Married To Her Ex

by Cantrell, Kat

  The waiter brought the wine and set out stemware by their elbows. He popped the cork and offered Jesse the first taste and then, after his nod, poured and disappeared.

  “So.” Jesse put his menu down without reading it. “Here we are.”

  She sighed. “We don’t have to do small talk, do we?”

  He picked up his wine glass and ran a fingertip around the rim with blatant sensuality. His questing fingers could find the smallest imperfection in an inch-long metal part and often used that same attention to detail on her body. With a small groan, she squashed that particular flashback and the sudden flood of others involving his fingers.

  “Depends. You have some big-talk fighting to get out?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t really want to talk at all.”

  Maybe her hormones just hadn’t entirely settled down yet from earlier.

  “Great. Me either. There are many more interesting things my mouth would like to be doing instead of talking.”

  The rim of the wine glass rested at the edge of his lower lip, and as he tilted it toward his mouth, his gaze skimmed over her. The man radiated carnal heat like concrete in July and could take off a layer of skin as easily.

  She should have worn a potato sack. At least it might have sent a clearer message, but knowing him, he’d invent some Irish mating ritual out of it. Tension tightened her thigh muscles and put a hitch in her throat. The kind of tension which could only be released by screaming. Or by accepting the clear invitation in Jesse’s expression.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” she muttered before considering his mood. And the answer she would likely get.

  “Get you naked, of course.”

  It was pure Jesse, and for some reason, it made her laugh. With that, the pressure evaporated.

  The waiter arrived to take their orders, and Jesse tossed off a couple of entrees without glancing at him or the menu.

  When the waiter disappeared, Jesse speared her with an intense sweep of his eyes and took her hand. Turned it over and stroked the sensitive flesh of her palm. “Tell me about the layoff.”

  Shocked, she stared at his fingers on her hand and splayed the other on her abdomen to hold in the butterflies. The gesture was full-bore Before Jesse, when he’d been involved in their relationship. Before Jesse had whisked her into a web of bliss and taken her heart irrevocably with this type of romantic intent.

  This was what she’d been begging him for. Conversation. Interest. Caring—for her. She hardly knew what to do… except roll with it.

  “It was like any other layoff. A smack to the forehead. One day we were working on the proofs for Baked Bacon Chips and making plans for the booth at the state fair, and the next they called us into a conference room. Told us they were outsourcing the entire marketing department and gave us our walking papers.”

  Sympathy rose in his eyes. “Ouch. Who’d they go with?”

  “Randolph Group. They offered a few of the others jobs, but not me.” The snub still rankled. But she was mostly over the bitterness. “I don’t have a graduate-level degree, which makes me persona non grata, I guess.”

  The waiter placed salads in front of them, and Jesse released her hand. They picked up forks, but she didn’t eat. Now was the time to push her case about the patent. What did she have to lose?

  “The Thigh Thing is so important because I’m at a crossroads careerwise. I could go back to school and do the MBA program.” A vinegary taste soured her mouth as Layla sprang to mind. That was the crux of her animosity toward the woman—jealousy. Not that she’d admit it.

  “You don’t need another degree. You’re talented enough to get a job without it.”

  His compliment warmed her a little, even though it wasn’t remotely true. She’d tried to find another job after the layoff. That’s how she knew there weren’t any for people without advanced degrees. Of course, she couldn’t go back to school anyway, not unless she still lived with a supportive husband who was willing to foot the bill for living expenses. But college wasn’t really what she wanted to do.

  “I want to see what I can do on my own, with no one else’s rules or agenda to get in the way. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know since the patent was your weapon of choice.”

  Jesse shoved his plate back an inch, his expression unreadable. “A necessary strategy. If you weren’t so stubborn, I could have taken a whole different approach.”

  “Stubborn? Me?” She paused, fork halfway to her mouth, forgotten. “I’m not the one coercing people into bed.”

  “Haven’t gotten you there yet.” He smirked. “But I must be closer than I thought for you to be so fixated on sex.”

  Her dropped fork clattered against the plate, echoing in the quiet bustle of the restaurant. “I am not fixated on sex.”

  Yes, she was.

  Instantly, her mind conjured up an image of him slowly twisting off her green dress. Backing her up against the wall, hands hot and magic against her skin. She’d murmur token protests while silently urging him to hurry.

  But she’d gladly bite off her tongue before saying so. “Out of morbid curiosity, what did you have against calling me up and saying ‘Hey, I think I made a mistake and I’d like to see if we could try again’ sort of thing.”

  “I did,” he bit out. “You said no.”

  Her floundering hand almost upset a wine glass, and she grabbed at it, catching it just in time. “What? You were serious?”

  He’d called three times in the weeks after leaving, each message full of pleas to answer the phone, to listen to him, to give him a chance. Each one harder to ignore than the last. The fourth time, she answered and told him to jump in a lake, proud for not caving in to the loneliness of separation or the insanity from the miscarriage.

  A chance. Ha. A chance for what? To sit around and stare at the floor, in pain and alone? To play second fiddle to Outlaw for the rest of her life, without a tiny, living piece of Jesse to help stave off the darkness?

  “Yes, Alexia. I was serious. And now I’m more serious since you’ve forced me into a proposition where the odds are stacked against me. But it will make the victory so much sweeter.” He toasted her and downed the contents of his glass as the main course arrived.

  All this could have been avoided if she had given him a chance and then sent him on his merry way months ago. She could have eventually asked him to be her business partner on the Thigh Thing, no harm, no foul. By then she would have figured out a way to exorcise him from her system and eliminate all these staggering feelings for him which shouldn’t even exist.

  Dinner was the finest beef a Texas rancher could herd to the slaughterhouse, and it tasted like sawdust. This deal was about some macho compulsion to sit around and beat his chest over successfully dragging the female back to his cave. He liked having things, owning them, touching them whenever he so desired. And touch he did, often.

  Yet he seemed serious about winning her back. But what did “back” mean? Surely not the bloodless partnership she’d been trying to convince herself prompted all of this.

  He hadn’t even mentioned the miscarriage, like it hadn’t happened. That alone was enough of a warning that she needed to tread lightly. But she hadn’t mentioned it either, on purpose. They both had some adjustments to make.

  Maybe she needed to take a fresh approach to this opportunity. In an unprecedented move, he’d invited her to breakfast to make up for his absence the night of the accident. They were on a date right now, and he’d switched off his phone.

  What if this second chance included a willingness on Jesse’s part to do things differently, and she didn’t give him room to prove he could?

  Of course it was totally to her benefit if that chance included being taken to bed by a man who knew his way around her body and wasn’t shy about instigating frequent tours. Why was she resisting his advances? It was pure stupidity to avoid sex when it actually solved more problems than it caused—after all, if this whole deal centered so
lely around the patent, the best way to ferret that out was to seduce him into admitting it.

  She didn’t have to fall for him again. The only way he could stomp all over her heart again was if she granted him that kind of power. She had control over her own feelings, didn’t she?

  The patent would still be hers at the end—because she’d lose it over her dead body—and she’d be closer to working Jesse out of her system if indeed this reunion did end badly. She picked up a fork and shoveled food into her mouth without looking at it. Jesse wasn’t the only one who could strategize. For the first time since he’d dropped her into this mess, she finally felt like she had both hands firmly on the wheel.

  The beaming smile she gave him was genuine this time. If she could market anything, it was herself. His suspicious frown eventually wore off, and the evening became nothing more than a pleasant time with pleasant company…as far as he was concerned. This was nothing but a worldly woman having dinner with her ex. Ironic.

  “Nice restaurant. I’m enjoying myself,” she told him, and it wasn’t a lie.

  Being in control did that for a girl. Finally, she’d figured out how to juggle all the balls of this deal.

  With new stakes in mind, she suggested dancing, which he readily accepted. They left the restaurant and walked hand in hand to a club down the street. Raucous music bled from the entrance as people surged into the flashing lights. She hadn’t been dancing in, oh, about a hundred years, but half a bottle of wine went a long way toward bolstering her courage.

  Besides, no one would notice her anyway, not when she had perfection as a dance partner. Like a panther on the prowl, he moved with deadly, graceful precision whether he was stalking or capturing. And not only on the dance floor. She fanned her hot face as the doorman lifted the scarlet rope.

  Inside, the music swelled to an almost intolerable decibel level. The driving beat vibrated against her rib cage. They waded into the crush of bodies undulating as one on the dance floor. When he rotated her in his arms, the intention in his expression incited everything else inside to vibrate.

  He pulled her close and their torsos met. They moved in tandem, sensually intertwined, with no barriers. The sting of the smoke machine filled her nostrils as he ran his hands down her torso and uncovered legs. His touch sensitized her already overheated skin.

  Their mouths collided in perfect rhythm, and she kissed him as passionately as she dared in public.

  His tongue mated with hers. He tasted like wine and liquid fire and the bolt of desire almost knocked her to the floor. His hands were everywhere, threaded in her hair, sliding up her arms, hard against her rear.

  The simultaneous combination of Jesse and the music and the alcohol streaming through her blood was too much. He shoved her to an edge where, just beyond, stopping was impossible. Because she wouldn’t want to.

  Panting, she spun away. Her body wept with the pain of longing and unfulfilled promise, but she still had enough decorum left to be embarrassed at the show they’d been giving the other dancers.

  A wolfish grin and a dark promise took over his features. He knew exactly what she’d been thinking about.

  She had to get back in the driver’s seat like she’d promised herself over dinner. How could she have forgotten? The biggest risk to her new plan was that Jesse would seduce her so well she’d forget all about the end goal.

  She needed to be the aggressor and not give him an inch. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. About being serious.”

  Smoke poured down from the ceiling, wafting between them, licking his face. “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to alter the deal a tiny bit.”

  “No,” he said over the pounding music, without letting her take a breath. “It’s done and it’s not going to change.”

  “You haven’t heard my terms.” She smiled coquettishly. “It’s nothing, really. I’d like to increase the number of dates.”

  “To what?” He eyed her warily. A rainbow of colors pulsed in time with the beat, splaying over their bodies and blending them like human chameleons into the background crush of people.

  “Seven. A week. I don’t care if it’s at home or we go out, but I want to see you every night.” So simple, really. To get her into bed, he’d have to choose her over Outlaw. They couldn’t talk and reconnect and spill secrets—like his real agenda—if he worked ninety hours a week. “If you’re home, I’m naked. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  It was the best kind of test. If he passed, they’d both win.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse juggled his phone and laptop, almost dropping both before settling into the seat of the Vette. Alexia’s timing could have been better. Why couldn’t she have waited until after the acquisition was done before launching the return volley of seven dates a week?

  Honestly, he’d gotten off lightly. When she said “alter,” he really expected a demand to shave off a month. An increase in spending time together—naked—he could handle. As long as the laptop’s air card didn’t flake out on the long drive to Tres Lagos.

  It would take an adjustment on everyone’s part, but he wasn’t dumb enough to miss the signs. He’d been scouring his mind, the circumstances, her dialog—everything and anything he could analyze—to figure out what had to change in order to get their relationship back on track.

  Here it was, staring him in the face. Alexia demanded an even playing field, and in her mind that equaled his time. Such an easy fix. He could give that to her, for a little while at least. It wasn’t forever.

  Anticipation hummed at the back of his throat. Last night was fresh on his mind, especially the wild thrill of dancing with Alexia. Her lithe little body had been heaven under his hands. She’d left him at the door of her bedroom, her eyes full of smoldering and meaningful promise. When he proved he was on board with the new terms and came home early, then things would get interesting.

  It hadn’t been difficult to swing out from behind his desk at 3:55 on a Friday. Hopefully Dolores would get over the shock.

  Forty-five frustrating minutes later, the Vette had crawled about ten miles. GPS informed him a rock hauler and a cement mixer had gotten tangled a few miles up the expressway. The resulting carnage blocked three out of four lanes between him and the sexiest woman in Texas.

  He texted her a quick explanation and settled in to catch up on e-mail. Traffic wasn’t a problem at seven or eight o’clock when he normally left Outlaw. He’d be on blood-pressure medication soon if this was a sign of things to come.

  By the time he rolled into the garage, more than his temper was riled. Sattlewhite still hadn’t climbed down off his fence, and Jesse was most likely about to be stuck eating peanut butter and jelly for dinner. Alone.

  The dark kitchen sat empty in silent accusation. Flipping on the lights, Jesse strolled in and leafed through the mail, cursing the fates. Missed it by that much.

  A shush of a footstep warned him he wasn’t alone. A split second after he turned, Alexia molded against him, breasts firm against his chest and hips gliding into place alongside his thighs. Sexy perfume wrapped around him along with her arms, and a well-aimed mouth kissed him speechless. Not that he could talk with her slick lips sliding against his.

  Not to be outdone, he pivoted and pinned her between his chest and the bar. Nibbling his way down her throat, he traced the line where fabric met skin with his tongue. His brain melted as she worked one smooth thigh up his leg and hooked her heel behind his knee, twining them closer.

  All five senses leaped into overtime as he plunged in, kissing her, devouring. Tongues thrusting rough and fast, heat seeking heat. He couldn’t get enough. Ever.

  “Whoa.” She pulled away, put both hands up and spread them across his chest, then shoved without any real strength. He didn’t move a millimeter. “I’m about a second from forgetting all about the surprise, and I would be really disappointed not to give it to you.”

  He growled at the interruption. “Seems like you’re giving me the
surprise already. I thought you’d be mad.”

  Alexia in his arms—freely—wasn’t what he expected as a reward for being late.

  She laughed, but it was a little off-kilter, the way he liked her. “You can’t help traffic. You get points for effort. So I’m making dinner for you. Surprise!”

  “What?” He must have misheard. Alexia did not make dinner. “You mean you ordered dinner to be delivered? All the way out here?”

  Smacking him playfully on the bicep, she said, “No, I mean I’m cooking. Like with a pan and everything.”

  His eyes narrowed. “First I get a sexy housewife greeting, and now you’re cooking? What are you up to?”

  Clearly, he’d been wrong. His late arrival must have infuriated her beyond all reason if she planned to repay him with death by pork chop.

  In a very blatant attempt to distract him, she twined a couple of fingers through his hair. Since he was still pressed up hard against her, the slight movement created sparky friction as her breasts rubbed across his T-shirt. “Nothing. Can’t I cook dinner for you once in a while?”

  “Sure. If I had married Rachel Ray, I’d expect it, but I married you instead, despite your inability to feed me. Where’s Moki?” Jesse lifted his head, dislodging a wave of her spicy perfume, and searched the empty kitchen.

  She shrugged. “I gave him the night off.”

  “Oh. There’s a Whataburger not five miles from here. It’s okay. I’ll go pick up a couple.”

  Lightning quick, she grabbed his hand as he reached for the keys he’d thrown on the counter earlier.

  “It’s not going to be like last time. Nothing’s going to get burned. Would you trust me, already?” Fluttering her lashes, she arranged a bare mouth in a practiced pout.

  “I do trust you.” Just not with a pan.

  With a gratified smile he didn’t really deserve, she stepped out of his embrace.