Chapter 4

Journey

Jay’s fiery, possessive kisses stir me to my core.

I am backed against the door of a five-star hotel suite, and I don’t even care what the room looks like. I just need Jay to keep kissing me.

While he dips his head down to my level, his hand cradles my jaw like a precious jewel. His hips pin me in place, a massive erection jutting into my abdomen.

His tongue slicks past my lips, and I happily open my mouth to let him in. The taste of sake and the scent of aftershave fills my senses.

This day is going pretty damn well every time Jay shows up.

“Thanks for helping me on the bus,” I say when he moves on from kissing my mouth to worshiping my throat.

“Thanks for letting me help you,” he murmurs, his words warm and muffled against my skin. God, that feels good.

His hands go to my hair, and the slight tugging makes me wet. The gentle suck at the base of my throat needs to stop, though. I don’t want to advertise a hickey during my second round of interviews tomorrow. So, I should definitely tell him to stop. And I will. In a minute, as soon as I stop enjoying it.

“And thanks for the coffee,” I say with a smile in response to the playful scrape of teeth against my collarbone. Jay’s mouth plays over my skin, nipping and kissing and sucking, threatening to make me stupid with lust.

“Anytime, shortcake.”

I shouldn’t like that so much. I shouldn’t get tingly when a man gives me a cutesy nickname, especially one implying I’m short.

I wonder how tingly I’d be if he called me shortcake while his huge dick rearranged my guts.

Let’s find out.

I push back against his prodding hips, letting him know I recognize just how bad he wants this. He grunts against the shell of my ear, the grip of his hands in my hair growing tighter. I answer with a soft moan and begin to wriggle awkwardly out of my blazer.

Jay pulls back when he feels me struggling, his face a question mark.

“The blazer is borrowed; I don’t want to ruin it with whatever’s about to happen.”

He helps me work it off and then, so politely I could die, takes it to the closet and hangs it on a hanger.

Fucking marry me.

At this point, I finally get a good look at the two-room suite. It is beautiful, far too hip and rich for my blood, but I’ll take it. The sitting area is fitted with ultra-modern furniture that looks too precious to sit on, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Dallas skyline.

Peeking through the second room, I find the most oversized hotel bed I’ve ever seen.

“Holy shit. A family of four could camp here comfortably for a week and never fight about who’s touching who.”

The low laugh behind me sends shivers down my spine. Jay warms me with his hands on my shoulders and his face pressed against my hair. He inhales deeply.

“God, you smell good.”

My eyes flutter closed. “Um, so do you. And thank you for lunch.”

He grunts, shoving my hair away out of the way, and resumes his worship of my skin, this time over my nape.

“And thank you for the room,” I add, pushing back against him, finding his hardness with my lower back. “I can’t believe they let me check in before 3 p.m.”

“The owner is a business associate. He owes me.” Why does this feel like a throwaway comment, meant to keep me from asking questions? Instead it makes me wonder if he’s in the mob. Does Dallas have mafia guys?

“You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

Jay spins me around and resumes kissing my mouth. “As if I had a choice.”

I want to argue but he’s so good with the kissing and the desperate, needy hands roaming my hair, my throat, my upper back.

“I’m not a complete mess, you know,” I say, letting my eyes close while he begins working loose the buttons of my shirt.

We are going to have sex. That is a thing that is happening imminently. I didn’t come to Dallas to get lucky. Well, not this lucky.

“Of course you’re not. You’re fucking sweet and fun, and you turn me on so much; I wanted to do a lot more than kiss you on my lap in that restaurant.”

My top hangs open, the buttons undone, revealing my bra and stomach, which I attempt to hide by crossing my arms. Jay swats my arms away and replaces them with the warmth of his hand, palming me there. I don’t let anyone touch me like this. Not ex-boyfriends, not even doctors when I had a mysterious pain that turned out to be my appendix.

When I say I’m self-conscious about my stomach, I mean I head straight into badger mode when anyone tries to tickle me.

Yet I feel like if I told this man how much I didn’t like my own body, he wouldn’t like it.

Jay has a way of glowering at me when I tell him negative things. For example, when we were in the car, I made an offhand comment about dads and the way they comment on their daughter’s eating habits. But that’s everyone, isn’t it?