Chapter 11

The thud as the plane wheels touch down in nighttime Seattle lurches my head forward, breaking me from my semi-conscious state.

I didn't sleep at all last night. Jessie, Jensen, and I left the bar shortly after all hell broke loose and Koala Girl and her accomplice made their escape. The guys only needed to take one look at me to know something was very wrong. I appreciate them, and while I've always known deep down that they're great guys, they really came through for me last night.

We walked back to the hotel and made straight for Zach's room, crashing his and Amie's Facetime which I kind of felt bad about, kind of didn't. Zach's solution was simple. Call her and get ahead of her seeing the posts and call my agent and try to block the images from spreading. I'd already been in touch with my agent the moment those girls left the bar with the footage. Like I said, this isn't my first rodeo, but I knew I needed to get in touch with Felicity just in case any slipped through the net.

But by the time I got back to my room, I started replaying everything in my mind, from what she would say to how she would react. While she has social media, she's mentioned to me before that she isn't a big user, and she still hasn't followed me back so, perhaps, she won't see anything until I can get to her and explain everything face-to-face. I want her to look me in the eyes and see my truth about what really happened; it"s my best chance to get her to understand.

So here I am, a mess, running on zero sleep, and a desperate man. It's not lost on me how gone I am for this woman I barely know. But I am, and I can't stop thinking about her. I haven't been able to stop since that moment at the stadium, that little squeal, her intoxicating coconut scent, her soft skin against mine. The way she flinched as she felt my touch that day in the gym. The fact that I know she felt it too, the connection, the sexual energy searing between us. And I've fucked it all up before I even got started.

"Just call her," Zach repeats for the tenth time in as many hours. He hands me my carry-on bag from the overhead locker, and we head for the exit ramp. "She already texted you this morning, so even if she hasn't seen the images, she's going to think something's wrong if you don't reply."

"Okay, and say what? Sorry I had my hands all over another woman last night, but I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to be with you, even though all the pictures say completely the opposite. It's not what it looked like? Because that line works every time."

Whichever way I look at this I feel totally fucked. I want to beat the shit out of something, but instead, I run an agitated hand through my hair, pulling hard at the roots, hoping the pain will relieve some of my desperation.

Zach stops halfway down the ramp, turning to me, his finger lifted in the air. "Look, the way I see it is you have two options. One, forget her. Forget you even laid eyes on the girl and move on. Chalk the whole experience up to bad luck and timing." He lifts another finger. "Two. Go after her, call her, message her, tell her what happened, and set the record straight."

I bite my bottom lip and drop my head.

"Or three," Jensen's head pops over Zach's shoulder. "Go with your original plan and show her how much she means. Chicks love that shit, flowers, chocolates, all that. Show her that last night meant nothing and was blown way out of proportion."

Zach lifts a shoulder but nods his head. "He's put it terribly, but yeah, get her some ‘chocolates and shit,'" he says, mocking Jensen, whose case suddenly finds the back of Zach's heel. "Ow! Fuck, man!"

They might be a pain in the ass, but they're my guys, and they're right. I need to follow through on my plan and go to her and pray for a fucking miracle that she'll understand. Because forgetting Felicity isn't an option.

If it's possible, I feel worse than I did yesterday morning.Only this time, I'm not hungover.

A heavy sense of disappointment has settled over me. The fact that my friendship or whatever the hell it was with Jon is over before it even got started is gutting, and I can't lie and say it's not. That night at the cocktail bar, the glances we stole at each other during games when he was on the bench, when he scored, when he stared me down through the jumbotron. It all felt so much more than to come to this, with me practically blocking his existence from my life. For him to steal moments with me in his gym to then basically fuck another girl in public the next week.

Yet it's not that he hooked up with another woman that gets me so enraged, since he was never mine to claim. It's the fact I'm agonizing that he never was mine. Why do I care what he does? Who he sees? Who he takes back to his bed each night? I never wanted a relationship with him. And was I really that stupid to think he ever wanted something more than casual sex with me?

I burn my mouth on my chai latte, too engrossed in my pointless thoughts to notice the steam billowing from my takeout flask. It's not even nine in the morning and I can already tell how this day is going to play out. It's likely to end with me slouched on my sofa with Ben and Jerry for company while shouting expletives at romantic movies.

"Morning, Margo," I say, lifting my cup slightly as I step out of the elevator doors and into the reception area. "Any messages for Mark over the weekend?"

She shakes her head but keeps eyeing me in a way that makes me feel a bit uneasy. "No, none for Mark, but there is for you."

Huh? Okay, well, to be kept busy today is probably no bad thing. "Okay, just send it to my email, and I'll sort it out ASAP."

Margo's brow creases slightly. "Oh, this can't be emailed." She shifts a little in her chair. "It's on your desk waiting."

Right. Now I'm confused.

Dancing between desks on my way over to my corner of the office, I can feel all eyes on me. What. Is. Going. On?

I round the corner and almost drop my coffee when I spot my "message."

There, sitting on my desk in all his masculine glory, is none other than Jon Morgan. I inwardly curse myself for not making more of an effort this morning. In my dejection, I threw on a gray pencil skirt and a simple white blouse which could've done with an iron. I didn't bother to wash my hair, so I shoved it up in a high ponytail and finished off my gorgeous get-up with a pair of two-year-old, black kitten heels, which have seen better days.

Conversely, Jon is perched on the end of my desk dressed in black trousers and a gray shirt, a couple of the buttons are undone, revealing part of his sculpted chest. Over the top, he has a black and white team-colored Scorpions jacket with the number twenty-two embroidered over his left pec. His floppy brown hair just clears his steely-gray eyes, and he tops his drool-worthy look off with a backward Scorpions cap and white sneakers.

My throat is thick with anticipation as I approach him. What does he want? Why is he here? Placing my bag and jacket down on the other side of the desk, I look around the room to catch thirty heads quickly glance back to their screens, pretending to mind their own business.

It's clear we have an audience, and we need some privacy to talk."Shall we head over there?" My voice barely comes out as a whisper as I point to a side meeting room I know is free for at least a few minutes.

Jon pauses for a second, his eyes tracing down my body in a way that ignites my soul, and then he stands from the desk. He's smiling softly but it doesn't reach his eyes, and I can tell he's troubled, which troubles me too."Sure, lead the way."

It's only a few paces to the side room but with every step, my legs get weaker. I can feel his presence and smell his spicy yet sweet cologne. The back of my head burns, and I sense his eyes boring into me from behind. The tension is so thick. I just wish he'd picked a better time to show up rather than Monday morning, at my office, for everyone to witness.

I open the meeting room door and step inside, holding it for Jon, and it shuts with a soft click behind us.

"Take a seat if you like." I point toward the four available chairs surrounding a round table.

He doesn't take a seat, but instead steps closer to me, so we are mere inches apart. Thank God the windows are covered with blinds because this meeting looks anything but professional.

"I needed to see you, Felicity." His words are raspy and now that I'm closer to him, I can see the tiredness in his eyes, like he hasn't slept for days. His shoulders are heavy and sunken, and I know he's sorry for what happened on Saturday night. "You saw the pictures, didn't you." It's not a question. Jon goes to speak again but clamps his mouth shut, his jaw straining as his Adam's apple bobs on a heavy swallow. "They aren't what they look like, Felicity. I know…" He pauses again as his hands fly to the back of his neck and grip hard. "I know how they look, but that's not what happened."

I puff out a breath. I'm so freaking tense every muscle in my body is crying. "Well, they looked pretty damning to me, Jon." My tone is incredulous and harsher than I intended. He goes to speak again, but I hold up a hand between us. "Look. It doesn't really matter what I, the press, or the rest of the world think for that matter. You're single and clearly had a good night. The images are no different than the hundreds of others taken over your career and come next weekend, they will be lining everyone's junk folders and wastepaper bins."

The words feel just as ridiculous as they sound. It does matter what I think. I've got a pounding head and two empty tubs of Ben Jerry's at home as a testament to how much it matters.

Jon's brow furrows deep, his eyes almost glazed with pain. He breaks eye contact, staring down at the floor before darting his head back up to me. His gaze turns smoldering, and Jesus, this is intense. He steps another couple of inches closer to me until I can feel his breath wash over my face, shooting straight to my heat. "So, you don't care what I do or don't do with other women?" He's so close all I can think about is his mouth on mine.

As if on reflex I wet my lips, my body at war with my mind over this man."It's not that easy," I explain.

"It's a simple question," he counters, never breaking eye contact.

"Okay. I can't lie and say seeing you with the brunette in that bar didn't hurt me. Because it did, more than I wanted it to, and more than it should have." I can barely breathe my lungs are so tight, but I'm determined to get this all out there."Because you and I," I motion between us, "we aren't anything. We have no claim over one another." I pause, trying to gather myself. "I'm annoyed at my response. I shouldn't have felt that way."

Jon's mouth tips up slightly at the corner and some relief enters his eyes. His hand lifts to the side of my head as his huge palm caresses my face, his rough, calloused thumb gently stroking my cheek and the motion sends waves of electricity through me. "Would it make you feel any better to know that I've been going out of my mind since Saturday night?" His thumb is still tracing my cheekbone. "Would it make you feel better to know that the girl touched me, sat on my lap, and kissed me, all without my permission?" He leans even closer, our noses almost touching. "Would it make you feel better to know that right after that video ended, I unraveled her clinging legs from my waist and lost my shit, explaining that I had a girlfriend?"

Girlfriend?

"And would it make you feel better to know that since I first laid eyes on you in that hallway, I haven't purposely touched or thought about another woman since?"

There's silence for a few beats, and when he pulls back slightly, his hand is still caressing my cheek as his eyes search mine before falling to my mouth. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. But he doesn't move to kiss me, although I can tell he wants to. I want him to, even though I can think of a thousand reasons why kissing Jon Morgan is a bad idea.

"Does it make you feel better, Angel?" he asks me once again.

My breath catches in my throat, but I push out the words. "You think I'm just going to fall at your feet like every other woman before me?"

He shakes his head gently, a tender smile tracing his lips. "No, Angel. That's my job."

Jon's lips crash to mine.

They're soft, full, and addictive, just as I expected. It's our first kiss, but he takes my mouth as if it's the last time he'll feel me. Desperate and searching. Hungry and wanting. And when his tongue brushes over my lower lip, seeking permission to go further, my core ignites, bursting into flames, and I could melt into this floor right here.

Our tongues glide together, hot, wet, and in perfect synchronization as our kiss transcends from desperate to a type I can't describe, a kiss I've never felt before. Jon's other hand comes up to my waist, pulling me forward, pinning me to his body, and that's when I feel it. His length. He's hard, and despite several layers between us, I know he's big. And he wants me. Jon freaking Morgan wants me. I don't know how long we kiss for because time and everything else ceases to exist.

A brisk knock breaks us apart as my hand flies to my swollen lips. I already miss his touch.

Before I can say anything, Jon answers the door, keeping it half open. "Can I help you?" I hear him say, a hint of exasperation to his tone.

"Sorry. Jon Morgan?" Shit, shit, shit, it's Mark. I can tell his voice without needing to see him.

"Yes, that's me," Jon replies. There's a beat of silence before Mark speaks again.

"I'm looking for Felicity. One of her colleagues said they saw you disappear into this room together." Mark is no fan of ice hockey, or any sports for that matter, but in this city, everyone knows Jon Morgan, and I can tell there's a level of trepidation to his tone.

Jon straightens. "Yep. I turned up first thing this morning and spoke to your receptionist, Mandy, is it?"

"Margo," Mark corrects.

"Margo. I was making an inquiry, looking for some legal advice actually. Margo said Felicity would be the right person to speak to. So here we are."

I have to hand it to him; he sure thinks quickly on his feet.

Sensing it's my cue, I move around into Mark's line of vision. "Hi, can I help you? We were just finishing up." I know my lips are obviously red and swollen, and I inwardly cringe at what I must look like—like I'm post make-out, I would imagine.

"Actually, I have a couple more questions for Ms. Thompson before I leave," Jon chimes in with utter conviction.

Mark's attention darts between us before taking a couple of steps back and straightening his tie. "No problem, Mr. Morgan. Thank you for your inquiry." He then turns to me but doesn't look angry, more bewildered. "I just needed the files for my ten-o clock, Felicity, are they ready?"

I nod, very pleased and relieved for knuckling down on Friday and getting everything ready in advance. "Yes, they're waiting on your desk."

"Excellent. Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan," he finishes before turning and striding away, revealing a sea of inquisitive faces as they all dart back to their screens in unison.

Jon shuts the door hastily before turning and striding over to me, hands flying to either side of my face, ready to kiss me again. I take a step back, shaking my head.

"We can't do this here. This is my work, and we almost got caught; I need this job! Why did you come to my office?" My tone is once again harsher than I intended, especially after the tender moment we just shared.

He closes the space between us again. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I knew if I turned up at your place you might not answer the door to me, and you wouldn't hear me out. I had no way of contacting you since you blocked me. I needed to see you." He raises his hands to my waist but at the last minute changes his mind, redirecting them to his pockets.

He's probably right. I'd have done all I could to wipe him from my life. "I didn't block you. I deactivated my social media accounts." I can feel my face flushing at the confession. "I needed away from reporters and Saturday night, and yes, I needed away from you."

Jon's head tips up, his eyes reaching the ceiling as he nods in understanding. "We need to talk, Felicity, not here, but soon." He pulls out his phone and scrolls through a couple of screens, taking another step toward me. "Come to my place tonight. I'll send a car for you, and I'll make you dinner. I want to talk with you. We've got so much to straighten out."

I can see the pulse thrumming in his neck as he waits for my answer.

"Haven't you got practice tonight?" I reply.

"Nope, night off."

"Meetings?" I have no idea why I'm making this so difficult.

He quirks a brow. "Meetings? No. I haven't got any meetings, Felicity, and even if I had, I would cancel them. Stop searching for obstacles."

I check my watch and shift from one foot to another. I've lost so much time this morning, and I'll have to work late to get everything done I need to today. "I'll need to work late to make up time," I explain. "I won't have time to go home and get changed and then come to yours."

"You drive a hard bargain, Felicity Thompson," he chuckles. "In that case, I'll come pick you up tonight and take you out to dinner. I'll be here at six, out front."

"Dinner? Like out? In public?" I parrot back at him.

"Yes, Angel, dinner, at six."

"Seven."

"Okay, seven."

I nod in agreement, all common sense and caution firmly out the window. It's only dinner.

We walk through the office, and I try not to let my paranoid brain run away with thoughts of what the observant faces are thinking as we pass. It's unusual for prospective clients to simply waltz in and have an appointment with anyone, but I suppose there's nothing normal when it comes to Jon Morgan.

As we approach the elevator back down to the lobby, he turns to me, stepping slightly closer. I can feel Margo's weighted stare on the back of my head and, clearly, so can Jon, who casts a quick glance at her over my shoulder. Returning his eyes to mine, he gently smiles, and I feel his knuckles lightly trace the back of my hand which I'm sure isn't accidental. "Tonight, at seven," he confirms again.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, glancing down to my shoes, which really are not date-worthy.

Wait. Is this a date?

But I decide not to ask; I'll find out later tonight. I think Margo and Co. have had plentiful entertainment for a Monday morning. "Okay, but nowhere posh." I flick my hands up and down my body then feel a tinge of embarrassment at my apparent assumption that he would take me anywhere fancy.

"Chick-fil-A it is then," he teases.

"Fine by me," I retort. "Drive-through would be preferable."

Jon pushes the button to call the elevator and then turns back to me, edging only slightly closer, reserving a professional distance between us, but the heated look in his eyes says differently. "Felicity, there's only one reason we'd use a drive-through, and it's got nothing to do with your outfit and everything to do with me keeping you all to myself. See you later."

With that, he steps inside, leaning against the back rail as the doors close between us.