First Time For Everything

Which meant that the day that had started out good before turning bad had officially landed on the ugly.

She’d wound up having to endure Blake’s patient yet imposing form in her apartment while she packed for his house—the light in his eyes clearly communicating he was even more amused since she’d added a parking violation to her list of crimes. It was stupid, she knew, to care that the man thought she was a complete flake.

Unfortunately, now she needed to remind him of that very fact by asking him for a ride to the impound lot to retrieve her car.

Jax bit back the groan as dread and an annoying sliver of anticipation wormed its way into her limbs, and she rubbed a damp palm down her jeans as she passed through the French doors and into the foyer. She paused, wondering where to look for Blake, feeling underdressed in her well-worn jeans.

His modern, U-shaped house was framed in wood and stone and gorgeously situated in an exclusive island neighborhood in South Miami Beach. Jax headed into the huge living room, where dark Brazilian wood floors added warmth. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows afforded an unobstructed view of the Biscayne Bay to the north, and to the south, the pool nestled between the U.

All in all, a soothing scene...until she spied Blake at the far end of the room.

Jax’s heart picked up speed even as her stride grew slower as she considered leaving before being detected. After yesterday’s trail of humiliating moments, she longed to rejoin Nikki at the pool and forget about her car. Unfortunately, the sound of her squeaking tennis shoes announced her arrival, and Blake turned before she could decide whether to pay now or pay later.

Her heart shifted from First to Third as he approached, long legs crossing the vast room with a purpose.

Clean-shaven and impeccably dressed, Blake looked almost as formal as the day before. The tux had been replaced with charcoal-colored pants and a white dress shirt, and his thick, ink-black hair was damp at the edges, probably from a shower.

Didn’t he know it was Saturday? And why couldn’t she convince her libido that he was so not her type that she couldn’t even begin to count the ways? The oodles of dollars in his bank account didn’t come close to making her list of concerns, but she was dying to know where his fortune came from.

“Please don’t tell me you’re accepting bribes from the Mafia,” she said.

His pace slowed as he approached, puzzlement briefly hijacking his cool demeanor. “I’m sorry?”

Not near as sorry as she was when he stopped in front of her and she was hit with his now familiar cologne. Tamping down the wave of heat, she shifted her gaze from his broad shoulders, emphasized by the cut of his shirt, to his striking face.

Her body might never get used to the masculine beauty.

“No matter how far up the chain he is, there is no way a government attorney could afford a house like this,” she said with a wry hike of her brow. “Unless, of course, he’s on the take.”

His cool expression morphed to one of interest, and the gray eyes crinkled at the edges in humor. “I promise, I’m not accepting bribes. And trust me,” he said, his voice achieving the perfect droll note, “no one enters a life of public law for the salary. I’m fortunate enough that the paycheck isn’t a concern.” He held her gaze a moment before turning his attention to the view, his face briefly growing hard. “I inherited my money.”

Inherited. Which meant someone—family—had to die for him to acquire all this wealth. And judging by the look on his face it was a subject she should stay far, far away from. Because something in his expression told her if she pursued that line of questioning, he’d cut her off at the knees.

A perplexing and exasperating tenderness welled inside her. The man who had the world at his feet had a vulnerable spot, too. And, minus the inheritance part, one she could relate to, no less.

Toes tapping nervously, she struggled to lighten the mood again before she asked for a ride, ignoring her clamoring nerves. “Well, I guess I have to change my first impression of you as the James Bond type.” He quirked his eyebrow skeptically, and she went on. “Must have been the tux.”

His forehead bunched in amusement. “Must have been.”