Now, for the first time in my life, I feel seen by a man.
And not just any man.
Jett’s sculpted-yet-manly features could be on the cover of GQ, and yet something tells me he’d never do something like that. No, he’s all man, no pretty-boy in him at all. He probably doesn’t even care how ruggedly handsome he is.
I stamp down on that barreling train of thoughts.
I’m letting myself fall too easily into the rabbit hole of my mind.
“Ha, ha,” I say. “Okay, Jett the hitman, I really should be getting back to work now.”
“Is there much work to do?” Jett asks. “Hasn’t the party already been planned?”
He’s right, of course. Now it’s mostly a matter of maintenance, making sure there are enough nibbles circulating, making sure the band has everything they need, that the champagne is being iced just the right amount, all the tiny details that Patricia has lectured me about time and time again.
But I can’t keep standing here with Jett, my panties getting wetter and wetter, my clit tingling with the urge to be touched, pressed on hard, by this man, this hulking beast.
“Well, aren’t you a know-it-all?” I say, going for a teasing note, but the shield of banter I usually guard myself with feels weak under his gaze.
“I know a few things,” he growls, soft enough so that only I hear.
He takes a step forward, bathing me in his musky scent.
I have to fight hard not to smooth my hand over his jaw, to see if I can feel his beard growing, prickly against my palm, or if his skin will be as smooth as it looks.
“Hmm, like what?” I say, breathlessly, hardly able to get the words out now.
Does he want me? Or am I going completely insane here?
His smirk twitches. “I know that you fell in front of me on purpose, Juliana, knowing that I’d catch you.”
I giggle, shaking my head. “That is so not true. I didn’t even see you. And didn’t I say everybody calls me Julia?”
“You did,” he rumbles. “But I’m not everybody. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
“And what the heck does that mean?” I say, going for fiery again, but the words come out all hazy and leaden with lust.
He stalks even closer. There’s barely an inch of space between us now, Jett leaning down so that his eyes are level with mine, his massive body like a trap ready to snap shut and swallow me into him.
I want to sink into him, to melt into him, to feel how hot and hard with muscle his body is.
“It means I’ve been alive for forty-two years, Juliana, and I’ve never—”
Suddenly his face changes, his smirk turning into a flat line. All the fun and banter dies in his eyes.
It’s like he becomes a different man.
I almost gasp, the change is so sudden.
He looks deadly.
He looks like a man getting ready to defend our family from all the evils of the world, a man who’ll roll his sleeves up and do whatever’s necessary to fight anybody who would dream of hurting me – his woman – or his children, my children.
I stamp down on that crazy thought, telling myself that it’s the last time I’ll let my brain go to such a nonsensical place.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“No,” he says, but the gruffness of his voice tells me otherwise. “Good luck with the rest of the party, Juliana. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
With that, he’s gone, turning and striding across the room. He moves like a force to be reckoned with, the jet black of his tuxedo jacket stretched from one boulder-like shoulder to the other. He moves with purpose, several people leaping out of the way before he crashes into them.
I realize my breath is coming way too fast when I hear it in my ears.
I wander to the edge of the room – past the band who are making their way back to the stage – and lean against the wall. I take a few deep breaths, hoping that nobody notices the weird girl on the outskirts of the room, breathing in and out exaggeratedly like a weirdo.
I’ve been alive for forty-two years and I’ve never …
But then darkness crept into his features.
He’s never what? Met a woman like me? Is that what he was going to say?
“Julia,” Patricia says.
I look up to find my boss and friend standing there in her stiff suit. Her features are pinched with concern beneath her bob of dyed blonde hair. She’s wearing tall heels, the kind I could only dream of walking in, and her body is as thin or thinner than the wives who circulate the room.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, boss,” I say, this time getting closer to something like lighthearted. “I’m sorry. I just needed a breather.”
She arches her stenciled eyebrow, clicking closer to me on her heels. “So it had nothing to do with that seven-foot hunk you were just talking to, hmm? The man with the distinguished iron hair and, basically, all the muscles?”