what it takes for you to believe it.”

In all my years with Will, I never once felt like this. Every nerve is aflame. Every part of me wanting without question. I move my face to kiss him again, but Jackson retreats back on his knees and watches the park for a moment, like a meerkat on the savanna. “I thought I saw him taking another loop. Sorry about that.”

“That’s . . . ” I try to catch my breath. “That’s fine. Mistakes happen.”

Except we both know that wasn’t a mistake.

That was entirely on purpose.