Resist

“You look different when you’re not all over my daughter,” he comments, and my eyes widen. He lets out a low laugh, enjoying my discomfort. He leans closer to me, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I just want you to know I wasn’t

annoyed at you. I know Jaxon well enough to realize he was behind that little stunt. Watch yourself around him. He eats pretty little girls like you for breakfast. A word of warning: Don’t trust anything he says.”

His words chill me to the bone. I know he’s just trying to drive a wedge between us, but I can’t help wondering what he knows. There’s so much going on between these two that I have no idea what to think.

“What’s your background?” he asks suddenly.

I nearly choke on my champagne. “My background?” I repeat, coughing.

“Yes. I’m sure becoming one of Jaxon’s many women isn’t a lifelong dream. What were you doing before this?” he presses. I step back and he follows, oblivious to how much he’s invading my personal space. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Uh, business. At college. But I found it too hard to secure a job afterward.” The lies tumble from my lips. My cheeks heat and I wonder if he can sense that I’m lying. He studies me closely until I turn away from him, scanning the room for Jaxon. I find him still in deep conversation with the silver-haired man. He looks up, his eyes locking on mine before they sweep over to Ryan. His expression becomes cold. He excuses himself from the conversation and marches in our direction. My body tenses as I take in his demeanor. He’s angry.

“Don’t you have someone else you can go and bother, Ryan?” Jaxon asks, slipping his arm around my waist. Though his voice is light, I can feel the venom behind his words. Ryan’s smile widens.

“I’m shocked to see you here,” he responds, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That is, until I saw you talking to Martin.” Jaxon’s eyes narrow as his hold on my waist tightens. “Now I’m just really curious to know what the hell it is you’re up to.”

“I don’t answer to you, Ryan,” Jaxon says, his voice calm. “Which means I don’t have to explain anything to you, nor do you have any business cornering my date in hopes of annoying me.”

Ryan throws his hands up and laughs while backing away.

“I came over here because your ‘date’ looked lonely. I also wanted to assure her there were no hard feelings after your childish little stunt.”

“Right,” Jaxon begins, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “How does your wife feel about you comforting other women? And speaking of family, how is your daughter? You better watch that one. You can’t trust teenage boys around a pretty little thing like her.”

Ryan’s eyes darken as Jaxon tugs at my hand. He starts walking, pulling me along with him toward the front of the hotel. I glance over my shoulder and see Ryan still standing in the same spot. His eyes lock with mine as his lips break into an eerie smile. I shiver and turn my attention back to not tripping in my four-inch heels, which after one champagne is proving difficult.

“We’re leaving?” I squeak as we head out of the room and into the foyer of the huge hotel. “We just got here.”

“I got what I came for,” he replies calmly.

I spend the whole car ride home trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Who was the older guy Jaxon was talking to, and why did he seek him out? Apart from Ryan, he was the only person Jaxon spoke to at the function, so going there had to be about him.

The car swerves around a corner. I grip my seat and shoot Jaxon a look. He laughs and rubs my thigh, mumbling something about relaxing. The guy I’m leaving with is the complete opposite of the guy I arrived with. This version of Jaxon is erratic and crazy. There’s a glint in his eye that scares the hell out of me.

As the car slows to an abrupt stop outside his mansion, I sigh with relief. I’ve never been so thankful to arrive anywhere in one piece. Not waiting for Jaxon, who is walking around the car to help me out, I fumble with the door handle and fall out of the car and into his arms.

“Careful,” he murmurs, steadying me. His lips are inches from mine and I don’t object when his fingers close around my waist. My heart pounds as he closes the space between us. No matter how little I know about this guy, I can’t deny the passion that pulses through my veins whenever he nears me. But it’s more than just physical. I know deep down there’s so much more to him than he wants the world to realize.

I gasp as he lifts me into his arms and carries me inside. My lips find his as I caress the back of his head, unable to get enough of him. His hands cup my ass and I can feel his erection pressing against my leg.

We take the elevator to his room, where he throws me on the bed. He falls on top of me, his hands fumbling to unbutton his pants. I work on his shirt, my hands running over his well-defined stomach. There is something different about tonight. The urgency to be with him is so much stronger, and I feel it’s the same for him. This is less about power and submission and more about us, which both terrifies and excites me.

He shuffles out of his pants and boxers, then resumes his position between my legs. My arms around his waist, I gasp as he rips off my thong from under my dress. Nudging my legs further apart, he lowers himself down onto me, his eyes level with mine.

“I thought I told you not to wear underwear,” he whispers, his eyes flashing.

As he thrusts himself inside me, I feel like I’m looking into his soul. For once, I feel like I can see him, and not the front he puts up. I see something I’ve never seen in him before: vulnerability.

He’s letting me in.

I cry out, wrapping my legs around his waist as his cock fills me, every push bringing us closer together. I’m staring deep into his eyes, willing him to show me more, when everything changes. He releases inside me and then pushes me away, leaving me lying there, exposed. Anger clouds his face as he reaches for his pants and yanks them back on.

I sit on the edge of the bed and tug at my dress, confused about what the hell just happened. I have no idea what to do. Should I try to comfort him, or just leave? In the end he makes the decision for me.

“Go to bed, Charlotte,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes. “Go to bed and think long and hard about what you’re doing here.”

I try to speak but the words aren’t there—which is a good thing, because I have no idea how to respond to that. I know why I’m here…don’t I? Gathering the sheet around my body, I walk toward the door and fling it open, praying I don’t run into anyone on the trek back to my room.