His attitude lights a fire. First I have to deal with Tommy’s crap and now his? No.
“Me? I’m acting weird. You just called some chick you’re having…” I catch myself getting louder and lower my voice to a whisper-hiss. “S-e-x with––a bag. But I’m the one out of line? Glad we got that cleared up. I wouldn’t want to continue thinking you’re a nice guy or anything.”
He blinks. He blinks again. Then he covers his mouth with his hand and his shoulders start shaking. And shaking. And now I’m feeling a little bit unsteady.
What’s so funny? I mean, seriously what is so freaking funny about disparaging a human being so flippantly. And he’s not just laughing, he’s wheezing, trying not to wake the baby down the hall. This is a man I’ve technically never seen fully smile and he’s trying not to laugh so hard he sounds like he’s suffocating.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand to know.
He doubles over, hands on his knees, and takes deep loud breaths. “Come with me.”
Before I can stop him, he grabs my wrist and drags me into his suite. At first, I’m like noooo, I don’t want to see your lady friend naked. But then I see the bed is empty. Yes, the sheets are messy. Someone has definitely been in that bed at some point lately. But at present, it is person-free. There’s no one here.
He takes my wrist again and leads me to the Christian Grey room, the door that’s always locked.
Except…the door is open. I peek my head in, scared at what I might find. Tentative. Cautious. Aaand it’s a home gym.
You have got to be kidding me. “A gym?” I say a bit too loudly. “This is what you keep locked twenty-four seven?” In the gym, there’s a punching bag, a speed bag, mats, and other stuff.
Smiling, and I mean a full-blown smile that would put anyone who witnessed it into cardiac arrest, he walks in and throws two punches at the bag. Wap wap...
Well, this is embarrassing.
“I keep it locked because Maisie could hurt herself in here.”
Of course. This makes perfect sense.
“Were you snooping Miss James?”
His smile turns devious. I almost don’t believe what I am witnessing here tonight.
“This is embarrassing.”
“You thought I was having sex?” While the smile slowly melts, his gaze remain fixed on me. There’s a challenge there I haven’t seen before, a playfulness that makes him ten times more attractive than when he’s all buttoned up.
I can’t answer. I’m so hot under the collar right now I’m the one sweating. “You box?”
“Mixed martial.”
Mixed martial…as in arts? Like kicking and punching? I would venture to guess that most people who practice mixed martial arts know how to defend themselves.
“To stay fit?” Things are not adding up.
“Among other things.”
Wait a minute…
“Then why did you get your ass handed to you on Broome Street?” That’s a question that demands an answer.
He turns to face me, his shoulders drop. Any lingering trace of humor disappears. It makes me regret the question. I want playful Jordan back.
“Why Jordan? The truth.”
His chest rises and falls. He’s so handsome it’s almost painful to look at him. Add all the angst and he’s got turbo-charged sex appeal.
“Ever feel so much you’ll do anything not to?”
Like biting the inside of your cheek so hard you draw blood when you break a finger hammering sheet rock?
Like hurting yourself to stop the pain?
“Yes,” I whisper.
I can still see it on his face, the pain he carries around. I can feel it coming off of him in waves. “I’m sorry about Lainey. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love…I lost my dad when I was twelve.”
His expression shifts, more concerned than introspective. “How…how did you lose him?”
“He was a fireman. He survived 9/11 but he worked the rescue site…cancer got him a few years later.”
I’ve caught him glancing at the tattoo I have on the inside of my wrist a number of times.
Never Forget II written in cursive.
He walks up to me, standing so close my heart starts beating fast again, and takes my hand, turns it over. He stares at my wrist and brushes his thumb over my tattoo. Sparks fly over my skin and shoot up my back.
“I didn’t know,” he says softly, “I’m sorry too.” Then he plants the softest sweetest kiss on my forehead and walks out.
10
Chapter Ten
Riley
“Go to the club,” says the star of my dirty fantasies. I watch his lips while he takes a sip of his coffee as if the secrets of the universe are about to spring out of there. This is becoming unhealthy. “I keep forgetting to tell you that I made arrangements.”
I’ve been having dreams about him. Dirty, inappropriate dreams. I’m that girl now––the one who dreams about her boss. The last guy I had dirty dreams about was Brad Pitt when I was seventeen. And now we’re here. There’s no middle ground with me.