Jesse (Damage Control 2)

I turn on him, hands on my hips. “What do you want?”

“That sounds like a trick question.” He winks.

“Does it? You barged in here, and you think asking you what you want is a trick question?”

“Hey now. I didn’t barge in here. You opened the door.” He lifts his hands much like Kayla did. I think I scare people.

Good. Better them than me.

“You’re an ass.”

He grins. “And a fine one, too.”

Oh dear God. “You’re a dick.”

He nods solemnly, but his eyes dip to my cleavage and darken to forest green. “A big, big dick.”

Crap, I walked right into this one, didn’t I? Of course, I’ve always had trouble recognizing plays on words and jokes, though nowadays I’ve more or less gotten the hang of it.

I should be upset. He’s teasing me, and teasing, in my book, is a prelude to hurting me.

But the smile lingering on his full lips takes the sting away, and what’s more, it’s hot. Way too hot. Heat rushes to my face, flames licking my cheeks, and a pulse starts between my legs.

This is so not happening. “Stop being such a jerk.”

“You say that affectionately.” He’s somehow moved closer to me while I was busy self-combusting, and his scent engulfs me, something hot, spicy and heady like mulled wine. “Like that pet name you gave me.”

What? I stare at the dark brows over his intense eyes, the faint stubble on that square jaw, that mouth and… Oh God. I’ve lost the thread. Again.

I tear my gaze from his face, glancing down at his bare arms. One of them is heavily inked with swirling colors and a snake.

A cobra, I think, done in red and green, curling on his thick bicep. And underneath the riot of colored ink swathing his arm from shoulder to wrist, faint crisscrossing lines catch my eyes, some thin and some thick, dark and raised.

Scars.

His voice startles me. “This place sure looks different when it’s not full of people.”

“You mean it looks empty.”

He chuckles, warm and delicious like a treacle of melted hot chocolate. “And nice.”

“Although there’s no blonde wrapped around you and no sucking involved?”

His eyes widen. Then he tries to speak and chokes on the words.

“You…” He shakes his head as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Shit.”

Yeah, I’m not only antisocial, I also don’t have any control over my mouth. Double whammy. Who wouldn’t want to be around me?

“So what do you want?” Might as well get this over with, so we can both go on our separate ways—he, back to his blonde and the sucking, and me, to my room and my beads.

He flinches, a barely there twitch that has me wondering if I even saw it. “I lost… something. A leather wrist band. I can’t find it since the party here, and I thought to ask in case you saw it anywhere.”

I remember seeing the

band on his arm that night. “It was an old thing, wasn’t it?” Old, worn and starting to fray.

“It’s…” He rubs his forehead, frowning. “It’s important to me.”