As I walk down the long hallway, heading towards the stairs, I pass by one of the rooms. I think it’s the bar. The door is slightly ajar and light spills out into the hall. I step closer and peer in. I notice a polished mahogany counter and vintage brass fixtures. Shelves behind the bar are stocked with a huge display of multi-colored concoctions.
Jett is sitting inside, a whiskey glass in hand. He looks up, and his eyes lock onto mine. “What time do you call this?” His smooth voice is edged with something sharp.
I freeze, my shoes slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. His stare is hard, more intense than I’m used to. He’s dressed casually, in loungewear that hugs his body, and the sight sends a tingling sensation through me. Not what I need.
“You’re s-still up,” I stammer, feeling a little unsteady from the cocktails. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” He takes a sip of his whiskey, his gaze moving over me slowly, deliberately.
I shift uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of my short dress and suddenly feeling very exposed, especially when his gaze settles on my bare shoulder. “Isn’t it late?” I ask.
“For what?” His brows push together in irritation.
I gulp, my brain scrambling. He looks annoyed. He’s going to say something about what happened in the water. And he’s going to fire me. I crossed a line—groping him the way I did—and now I must face the consequences. “To … be … drinking by yourself,” I say slowly.
“Where were you?” His eyes are dark now, like an angry thundercloud.
“I went to a pool party with Jacques and some friends,” I mumble, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught sneaking out.
“A pool party?” he snarls, as if he’s having difficulty wrapping his head around the idea. “And you decided to come home now?”
“You said I could have weekends off,” I remind him, trying to stay calm, even though my heart is pounding.
“I still need to know where you’re going,” he growls. “I’m responsible for you.”
“I told Ruby. I didn’t think you’d care.”
He takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine. I’ve never seen him like this—drinking, alone, and late at night. It feels like I’ve caused more trouble than I even realized.
“Which bikini did you wear?”
His question shocks me, like a bucket of iced water thrown at me. “W-what?”
“Was it the stringy, pink one or the army regulation one?”
My mouth opens but words fail me. I wish I hadn’t had so many cocktails because I feel floaty and light-headed, like this is a dream and not real. “Why do you care?”
“I need to know.”
“Need?” The cocktails have given me a little courage. His need to know feels dangerously flirtatious.
He takes a swig from his whiskey tumbler.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask.
“Not enough.” He drains his glass, his gaze heavy on mine. “Why not stay out all night?”
“Because I wasn’t having that great of a time,” I admit, my voice quieter now. I don’t know why I’m being so honest.
He tilts his head, watching me carefully. “You didn’t?”
“No.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, though the tension between us feels like it’s growing by the second.
He looks me up and down again, his eyes lingering on my shoulder, then sliding lower. “You look beautiful.” His voice is almost a murmur and I don’t think I heard right, but heat flushes through me and I nibble on my lower lip, unsure how to respond.
“Thanks.”
“I like your hair up.” It’s strange how his tone is so casual, and his gaze is so intense.
I reach up, touching my hair self-consciously. I didn’t do the tidy updo I usually do at work, but something looser, more tousled and with wisps falling along the sides. “It’s so hot here. I didn’t want it sticking to my neck.”
“Let it down.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your hair. Let it down.” He’s never spoken to me like this before. There’s a wildness about him. He’s not as smooth and as polished as he usually is. The slick Armani veneer has gone. In his loungewear, with the fabric hugging his body like a second skin, he seems bigger, built, and my eyes can’t stop from checking him out.
Without thinking, I reach up and do as he says, pulling the clip from my hair and letting it fall loose around my shoulders. His gaze rakes over me, making my heart race as I feel the heat of his gaze.
Am I dreaming?
It’s like he’s looking at me differently—as if he sees every part of me. He’s saying all the right things. He’s talking to me as if we are at the same level. As if he wants me. My heart races, the atmosphere between us electric.
Every nerve in my body is alive.
I wish I hadn’t had so many cocktails. I don’t know if this is really happening or if I’m imagining it.
“You didn’t answer my question about the bikini.”
“I didn’t go into the pool. I didn’t want to. I just wore this.” I wave a hand at my dress.
“Was that for him?” He tilts his chin towards me. There’s a roughness in his voice which jolts me.
“What?” I’m confused, trying to keep up.
“The dress,” he clarifies. “Did you wear it for him?”
“Why so many questions?” And when he gives me a pointed look, “No,” I say quickly, shaking my head.
“Good,” he mutters, before taking another sip of whiskey, his gaze never leaving mine. “You shouldn’t waste your time on boys like him.”
My insides turn into a fireball. I run through the words again, second guessing what I heard. “You think I should find someone ancient instead?” I joke. A couple of times, when he’s riled my temper, I’ve made pointed remarks about his age. But he doesn’t appear to have heard. He gets up and walks over to me, and now I smell the whiskey on him.
“I love the way it clings to all your curves. I love …” His eyes trail over me again and he reaches out, his fingers hovering around my shoulder. I brace myself for his touch. It’s like he wants to devour me. A low, thrumming vibration building between my legs.
Heat rolls off his body. I can feel something physical—as if wanton lust has spread all over my body like an essential oil. “If I shouldn’t waste my time on boys like him, who should I waste my time on?”
“Someone who knows what he’s doing. Someone who wouldn’t waste your time.”
“I didn’t dress for him.”
“No?” His gaze darkens and the intensity in his eyes like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t trust myself to breathe.
“Would you dress for me?” His voice is thick with something unspoken.
The tension between us zaps, wrapping around us like the sultry heat of the night. A fire ignites inside me, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I would dress however you wanted me to.” In this moment, I would. In this raw and dangerous moment, I’d do anything he asked me to do.