A flush washes over his cheeks, and his jaw tightens when he meets my eyes. “You have to know this. You’re too sharp to miss something like that.”
I refrain from scoffing, but barely. “If he was so into me, why did he practically push you into taking me to his restaurant?”
“To see if I want to fuck you too.”
A strangled sound sticks in my throat. I swallow hard and glance toward the party. If I run for it, will he chase me? Probably.
Silence stretches between us, and John clearly bites back a smile. “You’re not going to ask the obvious question?”
Heat spreads over my skin. “No.”
I sound like the utter chicken I am. I can’t help it. In my head, I like to think I’m badass but reality has me thinking Abort! Abort! Hot rock star will set fire to your panties and you will burn.
My lips pinch at my own absurdity.
John ducks his head to meet my eyes. His are bright with amusement. “Hmmm,” he angles his body into mine, “here’s the thing. I hear Richard saying he pays for your company and—”
“You’re unbelievable.” I snort and take a step back. “I knew that’s what this was about.”
“No. You don’t understand. I’m worried for you, okay?” He grabs my hand again and gives my arm a little shake. “It isn’t safe. I don’t care what anyone says, or how well you vet your clients. I’ve seen escorts at parties. Places like this.” His free arm swings out toward the hall. “There are fucked-up, bad dudes who will do shit to women without flinching. And believe me, they don’t look like villains. You won’t always see them coming. It just takes one bad egg, Stells.”
He appears so genuinely upset that my irritation thaws. But he’s on a roll and doesn’t notice.
“I’m not trying to shame you or police you or whatever it is you thinking I’m doing here. Yeah, okay, I fucking hate the idea of those guys paying for the ‘pleasure of your company,’ as Richard put it—which, can I just say this now? What the fuck was that sleazy shit? He should be better than that. You realize this, right? I mean, fuck.”
John pushes a hand through his hair and the thick strands stick up every which way. “Your body should be a privilege, not a product.”
I fight a smile because he is adorable up there on his soapbox, swinging his sword for me. I see the second it registers that I’m not fighting him. He blinks a few times, his pugnacious expression turning wry. “You were just going to let me go on and on, weren’t you?”
“It was a lovely speech.” I lose hold of my smile. “How could I halt it?”
His eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s trying not to laugh.
My smile grows, but I keep my voice low. “I’m not an escort, John.”
The hard set of his shoulders eases and somehow he’s closer. “Okay. Good. I’m glad.”
His stilted delivery is awkward, totally unlike his natural ease, and I have to fight a laugh. He obviously sees my struggle and grins wide. The air between us shifts. I’m filled with a strange giddiness, wanting to laugh for the fun of it, but I’m also too warm, my limbs oddly heavy as if simple movements might be too much for me.
His tone turns soft and cajoling, teasing the truth out of me. “Are you going to tell me what you do?” When I say nothing, the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I see. You’re going to torture me a bit.”
The warm, fuzzy feeling grows as I shrug. “Torture feels apropos in this scenario.”
He hums again, taking another step toward me. “What makes you think I won’t like being tortured by you?”
The heat of his body and the scent of his skin makes my head light and my pulse pound. How did it get to this point where the highlight of my day is flirting with Jax Blackwood? Despite the thrill, I know I’m in over my head. I haven’t gone out on a date in months because I form attachments, I get emotional, and then I hurt when they inevitably leave. And this man will leave. He is as bright and fleeting as a camera flash. I’ll be left with the image of him seared into my memory and nothing more.
I tell myself all of this, the voice in my head as stern as possible. But it doesn’t make me back away. It doesn’t stop my body from somehow straining toward his without even moving. Because it might be stupid of me, but I want to feel something that isn’t planned. Something, for however briefly, that’s real.
He’s too attuned to me not to notice. John’s lids lower as his attention slides down my body before easing back up to my face. Slowly, he rests his forearm on the wall beside my head. “Tell me, Stella,” he murmurs.