mind was working overtime trying to come up with explanations for my insane reaction to Josie. The only thing I could think of was that it had just been too damn long since I’d been with someone. And there was no way in hell that this heavenly creature was going to be the woman to end my dry spell.
She was my sister-in-law’s producing partner. And besides that, I had a gut feeling that this wasn’t the sort of woman that I could have something casual with. But I felt so drawn to her. It had to be pheromones.
She was my praying mantis, which meant I needed to keep my distance. I’d give her a ride back to Wishing Well, drop her off, and try to stay as far away from her as possible.
She was dangerous.
Chapter 4
Josie
“Darling, a real man can sweep you off your feet without even touching you.”
~ Josephine Grace Clarke
My mind spun and my entire body tingled as I sat beside Jackson on the silent drive.
I’d heard all of the old adages about Southern gentlemen, but for some reason, I’d assumed that all that had flown out the window with technology. It seemed to me that the art of chivalry had died with the birth of online dating. But apparently, no—it was alive and well and embodied in the incredible body of Jackson Briggs.
The man had not only saved me from a conversation I was going to need to get comfortable navigating, but he’d also insisted on carrying all three of my bags. And after I tripped over the curb he effortlessly broke my fall, while still carrying said bags.
Then, he made sure that I walked on the inside of the sidewalk so that he was between me and the traffic. Which was great, since I was clearly having trouble doing something as simple as walking.
He’d gently ushered me around a grease stain that I hadn’t seen on the concrete floor of the parking garage, and then opened the passenger side door of his truck with one hand extended.
And the cherry on top of the too-good-to-be-true Jackson Briggs sundae was the aforementioned offered hand was not the sort that I would’ve expected from a cinematographer. It was tanned, scarred, and calloused.
When I placed my hand in his, my fingertips brushed against his roughened skin. The sexy sensation lit my body on fire. My imagination ran wild with fantasies of his rough palms moving up my inner thigh and grazing over my bare breasts.
Besides it being wildly inappropriate to be thinking these things, it was also wildly out of character for me. In all my twenty-eight years, I’d never had X-rated thoughts like that about a stranger.
It was so far out of character for me, in fact, that I had no clue how to process what I was feeling. Since I couldn’t seem to shake off the mental image and feeling of his hands, I concentrated on how he could’ve earned those work-worn hands. I knew that he’d grown up on a farm because Mia had mentioned Travis’s family farm more than once.
Briggs Farm was one of the highest-grossing agricultural properties in all of Texas. They had a variety of crops, ranging from grain and corn to hay. They also raised sheep and had pigs and horses. He could’ve easily gotten his calluses from growing up a cowboy.
Or maybe he’d gotten the scars during his travels abroad. From what I’d been able to tell from my extensive Google dive, he regularly worked in remote locations in less than desirable conditions. In the past five years, he’d been on projects in six different countries.
I’d tried to convince myself that my “research” of Jackson was purely necessity, since I was a producer on the show. But that was B.S. Besides being Mia’s brother-in-law, he was a well-respected cinematographer in the industry. I’d spent hours scouring the internet because from the moment I’d seen his picture, I’d been intrigued and wanted to know more.
I wasn’t sure what I expected the perfected specimen of a man seated beside me to drive, but this wasn’t it. Not that I’d gotten a strong read on Jackson. Maybe it was because I’d been so mortified during the first few minutes I’d known him. Or it could be that my hormonal response had clouded my judgment.
I took in my surroundings. The inside of the pickup truck was an advertisement for the Dallas Cowboys. Jackson just didn’t scream sports fan to me.
Still, he had grown up in Texas,