Chapter 14

MELODY

A grindingsound follows us upstairs as the inn gets pummeled by howling wind and heavy rain.

We enter the corridor, and Olivia pushes the door to the suite open, inviting us in when the power goes out.

The people's horror in the house is palpable.

"No worries.I'm sure it will come back," she says,tense. "Here…" she murmurs as we all enter the main room and face the light coming from the fireplace."I have plenty of candles," she adds, lighting a few.

She sets them on the mantelpiece, a diffuse light spreading around the room.

If I didn't know there was a power outage, I couldn't tell just by looking at the room.

A tray of chocolate-dipped fruit and a large assortment of cheese awaits on the table. Next to it sits a chilled bottle of champagne.

"I'll go now to make sure everybody else is okay," the woman says.

The door closes behind her, leaving us in silence.

He walks across the room and peers out the window as if to ensure his car is still there.

"We're facing the lake," I say, sliding my clutch onto the nightstand and heading to the cheese tray, not knowing what to do.

I don't feel like changing my clothes and throwing on my pajamas, so, for now, I strut in my cocktail dress and heels.

He turns around and glances at the bed beforemoving his gazeover me. Nothing indicates he wants to stay. He doesn't take off his jacket or make himself comfortable in any other way.

The candlelight flutters around the room, and despitehow odd the situation is, I notice how romantic the place is.

"Let me do it," Jax says as I stall.

I pivot to him, a questioning look on my face.

"I think you need a drink," he says quietly, and he couldn't bemore right.

Manning the bottle, he pours a glass of champagne and hands it to me before fixing a drink for himself.

"Cheers," he says, unzipping his jacket and clinking my glass.

"You don't strike me as a champagne guy," I comment when he turns his backto meand takes a sip.

"I'm not."

My body welcomes the alcohol, heat spreading across my skin.

I worry less about the storm outside as he sets his glass on the window sill and removes his jacket.

A slim-fit top wraps nicely around his chest and arms, setting off his V-shaped torso, and he catches me looking.

"I won"t fall for that," I say, cracking a smile, emboldened by the alcohol.

"You don't seem the type, anyway," he assures me, igniting my curiosity.

Really?

I wishI couldlight a cigarette and chat with him more. Learn more.

I appreciate that he's spent some time studying me. Or maybe he is just a passionate observer of humane nature.

"What is my type?" I murmur as he leans back against the window sill, and I erase the space between us.

He faces theroom, while I look outside where gusts of wind hit the windowover and over again.

"You're the uptight type."

I cross an arm over my chest, hold my drink up, and press my thigh into the window sill.

"I'm not the uptight type," I argue, although, Mina, my secretary would probably disagree.

He tips his glass against his lips before taking another drink.

It strikes me how beautiful he is in the quiet dimness.

The first time I saw him, he was all debauchery, leather, rain, and tattoos, not to mention that he smelled like a chimney.

Nowhesmells fresh and seems more reserved, and I still don't know how old he is.

A vein engorges on his neck while he swallows.

"Yes. You are uptight,"hesays, aware of my stare.

He sets his almost empty glass next to him, his eyes tipped down as he speaks again.

"And you're worse now because you haven't had sex in a while."

His voice is dispassionate as if he had no horse in that race.

"I can thank you for that."

My humor makes him smile.

"You can't blame me for your sex life, baby," he says, his eyes diving into mine.

I study them for a moment.

"Why are you here?" I ask. "Truthfully, I can't imagine you're expecting me to sleep with you."

He folds his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging in a tease, and pins his gaze on me.

"I'm not after sex. I can get sex anytime I want,"hesays bluntly.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Short of paying someone to fuck me, I can't claim the same expediency when it comes to finding a companion for sex activities.

It's even worse now that I want more from men.

"What are you after then?" I ask, placing my glass downas well, my eyes away from his.

He stays silent.

I move my focus to him, and our eyes connect.

Strangely, he looks for his answer in my gaze.

"I think you're an interesting woman.Thought–provoking."

"Though–provoking??" I smile. "I don't think you need more provocations in your life."

"It's not the same thing. And you don't know my life. There is something about you that I like."

My grin fades.

"What exactly?"

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he shrugs a shoulder.

"I don't know yet. That's why I want to give you a try."

"Huh… You want to give me a try?"

I laugh at his cheekiness, and he flashes an amused grin.

"Yeah. Why not? I don't see a problem with that."

He cleverly set me up and just made his move.

He does see a problem with it since he knows we belong to two different worlds, buthewants me to express my doubts so he can argue with me.

"You assume I have no say in this," I say.

Evading my eyes, he smiles.

"You don't have a say, baby. You like me," he murmurs, his smile broadening. "You're just trying to figure out if you want to get in bed with meor not."

When he lifts his gaze and meets my eyes, he must see the stunned expression on my face.

"Isn't it?" he asks, straightening and reachinginsidehis jacket for a cigarette.

"I don't think you can smoke in here," I say while he slides his cigarette between his lips and clicks the lighter open.

Paying me no attention, he lights his cigarette.

Afineribbon of smoke billows up in the air as he moves closer to the window.

He cracks it open despite the wind and rain creating havoc outside and props it with his frame so it doesn't fly off its hinges.

The wind messes with my hair, and I struggle to keep it in place when he slides his fingers into the back of my mane, awakening my body.

It's been a while.

Still gripping the back of my hair, he lowers himself on the window sill, forcing me to come to him.

The only way to have his hand on me and not fall is to tuck myself between his legs.

My thighs are locked in place, and his heat flows through my dress.

"You said no sex," I murmur.

He takes a drag, blows the smoke to the side, and curves his lips into a smile.

"This isn't sex, baby," he says, the tingles between my thighs promptly disagreeing.

No matter how far back I go, I can't remember a circumstance in which I was so turned on by the simple presence of a man.

Petrified, I look at him as he moves his fingers through my hair.

"Isn't it, baby?" he rasps quietly. "You don't know what to do with me. And if my instinct is right, you're also scared of me."

"I'm not scared."

"You didn't want me in the room with you. You thought I'd force myself onto you?"

I slowly shake my head.

"No."

"Why are you so scared then?"

Cocking his head to the side, he narrows his eyes at me, awaiting my answer while taking a drag off his cigarette and blowing the smoke out. "Tell me," he insists in the smoothest, most sensual voice I've ever heard.

What can I say?

That thebankers I meet don't generally make me melt inside, and he does?

"You caught me at a bad time," I say, downplaying my physical reaction to him.

"Uh-huh…"

He taps his cigarette outside the window.

"And?" he murmurs.

And, um…

What else am I supposed to say?

That Ihad my share of failures and wanted to do it right for a change.

That Ihad a plan, found Thomas, and thought I could check things off my list with him.

Date him, sleep with him, and talk about creating a future with him. Maybe not in this order.

That there weren't men like Jax London on my list.

No onesounpredictable, stubborn, and hard to deter.

No onesointeresting and driven for no logical reason.

Am I really as interesting as he has claimed?

Or am I someone he wants to prove himself he can have?

"Why is the timing of this so important?" he asks, and I have no answerfor that either.

Instead I grow nervous and dip my gazetohis cigarette.Normally, Iwould justtouch the pack of cigarettes in my clutch, something Aretha repeatedly suggested might help, but my bag is too farfor meto reach.

He notices the direction of my gaze and tightens his grip on my hair, almost forcing me to tip my head back and part my lips.

He has a way, I must say, so I open my lips before he brings his cigarette to my mouth.

"Take it, baby…" he says quietly, his eyes on my lips as if hetalksabout something elsewhileI inhale his haunting masculine smell and the aroma of tobacco and touch the part of the cigarette he has touched with his lips.

His eyes burn like embers when I take a drag and exhale slowly.

His gaze moves down the length of my neck and over my chest while I feel like there isn't enough crisp air in the room to obliterate the warmth of my body.

I talk again to forget about that.

"Your reasons aside––"

He offers me his cigarette again, and I pause, inhaling and exhaling smoke again while he flicks his gaze up, his free hand moving slowly up my thigh.

His fingers wrap around my hip just below my waist, his hand perfectly made for my body.

"You question my reasons?" he says, staring at me.

A silent laugh leaves his lips.

He takes a draghimself, puts out his cigarette, and disposes of it with a clipped gesture.

He brings his other hand to my waist and starts moving it slowly, testing my resolution.

"You're so torn," he says. "On the one hand, you want me to be serious about you. On the other hand, you think about me seriously and question my reasons or whether I'm good enough for you."

I jerk back, but his hands have none of it, hardening around my waist and keeping me in place.

He pulls me toward him, and I lose my balance, so I prop my hands against his shoulders.

He is so close his breaths roll over my chest, and he could touch my breasts with his lips if he wanted to.

My thighs press into the sill while his hands go down over my butt. He gives my rear a good squeeze, and I feel thefull, perfect effect right between my legs.

Getting warm between my thighs, I have a hard time denying the sexual tension showing even in my voice.

"I didn't say you weren't good enough," I reply, and his hands stop moving, parked on my butt.

His eyes seek mine.

"Honesty, baby. I want honesty from you. Don't give me sweet things. I'm no kid. And I'm no fool. I know how life works. You are who you are. Have your work and money. If you think seriously about me, which I'm flattered you do, you must've already considered that. And, uh…" He smiles. "That's why you insist on dating people like Thomas. People you don't like––"

I open my mouth to argue, but he's quick and presses his thumb to my lips.

"Shush, baby. Women who like the men they date don't need a psychotherapist. We've already established that."

"Not always need a therapist," I point out.

His hands move again, a smile clinging to his lips.

"Not always," he concedes. "Never, in my opinion," he takes it back. "You won't need a therapist with me," he tosses at me in a tease, humor lining his voice.

"Should I remind you we are both seeing one now? And it's the same one. I'm not even sure we are allowed to do that."

"I'm sure we are. Besides, I know how to keep a secret, and you do too. I'm not seeingherfor the reason you are seeingher."

His smile fades somewhat when he slides his hands up and down my back and does this tender thing with his fingers, igniting tiny fires along the way.

"Don't worry about how or if we fit together. We'll take care of that later."

Said every man who wanted to get laid.

I see his point.

The attraction between us is undeniable, and honestly, why do I care if we fit or not?

I fit mighty fine with Thomas, but nothing came out of it. Still, I know myself. No matter which way things go with Jax, I'll feel like shit, regardless.

"Why did you actually come all the way here?" I ask, softening beneath his touch and curling my fingers around his shoulders.

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmurs, appreciating that I lean more into him. "You're so tense…" he says, and it dawns on me he's set to undress me by the end of the night.

He's a smooth talker, and I can't rely onanything he says. I let it pass despite the voiceinside my headscreaming at me not to do it.

"You said it wasn't about sex," I murmur, on the cusp of wanting him to lower his hand and run it up my skirt.

"It wasn't," he says, pushing his hands down the back of my thighs.

He lifts my hemline and grabs the back of my knees before seizing my eyes with a hungry gaze.

I see a one-night stand written all over his smile, and I am already considering moving my Thursday therapy session with Aretha Stenson to a different day.

That would be odd… Running intohimafter no longer wanting to have anything to do with one another, which I'm sure will happen.

Is it all worth it?At this point, thingswill probably get weirder whether we do it or not.

"What was it then?" I ask while he strokes the back of my thighs through my sheer tights.

My skin prickles underneath, a softly pulsing pleasure settling between my thighs.

Maybe it is worth it.

Maybe I'll learn something about myself by being with this man, even if only for a night.

He seems distracted by how compliant I've become.I like his touch. I likehow it feels. And I likethat he's successfully removed some of my inhibitions.

He has something else written all over his face.

‘He could end up being my biggest mistake.'

"Jax?" I call him softly, and his eyes glint with pleasure.

Maybe we canbe more than two strangers in a hotel room.

My memory leaps back to all the hotels I'd spent nights in, where men away from home felt emboldened to hit on me, and I said no to all of them because I was afraid.

And here I am with someone who has nothing to do with that world.

And I'm still afraid.

"Huh...?" he murmurs.

"What brought you here?" I say, insisting on getting a truthful answer.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't meeting one of your loser boyfriends," he jokes.

"Boyfriends?" I retort. "As in plural?"

He tips his chin down.

"Yeah. I'm sure there are others."

"What makes you say that?" I ask, smiling.

Rolling his lip under his teeth, he parts my knees with his hand, his eyes locked with mine as he moves it up and nears the apex of my thighs.

He doesn't touch me there and doesn't need to.

The effect is just the same.

"You're very technical about it…" he says, touching me between my legs with the back of his knuckles.

His ring is cold against my skin.

I can't believe he did it.

And I can't believe I'm not outraged.

Instead, I pull my thighs together.

"That's my girl," he says, his smile no longer amused, hidinghow he feels.

His determination becomes scary, and I want to pull back, yet he holds me still.

"Don't do it," he says. "I won't do anything you don't want me to. I just want to make you feel good. All right?"

I relent, although I'm still torn about this.

Not being with a man for some time must've killed my flair when it comes to men.

You could say anything about me, but Jax London wasn't someone I could see coming.

"I'm technical?" I say, trying to conceal how much I like his hand between my legs.

"Yes. You follow some script… that never works."

His words are curt as if he's suddenly in a rush.

Better than me at multitasking, he sneaks his hands inside my tights and underwear and rolls them past my butt.

"You're not doing this…" I say.

"Yes, I am."

I am all for finding out more about me being technical in selecting my boyfriends when he runs his fingers up my slit and touches my clit.

Gasping, I briefly close my eyes, hoping he doesn't notice, yet everything registers with him, especially the way my hands claw at his shoulders and my back arches as I suck in a long breath and tilt my head back.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he moves his thumb over my clit a few times before penetrating me with his fingers.

My reaction is swift, mycenterhugginghis index and middle finger, the sensation of fullnessmakingmy legs trembleand all rational thoughts go out the window.

How he makes me feel is not the scariest thing.

How comfortable I am with him and how familiar he has become to me frightens me even more.

He moves his fingers slowly while rubbing my clit, and my nails dive into his neck.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he says, studying my face beaming with delight, surprise, and embarrassment.

He moves his fingersdeeper, and as much as I'd love to experience this a little longer, I'm afraid it all will come to a swift end, as I won't last.

But I try fighting my body, and my body fights back, lubricating his fingers even more, burning around his knuckles, and creating electric storms around my clit.

I bite my lip.

I didn't know I needed an orgasm so badly.

"Yes, it does. It does feel good…" I murmur, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, and I tilt my gaze down and peer at him through my lashes.

"No, you're not."

A smile lines his gaze.

"He wouldn't have fucked you right," he says, and I wish I could be a better conversation partner, but my brain is overwhelmed by the idea of having sex right now.

"If there's any consolation, I didn't go for that. So there's that," I say.

He gives me a knowing smile, which is dirty like my thoughts.

Everything feels dirty right now.

His fingersmovingin and out of me. And the wayhe looks at me, slightly detached, although entirely focused.

The way he talks about another man fucking me and how we chat about my boyfriends. And not in the least, the way he teases my clit and brings his mouth closer to my chest.

He looks upas helowers his mouth and does the last thing I needed right now if I wanted to last.

He grips the edge of my dress and lowers my neckline before scooping out one of my breasts. The thought that he is about to take my nipple into his mouth fuels the fire between my legs.

As good as it feels, I know this is going to end.I feel it inthe trembling of my body, howI push my chest into his hand and move my fingers through his hair.Parting my lips, I push out labored breaths.

"Moan for me, baby…" he says. "Let it all out. Don't feel bad about how you feel."

"I don't…" I say before he sinks his teeth into my breast, and a powerful storm sweeps through me, just as strong as the one outside.