Ten

Ten

JACE

The door to the men's room hits the wall as I barrel through it. A man at the sink stares at me in the mirror while washing his hands. I flash a tight smile his way, masking the anxiety that's tightening my chest, and lock myself in the last stall. As soon as I'm alone I push out the air I was holding in my lungs. My hand fumbles with my tie, and I release the top button of my shirt. Why is it so hot in here?

I press my ass to the wall, bend at the waist, and grip my knees. So many eyes on me, watching my every move. They must know Desi and I are faking it. What would a woman like her be doing with me? They're going to tell Matt, and he's going to be pissed that I didn't tell him the truth. He's going to pull the funds.

Deep in the back of my mind I know every single thought I'm having is irrational. No one out there knows anything about my dating life except for Desi. She's here for me and has no intention of letting them in on our secret. But none of those rational thoughts are as loud as the ones sending me into a panic.

"Breathe," I tell myself, doing my best to bring myself to a place of peace, planting my palm on the wall across from me.

I count inside my head, not wanting anyone to walk out of here talking about the weirdo who likes to count while he's shitting in the last stall. With each number, my breathing evens out and my muscles relax.

My panic had been mounting ever since I left the house. I was walking into this dinner without the reason I was invited in the first place. Small talk, especially with strangers, isn't my thing. Add in the pressure I was feeling to fit in and impress, and I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously combust the second I set foot in the ballroom. All the stress that had me teetering on the edge evaporated the moment I saw Desi. It was such a relief that I almost burst into tears. Like she knew exactly what I needed, she brought me onto the dance floor, and every negative feeling faded away. I was captivated by her—the way she felt in my arms, the playful smile on her lips, how her body moved with mine. For a brief moment, it was just her and me . . . until it wasn't.

I release a gust of air that rattles my lips, stand up straight, and exit the stall. At the sink I wash my hands and splash cool water on my face. Ripping two towels from the dispenser, I dry off before meeting my reflection in the mirror.

"She's got this, just follow her lead and everything will be all right," I say, straightening my shirt and tie.

Feeling like myself again, I head back out.

When I reach the edge of the dance floor, there's an upbeat song playing, and more people are back out there, most of them with ridiculously silly moves that look like something out of a comedy sketch.

But in the middle of them all, spinning in circles with her dress fanning out around her legs, is Desi. Her curls have fallen out of her bun and fly behind her as she dances, joy radiating from her face and laughter spilling from her lips at something the person next to her just said.

She's stunning. Right then, the realization that I'd like to be the one to make her that happy hits me square in the chest, and I want to capture this moment forever. I slide my phone from my pocket and snap a photo of her at the perfect time. Her head is thrown back and she's laughing, the green of her dress bringing out the ginger freckles peppered all over her skin.

Before I can think better of what I just did or convince myself it was too weird, I shove my phone in my pocket and make my way back over to her, gently pushing through the crowd.

"Hey, sorry," I say, running my fingers through my hair. "I just needed a little air."

"That's okay," she says, her voice breathy. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good now. I think you deserve a drink after that dance." I hold my arm out to her, and she loops hers around it.

We walk off the dance floor, and she continues to smile. I thought for sure she would sober a bit once I led her away. It's a boost to my ego to know she's happy to leave with me. I'm steering her toward a server holding a silver platter of cocktails when Matt steps into our path.

He wears a wide smile and his hazel eyes crinkle at the side. "Jace, who knew that you could cut a rug? I guess with a spectacular woman on your arm all things are possible." He leans in and presses his cheek to Desi's, kissing the air. "Desi, I'm glad you came and made sure our boy got out of that comfortable shell of his."

She moves away from him and snuggles in at my side. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed this for the world. And besides . . ." She drags her finger all the way down the lapel of my suit coat and traces the waistband of my pants. "I'd never miss a chance to see my man in one of his sexy tailored suits."

If I thought I was going to pass out earlier, I was mistaken. Desi's fingers roaming close to my zipper makes me light-headed. This is not the time for me to faint or to physically show Matt how turned on I am. I give Desi's side a firm pinch and plaster a smile on my face, saying, "The lady has a thing for a man in a suit."

"As she should—you're going to be wearing them more often if you want to build this company. I heard that Bryce Edmonds kid down at Rhode Island School of Design is looking to sign with a smaller firm. He doesn't want to work his way up with the big guys. Your art is gritty and edgy, and he would complement you with his clean lines and bold color choices. That kid is hella talented and could be just what your company needs."

I'm familiar with Bryce Edmonds. Everyone in the industry is. The kid is a genius with a stylus and an iPad. I've spent hours watching the videos he posts on social media of him working. Even the designs he created back in high school were impressive.

I rub my jaw and let my thoughts spill out of my mouth. "Edmonds knows he's good. I've seen him talking in a few digital art forums. He isn't going to settle for a start-up salary even with the potential of becoming a partner in a few years. I'll have to sell my BMW and a kidney to afford him."

"Or you can bag him and get yourself a guaranteed investor who'll help with the cost."

"Are you saying—"

"I'll sign the deal if you bring on Edmonds. The two of you together would blow these old assholes out of the water."

It sounds so simple. One person straight out of college. He should be chomping at the bit for any opportunity to work in the industry. But this kid is like a first draft pick for the NFL. Why the hell would he settle for my small design firm?

Desi shakes my arm, her voice brimming with excitement as she says, "Jace, you have to talk to him. He'd be lucky to work with you."

"Listen to her. She makes a lot of sense," Matt adds.

"All right. I'll schedule something with him in a couple of weeks, a video conference first, then later if all goes well, we'll meet up at your office in New York. No matter what it takes, I'll make it work."

Matt holds out his hand. "I look forward to seeing the return on my investment."

I grip his fingers and we shake. "I look forward to making you an even richer man."

He chuckles and gives Desi a mischievous glance. "Treat him good tonight. He deserves it."

She matches his expression and winks. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he's taken care of."

The innuendo sends all kinds of images of how she could do just that racing through my head. God, how I want to act on them and take this charade a little further. My entire body is buzzing, dying for physical attention. I want skin on skin, her mouth, her hands. Nothing but her can sedate the need she's brought to life in me.

"You two have fun. And no more dancing, you stole all the attention from me," Matt says over his shoulder as he walks away.

I slide my hand into my pocket and ensure I'm not showing the entire room how turned on I am. When I'm satisfied that nothing is tenting, I turn to Desi and say, "You're too much, but damn if Matt didn't like it. You just locked down that deal for me."

She snatches a drink from a server and takes a sip. "Nah, you locked down that deal with your reputation and talent. I'm just arm candy."

It's not true. She is so much more than that. But I'm not about to verbally duel it out with her. We already know our arguments tend to get heated.

I take her hand and run my thumb over her knuckles. "Thank you for coming tonight, Desi. I was lost before you got here."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it."

"Now, I know Matt said no more dancing, but one more for celebratory purposes won't hurt. May I?" I ask, pulling our clasped fingers to my chest.

She nods with a bright smile, and I sweep her out onto the dance floor.

One dance turns into several. I spin her around and hold her close while she helps herself to a glass of champagne. If I had my way, we would dance all night. I have a reason to have my hands on her and press my body to hers. The minute we walk away, I know I'll never touch her like this again. When the crowd thins, and her dance moves are a little unsteady, it's time to call it a night. We say good night to Matt and the rest of the suits she charmed and make our way to my car.

She giggles as we walk across the parking lot, and I can't help but wonder what's going through her head.

"What?" I ask.

She loops her arm with mine, like she's done all night. "Did we really waste an entire week giving each other the silent treatment over shrunken jeans and the imaginary soap scum you assumed I'd leave in your tub?"

The muscles in my cheek twitch as I fight the urge to laugh. "I'm irrationally disgusted by a ring around my bathtub."

"If you had checked your tub after you yelled at me, Daddy, then you'd have seen that it was perfectly clean and clear of any sign of me," she says sweetly.

I swallow and pull on my tie. I've never asked a woman to call me anything but my name. But the acts that go along with the term daddy . . . those I enjoy partaking in.

No, Jace. Keep it light and fun. Desi is your friend. Just your friend.

I open the passenger door for her and say, "Daddy, huh? Keep it up and sneak into my bedroom again, and I'll show you how daddy I can be."

"Oh, we're making jokes now?" she says, a throaty giggle escaping her lips. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Before I shut her door for her, I say, "Yeah, yeah. Remind me to hide that bottle of ‘I'm sorry' wine I bought you when we get home."

When I get into the car and shut the door, she grins over at me. "Not a chance. It's already in my special hiding place with my other special . . . things."

"Are you talking about the bag of Oreos you hide behind the pots? I've already helped Cannon sneak into that stash a couple of times."

She feigns an offended gasp. "What?! Thief!" Her voice changes to a more serious, deadpan tone. "But, no. I'm talking about my vibrators."

I fight to keep my eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. Clearing my throat, I manage, "That's an interesting place to keep your wine."

"What can I say? Sometimes I like to feel some full body tingles with my . . . you know . . . downstairs tingles."

My heart starts to race, and all I can think about is how embarrassing it will be if I get a boner right here in the car with her. "Desideria, I don't—do you—I don't think this is a good conversation to have with me."

A little gasp of horror comes from her side of the car, and my eyes dart over to her, afraid that something's wrong, that she's somehow hurt.

But she's not. She's just looking over at me with sorrow etched on her features. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jace. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm fine talking about sex. Despite the myths about nerds never getting any, I'm well versed in the subject. I just find that when that door is opened it's hard to close, and it could complicate situations. Especially when it feels like lines have already almost been crossed prior to talking about sex."

"So, we did almost cross a line. I didn't read too much into that."

I take a deep breath before speaking. "You were there, Desideria. We were emotional and struggling to rationally voice our frustrations. I chalk it up to feeling like we lost our minds for a moment. I want you to know that I'd never cross that boundary with you, not when you're looking for the type of relationship I can't give you."

"Of course," she mumbles. "You don't believe in commitment. And that's exactly what I'm here to find. Not that I'd—never mind. You're right. I just want to know what it feels like."

"What?"

"I want to know what it feels like," she says a little louder, and without even looking I know she's turned her whole body to face me. "To be completely desired. Needed. To be kissed so desperately that I lose my breath. I want them to come back for more, desperate to kiss me again. And when they do, I want them in control, for them to tell me what would make them feel good. I don't want to be a fumbling mess. I just want to be theirs for that moment. You know what I mean?"

My blood stills. My heart stops for a moment. Everything freezes. I completely know what she means because that's where I thrive. So much in my life has been outside my control but sex is the one place—other than my art—where I can create an outcome where everyone is happy. It turns me on to dominate in those moments that bring a woman pleasure. But part of what she just said doesn't compute. There's simply no way it can be true.

"Back up a second. You've never been kissed? I know you said Cannon was your first date, but you've never—"

"I mean, when I was younger, yeah, but every time it was with some sloppy dem—guy—and it never meant anything. No more than a messy kiss on the lips with either hardly any tongue or way too much tongue. I've never been really kissed. Hence, the desire for someone to be in control."

I fall silent because I have no idea what to say. It seems truly impossible that this beautiful creature has not been kissed within an inch of her life. When I finally pull my car into the garage, I cut the engine and turn to her.

"Then I'm glad I didn't cross that line with you the other day. I would have let you down, and I don't want to be on that list of meaningless kisses from guys who never returned for more. You deserve better than that."

Her sharp inhale cuts me to the bone. She opens the car door and jumps out, pulling her heels off as she goes. "Thank you for tonight, Jace. I had a great time," she says, her voice suspiciously thick, as she runs into the house without looking back.

Fuck. Well, it's clear that she took what I said the wrong way. Like I wouldn't want to kiss her. Like I wouldn't kill to come back for more. When the exact opposite is true.

But she can never, ever know that. I won't hurt her that way.

Or myself.

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. This is the exact thing I never wanted to happen. When hormones and sex get involved, things get messy. People get hurt. I've spent my time on the receiving and the giving end of that pain. I swore I'd never get twisted in that kind of emotion after everything that happened to me, but it appears I'm the clown who's caught himself in that trap again.