The group fell silent, processing this bombshell. Jackson's mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. "Maybe she changed her name?" Isabella offered weakly. "You know, new life, new identity?" Matthew snorted. "Or maybe she's been lying this whole time. For all we know, 'Veronica' was just some made-up persona she used to hook up with average Joes like Jackson here." "Hey!" Jackson protested, but his indignation was half-hearted at best. He couldn't shake the feeling that his entire relationship with Veronica, Scarlett, or whoever she was had been built on a foundation of lies. "Christ, Jackson," Charles muttered, shaking his head. "Your ex-girlfriend is either a mafia wife with a secret identity or an imposter who happens to look exactly like her. Either way, I think it's safe to say you dodged a bullet there, buddy." "More like dodged a whole damn firing squad," Matthew added, earning him another smack from Isabella. Jackson's head was spinning. He glanced back at Veronica –

Jackson placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the smooth silk of her dress under his palm. He slid his fingers slowly toward the inside of her thigh, savoring each inch. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft, sending a surge of arousal through him. Their lips met, and the first touch was electric. Each kiss deepened, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger he hadn't felt in forever. She tasted like champagne and something else, something purely Abigail. He groaned into her mouth, their kiss turning desperate and wild. She let out a little moan, her hand gripping his shoulder as he moved his hand higher, fingers grazing her inner thigh. The flimsy lace of her panties came into contact with his fingertips, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core. Jackson's pulse quickened, the anticipation driving him mad. He couldn't resist sliding his hand just under the edge of the lace. Her breathing turned ragged, matching his. He broke the kiss momentarily, panting against her l

Gabriella's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp enough to cut diamonds. "And where exactly did you hear that, Mr. Jackson?" "Oh, you know," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Connections. I've got... connections." "Connections," she repeated, her tone flat. She scrutinized him, her gaze lingering. "You don't look like a cop. Or a detective." He laughed nervously. "Me? A cop? No way. I'm just an investor. You know, stocks, bonds. Just your average Joe." "Does this 'average Joe' have a name for these mysterious connections?" He couldn't tell her about the disembodied voice in his head that was urging him to 'play it cool, Romeo.' "I don't kiss and tell," he said, aiming for mystery. "A gentleman never reveals his sources." She raised an eyebrow. "What exactly does this 'gentleman' want with an arms dealer?" He paused. What did he want? He glanced around the opulent room, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt. "I might need a gun," he blurted out. "Why would a nice man like you n

Jackson took another gulp of champagne, wondering if he could just claim he'd completed the task and hope Quantum Quill wouldn't notice. But knowing his luck, QQ probably had some kind of psychic lie detector built in. He sighed and squared his shoulders. It was time to get back into the game. He was a man on a mission, a hunter stalking his prey. A very confused, slightly tipsy hunter who had no idea what his prey looked like, but still. He had a job to do, and by God, he would do it. Even if it meant chatting up with every single woman at this party until he found the right one. Jackson took a deep breath and prepared to embark on his mission impossible. He barely took two steps when a familiar voice called out his name. "Jackson! Over here, you blind bat!" He spun around, nearly spilling his champagne, to find Isabella waving at him. She was surrounded by James, Matthew, and Charles, all looking slightly tipsy and amused. "Well, if it isn't the man o

After what felt like hours (but only about fifteen minutes), Jackson found himself near the party's edge. He leaned against a tree. This was hopeless. He didn't even know what he was looking for. "Quantum Quill," he hissed, feeling slightly ridiculous talking to thin air. "A little help here? Who am I supposed to be looking for?" Nothing. Not even a peep. "Great," Jackson groaned. "Just great. I'm at a fancy party, talking to myself like a lunatic, trying to find a woman I can't even identify. This is definitely how I pictured my Sunday night going." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that probably made him look less like a 'debonair secret agent' and more like a 'frazzled office worker on a bender'. A group of giggling women walked by, giving him curious looks. He tried to smile charmingly, but he felt it came out more like a grimace. They hurried past, whispering and glancing back at him. "And now I'm the creepy guy at the party,"