by M. Leighton
I tune out the muted music and the three-dozen other conversations going on, and I listen closely for the unique sound of Muse’s voice. It’s a little husky and a lot feminine with a southern twang to it. Sweet charm and sexy stripper, all rolled into one.
I take a step closer when I see the blond slide his palm over her back and pull her against his side. Muse, still laughing, slouches into him for a second before pulling away and signaling the bartender.
“Two more shosh, please,” she slurs, tapping two empty glasses on the bar.
I watch blond guy’s hand stray down to her waist, pause and then move to cup her ass. Muse seems not to notice, as that’s when the bartender sets two more shots of something clear down in front of her.
She sips all of one and then starts in on the other one as her brazen cohort scoots his stool closer and leans in to whisper something in her ear. Muse laughs again, falling forward over the bar and resting her forehead against it while she slaps the shiny wood with her free hand.
I bristle as I watch. I don’t make a move until I see Asshole turn his torso toward Muse and reach in with his other hand, presumably aiming for the inside of her thigh. We’ll never know, I suppose.
I’m on him so fast he doesn’t even have time to choke out a single syllable. I jerk him off his stool, slam his head into the edge of the bar, which makes a satisfying crack, and then I haul him up and around to stare into his face. I wind my fingers around his throat.
“I think that’s enough touching for tonight,” I growl.
“What the fu—”
I squeeze my fingers tighter, cutting off his words. He tries to gasp, but can’t.
His face starts to turn red.
“Do I look like the type of man you can question?”
I hear chair legs scratch wood floors as others in the tavern become unsettled. I don’t bother looking. I continue to stare into the bloodshot blue eyes that are starting to understand exactly what I mean. And what kind of man I am.
When he manages to nod and relaxes the fingers that were clawing at my hand, I loosen my grip and shove him aside. He doesn’t bother coming back after me. He just watches me. Warily. Rubbing his throat and holding his tongue. Smart guy.
Slowly, I turn to scan the room. I make eye contact with a few of the men who stood up. I assume they were preparing to come to the rescue of the “victim,” but none of them makes a move. Some of them even resume their seat. I know from experience that when I choose to give people a glimpse of the real me, it changes their mind about a lot of things. I imagine it’s a lot like looking into a black hole and seeing the eyes of a monster staring back at you.
When I’ve made my slow turn all the way back to Muse, I find her staring at me in her fuzzy, blurry way. “Jasper? What the hell?” she says quietly, almost uncertainly.
She’s trying to sound incensed, but I think she’s still lucid enough to have understood what just happened. And to know that I’m not a man to be pushed. Smart girl.
“If you’re ready, I’ll walk you back.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Oh, I think you are,” I tell her curtly, curling my fingers around her upper arm to help her off her stool.
“Wait, let me finish my drink,” she pleads, reaching for the half-full shot glass. She downs it quickly and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She makes a gun with her index finger and thumb, points it at me and winks. “Ready, Freddy.”
I say nothing as I escort her to the door. I’m only aware of the warm female body pressed to my side and the room full of skeptical eyes that follow us out.
ELEVEN
Muse
I rest my cheek against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. “The elevator did it,” I mumble to the base of the toilet in front of me.
“Did you say something?” comes Jasper’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door, which surprises me. I’ve been in here throwing up my guts for at least an hour. I thought he would’ve left by now, gone back to his side of the suite.
“No,” I moan miserably. Even to my ears, it sounds more like Nuhhh rather than an actual word.
“Muse?”
I don’t answer. I lie perfectly still, hoping he’ll think I passed out and then go away.
“Muse?” he calls again, louder. I don’t make a peep.
The door handle rattles threateningly. “Can I come in?”
“No!” I say with a little more vigor, but it’s too late. Before I even get the word out, I see black shoes stop a few inches from my nose.
I don’t bother moving. I just squeeze my eyes shut and pray he goes away. I’m in no shape to see Jasper. Or for Jasper to see me. I’m sure I smell like hell and look twice as bad.
When the nausea (and the countless shots of rum I had at that tavern) caught up to me, I was just stepping off the elevator. In my efforts not to soil the elevator car or the carpeting in the hallway, I tried to stop my regurgitation and ended up puking all down the front of my shirt. I ran in here and thanked the porcelain gods about six times before collapsing on the floor in front of the toilet. I haven’t moved since.
“So sexy,” I mutter to myself as I think of what kind of picture I painted for Jasper. Humiliating.
“What was that?” Jasper asks, his voice nearer my ear. I crack one eye and see his face. He’s squatting beside me, his expression curiously blank. As always.
“Nuthin,” I mutter as intelligibly as I can. “Goway.”
Just before I close my eyes again, I see his face disappear. I’m filled with relief that he’s listening. But then I hear the hiss of the shower spray coming on.
“Take a shur. Doh mine me,” I babble, shifting my head slightly to find a cool spot of tile again. But then I feel gentle hands slide under my chest and hips, lifting and rolling at the same time until I’m cradled against a hard chest. I tuck my face into the curve of his neck as the room spins uncontrollably. “No! Dohn moo me!” I squeeze my eyes shut.
I feel a slight jostle and then a floating sensation followed by the shock of lukewarm water hitting me in the side of the face. “Noooo!” I sputter.
Jasper never responds, he just slowly lowers my legs until I’m standing in the shower, facing him, still plastered to his front. Neither of us moves for a long time. Eventually, the room stops spinning and the water, neither cold nor hot, begins to soothe me.
I relax and Jasper, seemingly aware of the smallest details, senses it immediately. He nudges me backward, farther into the spray, and lifts his hands to push the hair away from my face. Tepid water spills onto my forehead, running over my eyes and mouth. I tip my chin up a little to increase the flow so that it trickles down my neck and chest, cooling my hot skin.
I stand like this for countless seconds until I feel hands at my waist. Jasper’s fingers curl into the hem of my T-shirt and start to pull it upward. My head levels and my eyes snap open, colliding with dark amber ones. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you up. You smell like vomit. Stand still.”
My pulse trips up a notch, but I don’t argue. I’m too tired and too sick to care that much.
With a sigh, I gingerly raise my arms so as not to move too much as he tugs the soaked cotton over my head. I hear the wet slap of it hit the ceramic of the tub behind me. I keep my eyes closed as I lower my arms. Jasper’s movements are efficient yet surprisingly unobtrusive. I stand still, almost in a daze, as he tugs my yoga pants down my legs. I hold on to his shoulder as I step out of them, feeling better than I have since I left the tavern. The coolish shower was a good idea.
I smell a familiar scent seconds before big, warm hands materialize at my neck. Jasper rubs small, soothing soapy circles over my skin, working his way down over my collarbones and onto my chest. His fingers slip under my bra straps to rub my shoulders and upper arms, his palms grazing my breasts. I let my head fall back, losing myself to the sensation of being cared for like this, of being touched like this—so innocently, yet so erotically. It’s
like I’m doing something I shouldn’t, enjoying something I shouldn’t, all under the guise of something purely functional.
Jasper’s movements slow even more as he works his hands back toward my center. I feel his thumbs dip into the cups of lace covering my breasts, coming dangerously close to nipples that are now tingling with awareness. In the quiet, I hear his breathing, heavy and steady. I listen to it, letting it lull me as he cleans my chest. Mesmerized, I follow his every stroke with anticipation of what he might touch next.
A tiny whimper escapes my lips when he moves away from my aching breasts to wash my ribs. I crack my lids just enough to see Jasper. His eyes are trained on my face, his lips parted slightly. His expression is still the blank mask that I’ve become accustomed to, but it’s his eyes that seem different. They’re sleepy and dark and even more intense than usual. The change, although slight, is potent enough to turn the cool water to steam.
I watch the whiskey-colored orbs follow his hands as they work their way over my ribs and down to my waist. I sway gently, back and forth, with each languorous circle he makes.
He reaches for the soap and rolls it between his fingers again before attacking my stomach. At the first touch of his palm to my navel, I gasp. It scorches my cool skin and sends a gush of heat into my core. The muscles between my legs throb painfully and I let my head fall back on my neck again.
The water sluices down my face and throat, pouring into my bra to tickle my prickly nipples. Jasper’s hands are tantalizing my skin with slippery caresses that draw ever closer to my core. With every pass of his hands on my belly, he dives a bit more under the elastic of my panties.
My breath is coming faster and faster, my concentration fully focused on his touch. The water coursing down my stomach trickles under the raised band to bathe my sex in cool liquid, a sharp contrast to the hot touch of his hands.
I sway again, unsteadily this time and I reach for Jasper. I grip his granite waist as I widen my stance to keep my balance, still absorbed by his sweet torture.
Jasper moves his sensual assault from my belly to my hips. He bends to stroke me in long ovals that trail down to the tops of my thighs. Then he moves both hands to my left leg, one broad palm splayed over the outside, one on the inside. As his slick hands move over my skin, one slips in and out between my legs, his wrist grazing me as it passes. I feel my muscles clench, every nerve and thought I have concentrated on the stimulation of his caress. Back and forth his hands glide around the top of my thigh, his right thumb slipping under the edge of my panties to tease my heated flesh as it passes.
I’m panting by the time Jasper moves to treat my other leg to the same kind of unnerving attention. My insides are already on fire and I’m so aroused that I moan at the first pass of his wide wrist against my sex.
Jasper resumes his rhythm, back and forth, slow and steady, rubbing between my legs with every gentle stroke. I reach for his thick biceps, a silent plea for him to keep doing what he’s doing, as I poise on the precipice of an unexpected orgasm. It’s the pinch of Jasper’s teeth at my left nipple, nibbling at it through the wet lace, that pushes me right over the edge.
I dig my fingernails into the smooth skin of his arms as I grind against his wrist. He presses up, increasing the friction of my soaked panties against my aching flesh and helping me to ride out the wave.
Heat spears through me almost violently and my breath comes in harsh bursts. Pleasure. So much pleasure!
After the first few seconds, my knees threaten to give out beneath me. Jasper wraps one arm around me, cupping his hand between my legs and stroking me until the very last spasm tightens and releases.
I’m limp and exhausted when Jasper scoops me up into his arms and steps out of the shower. He sets me on my feet and turns off the water before wrapping me in a towel. I can barely stand as he rubs my skin dry.
It’s when the euphoria of my climax completely abates that embarrassment slips in to take its place. I drop my face into my hands as Jasper dries my legs. “Oh God!”
When I’m dry except for my underwear, Jasper tugs my hands away and forces me to look at him. “Stop it,” he says in his no-nonsense way with his no-nonsense expression.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, my residual intoxication making me blunt.
“Because you needed it,” he replies, matter of fact.
“Oh God!” I moan louder, covering my face again.
But again, Jasper pulls my hands away. His eyes are on mine, sparkling like two warm topazes. “But I also did it because I wanted to. I wanted to see you. I wanted to touch you. I wanted to put my hands and my mouth on you. And I wanted to watch your face when you weren’t thinking of anything more than what I was doing to you.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I’m caught between humiliation and the desire to throw myself against Jasper and beg him to make love to me.
“I took advantage of you. If anything, you should be angry, not embarrassed.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be.
Only I’m not.
“I knew you were upset about your ex. I knew you needed to work through it. I should’ve left you alone.”
Jasper. Always so controlled, so logical, so . . . cool. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about that damn kiss. And even though I know you’ve got other things on your mind, I wanted to feel you again.” He pauses and I say nothing. I’m surprised that he’s telling me this much, my quiet, reserved Jasper. “I’ve never had to take advantage of a woman before. I’ve never wanted to. I left it up to you to decide if you wanted to come to me, left it up to you to decide when you’re ready. I know the time will come. I can feel it like static between us. But I was getting tired of waiting. So I took advantage of your weakness. I took advantage of your heartbreak over another man. And I’m more than a little disgusted with myself.”
Jasper’s lip curls up into a sneer at the last and I can practically feel the self-loathing radiating from him. I don’t doubt he’s never had to take advantage of a woman before. I imagine that anyone he looks twice at just gets naked and throws herself at his feet. Hell, under different circumstances, I might’ve done the same thing.
It’s this uncharacteristic glimpse into his emotion, into any emotion from this man, that draws me closer to him.
I reach up to touch his cheek. “Please don’t feel like that. I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you. Yes, it is a bad time, but if I hadn’t been ready to be taken advantage of, I’d have told you to stop. And you would’ve.”
Jasper winds his long fingers around my wrist. “I don’t know if I would’ve or not.”
A thrill chases its way down my spine at the thought of being taken by Jasper, at the thought of him roughly pinning me to the bed, holding me down with his delicious body and taking what he wants. I’m not a fan of forced anything, but I know that Jasper would never have to force me. If anything, I’m a too-willing participant. So willing, in fact, that I’m having trouble keeping my mind focused on my priorities lately.
With his eyes on mine, Jasper reaches behind me and unsnaps my bra, pulling it from me so slowly that I hold my breath until my nipples spring free of the material. His eyes descend for just a second. I see them rove my naked breasts. I hear the hiss of his breath. I feel the heat of his want.
Neither of us speaks as he hooks his fingers in the band of my panties and drags them down my legs. On his way back up, I feel the soft brush of his lips over the skin of my inner thigh. But then he’s standing before me again, a tower of control and restraint.
Once more, he sweeps me up, never taking his eyes off mine as he carries me to the bed and tucks me under the covers. He stares down at me for several long, silent minutes. I don’t want him to go, although I know he’s going to. But I won’t ask him to stay. I can’t.
I’m learning quickly, though, that Jasper is extremely intuitive. He seems to notice the smallest things, appears to be able to read
my mind almost. Or at the very least my slightest body language. Just like he does now. It’s as if he knows I don’t want him to leave me.
I watch with eyes I can’t tear away as he strips off his wet shirt and pants, climbs in behind me on top of the covers and pulls me into the curve of his body, resting his chin on top of my head.
I’m hyper-aware for the first couple of minutes. Jasper just holds me in silence, as though he’s letting me get used to the feel of his body against mine. And I do. Quickly.
His warmth coupled with the fatigue from the stress and worry of the last week work to relax me, and I find my chaotic thoughts settling onto Matt. And what Jasper must think of it all.
“I went to the bar because of Matt, but probably not for the reason you think,” I blurt into the quiet. I don’t want Jasper to misunderstand.
“And what reason did I think?” His voice is low and hypnotic, as soothing as the soft cotton sheets.
“You probably think that I was so heartbroken over seeing that he’s living with Megan that I ran off. Couldn’t take it.”
“But that’s not right?”
I think about my reaction, about what I was feeling then and what I’m feeling now. “Maybe a little, but it was more . . . residual. It was like the loss of what was. But it was also about what never was.” I stop, my eyelids drifting shut as I think.
“Explain,” he urges gently, his chin moving atop my head.
“I tend to fall for men with a fatal flaw. When I didn’t find Matt’s, I thought he might be the one. But I’m beginning to think that I’m the one with the fatal flaw. The fatal flaw of falling for men who don’t love me.”
“What makes you think he didn’t love you?”
“He let me go. If he loved me, he didn’t love me enough.”
“What constitutes enough?”
“It’s enough when you can’t bear the thought of life without that person. It’s enough when you can’t let them go, or when you’d cross an ocean just to be with them. Anything less than that is just . . . less. It isn’t enough.”