by Aimee Carson
So she should feel at ease and relaxed. But she wasn’t. Because she’d kissed Blake and he hadn’t kissed her back. Okay, so he hadn’t pushed her away exactly, but his participation had been minimal. And if that wasn’t enough of an ego thrasher, he’d been avoiding her ever since.
In the past week, only twice had he made it home from the office in time for dinner.
Jax had stayed busy with Nikki, the brunette helping her kick-start a phone campaign searching for donors for the club. They’d also managed a short shopping excursion and an afternoon at the beach, Nikki’s red bikini matching her dragon cast tattoo. Today Jax had driven Nikki to the doctor, who’d declared she had at least three more weeks in the cast. But even one more day spent being avoided by Blake felt like torture.
All thanks to the constant flame burning in her body since The Kiss.
A spark that refused to die.
Considering she’d made a vow to be strong until she found someone who was right for her—someone who didn’t consider Jacqueline Lee a total loon—she should be grateful Blake had the ability to control what she couldn’t.
From behind her, Nikki called out in greeting. “Blake, my long-lost big bro.”
Jax’s heart surged, but she refused to turn and watch him approach, dreading seeing him again. Disgusted with the cowardly thoughts, Jax flopped over onto her stomach and buried her head in her crossed arms.
Right now, she wasn’t sure what annoyed her more, her ambivalent feelings about his appearance, or his cool control. Was he here simply to torture her? To rub her face in the knowledge that she had made a pass at him and he’d pushed her away? On edge, and unable to lie still now that he was present, Jax rose and dived into the pool.
A jolt of cool water closed around her overheated body, giving her the shock she needed, clearing her head. She set off across the pool, freestyle.
Of course he hadn’t come to see her. He was here to eat lunch with his mother and sister, to check up on his family because he was a no-nonsense kinda guy who believed in responsibility. Duties. Sane, rational decisions. And since Mr. Self-Control’s will was so strong, she should use that in her favor. After several laps, her muscles fatigued from the work, she’d finally calmed a bit. Maybe she was ready to face him now?
But Blake saved her the trouble of deciding.
On her last lap, she broke the surface of the water and looked up to find him staring down at her, suit coat unbuttoned to reveal a blue dress shirt and lean hips, her beach towel in his hand.
“Enjoying the water?” he said from above.
“I was,” she said, with meaningful emphasis on the second word. She dropped her gaze and crossed her arms on the pool edge, taking comfort in the warm tile and the less disturbing sight of his expensive-looking black leather shoes.
His knees came into view as he squatted down, the muscles in his legs bunching, stretching the crease in those perfectly pressed trousers.
Everything about the man was perfectly pressed, including his libido.
Irritation surged. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll ruin your suit so close to the pool?”
“Not at all.” A small lift of his broad shoulders came and went. “It’s just a suit.”
“If you can afford to pay too much for your clothes, only to treat them so cavalierly, surely you can afford your own towel.” She nodded her head toward his hand closed around the fabric. “That one’s mine.”
He glanced at the cloth he clutched. “I’m aware of that. The picture of The Doors was a dead giveaway.” Holding it out, he hiked an eyebrow expectantly. “I’m bringing it to you.”
Her brain buzzed at his proximity and the sensual awareness in his eyes. She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t chosen the one-piece swimsuit that showed off her cleavage. “How kind,” she said, not meaning the words. “But it’s arrogant of you to assume I’m finished with my swim.”
Lips twitching, he steadily held her gaze and didn’t move. “Lunch is ready.”
Obviously, he wanted her to get out of the pool.
Frowning, her stomach in turmoil, she pressed her lips flat. The swim had been a waste. An eternity wouldn’t be long enough to face Blake across the table in a bathing suit.
“I’m not hungry yet,” she said.
“Trust me,” he said drily. “Eating my mother’s food has little to do with hunger. In my house, it’s a duty.”
“Well, then,” she said, sending a forced, brilliantly false smile up at him. “I know you are a very busy and very important man. With so many criminals to lock up and all. So please, feel free to get started without me.”
His head dipped a fraction to the right. Was that a challenge she saw in his eyes? The tone of his voice affirmed the answer to the question.
“You wouldn’t want your food to get cold,” he said, his eyes intense.
With the way he was looking at her, even the coming of a second ice age would prevent her food from getting cold. And how could he gaze at her like that? As if he wanted her but still had the power to control it. To walk away.
Damn it. A week ago he had walked away.
“It’s chicken salad,” she said. “It’s supposed to be cold.”
A ghost of a grin came and went on those sexy lips, leaving her heart knocking harder in her chest. Shoot. Why was she so susceptible to the rare sighting of one of his smiles?
Perhaps because they did beautiful things to his handsome face.
He glanced up at the cloudless sky, the powder-blue brilliant in the midday sun. “Very well,” he said with a patient tone. The kind that communicated a steely reserve that brooked no concession of wills. “You wouldn’t want your chicken salad to get hot.”
The jumble of nerves knotted in her stomach pulled tighter, and Jax swallowed hard, her mouth set. “You’re not going to go away until I get out of this pool, are you?”
The gray eyes assessing hers from above sparked like flint on steel, and glowed, rivaling the sun. “No,” he said as he stood, lowering his free hand toward her. “I’m not.”
The knocking in her chest grew more insistent as Jax clutched the pool ledge. Gripping her lower lip between her teeth, she placed her palm in his. The strong hand around hers left her lungs hungry for breath, her body wanting more of his touch. She braced her foot on the pool wall, and Blake lifted her effortlessly.
Standing beside him, water rushed down her skin and pooled at her feet. Her one-piece gently cupped her breasts, emphasizing the curves. And even though the cut was relatively modest by today’s standards, his perusal made her feel naked. Exposed. And the last time she’d stood exposed in front of man, her body completely bared before Jack, he’d looked at her in horror.
She laid a soothing hand on her belly and bit back the awful memory that killed her libido.
But Blake’s colorless eyes swept down her body and back, resurrecting the thrill. His expression was neutral, but his eyes burned brighter than ever. “Nice suit.”
She pulled her towel from his hand. “There’s no need to check up on me,” she said. She swiped the towel down her trunk, annoyed that she felt flustered. “I’d hate to put a crimp in your schedule.”
Forehead lined with a mixture of amusement and feigned surprise, Blake said, “You seemed fairly eager for my company last week.”
“I’ll plead the Fifth Amendment.”
“I think an insanity plea might be more fitting.”
“For my actions? Or for yours?”
“Both, I suspect.” Though simmering with a latent heat, his intense eyes were extraordinarily steady as he studied her. “Regardless, why are you in such a big hurry to get rid of me today?”
Because she wanted him with an intensity that was embarrassing.
“Unexpected change of heart.” Fingers fumbling with nerves, it took several attem
pts to successfully knot the towel at her waist. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. So...” She waved a hand in the air, as if he were a stray cat she could shoo away. “You can get back to your work now.” Parking the hand on her hip, she added, “No need to stay.”
His lips quirked in humor. “But I’m hungry. I worked up an appetite formulating my defense strategy to keep you from getting locked away.”
He turned and placed a hand on her arm, eliciting a zing of sultry sensations as he propelled her toward the table. Steam had to be rising from her skin.
“Besides, Ms. Lee,” he said smoothly, “there’s a rather significant problem with your change of heart.”
“What’s that?”
If he hadn’t been steadying her, Jax would have tripped when he said, “Apparently I’ve grown addicted to your company.”
* * *
At a quarter to midnight, Blake upped the speed on the treadmill in his exercise room, his feet pounding out his frustration and the pent-up sexual energy. Sweat clung to his body as he deliberately ignored the knowledge that Jax slept in his guest cottage.
Despite being five miles beyond his usual goal, he wasn’t near ready to end his punishing run. The memory of her lovely hips in a bathing suit drove his relentless pace. The remembered sight of her breasts so seductively displayed pushed him harder. But it was her heated gaze in response to his addiction confession that compelled him to keep going.
Lips set grimly, he turned up the speed and stretched his legs farther, eating up more of the nonexistent miles as he pushed himself, his muscles howling in protest. In truth, he had no one to blame but himself, since today he’d been the one to seek her out...all because the grueling pace of his life was starting to wear him down.
The stifling fist of responsibility tightened its grip in his chest.
The pace he’d set for himself at work and keeping Nikki out of trouble—and fixing the mess when she did—were taking a toll, sapping all hope for relaxation. So far, Jax had been the busiest, most delicious complication precipitated by his little sister to date. But he’d made the rare appearance at lunch today because he’d suddenly felt the need for a little levity. The kind of lightness and good humor that Jax always provided.
Even when she was being a total pain.
But the double-edged sword cut deep, her presence reminding him of how she’d taken him with her eyes and her mouth on his boat, triggering fantasies of her in his bed. He hadn’t been able to banish the treacherous visions since they’d first arrived, threatening his sanity.
Visions of Jax opening beneath him.
Visions of her body arching to accept his.
Burning with frustration, he stabbed the off button on the treadmill and hopped off, heading down the hall and into his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light. Maybe a cold shower would ease the fiery need. But when he paused at the window, the lights from the guest cottage reached out to him in the dark night.
Jax wasn’t asleep. She was awake.
Hand fisted tight, he braced his arm against the window, the war being waged within growing fierce. The battle bloody. He could no more deny his need for Jax than he could change all the circumstances that made a relationship with her a massive mistake. Which meant it was time to admit what he’d been fighting all along: sex with Jax was unavoidable.
A frown crossed his face. Sleeping with her might be a given, but the event would have to wait until after he was done with the Menendez case. He couldn’t afford any distractions. Too much was riding on his success.
Sweat trickled down his back, cooling his body in the air-conditioning, but the fire that burned for Jax refused to die. And waiting even five more minutes to taste the reckless woman seemed too much to ask.
A shadow passed by a window in the cottage, and Blake’s heart pumped faster.
Chest heaving, he hated that even a vague sighting of her left him champing at the bit, his body straining and growing hard. Insisting on satisfaction.
Burning for release.
With a muttered curse, Blake closed his eyes and gave in, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of his shorts, closing around the part of him that would not be denied. And, picturing Jax’s smoky gaze and that bold, sassy mouth, Blake gave in to the need.
* * *
At midnight, Jax finally heaved out a breath and flopped onto the leather couch in the guest cottage, hot tea in hand. The luxurious accommodations consisted of a sitting area, kitchen, bedroom and a beautiful marble bathroom. The living room allowed her plenty of room to pace as she pondered the problem of bringing the public’s attention to the club, but her mind refused to focus.
Because Blake surely hadn’t acted like a man addicted to her company.
Jax sighed and leaned her head back. Lunch with Blake’s family had included a discussion about Jax’s first court appearance tomorrow afternoon. Hardly a reassuring topic. And then, once the meal was over, Blake had gone back to work and hadn’t come home for dinner. How was that for a man supposedly craving her presence? So Jax had watched a bit of TV, alone, and the eleven-o’clock news included a piece on the Menendez drug-cartel case, with a brief clip of a reporter interviewing the lead prosecuting attorney...Blake Bennington.
The sight of the coolly collected man had just about sent her body into a tizzy. The oh-so smoothly articulate Blake, looking GQ fine in his suit and coverworthy handsome face, answered the reporter’s questions with an authority that few would dare question. If he handled himself in the courtroom half as well as he’d handled the interview, her legal problems would be well taken care of.
Which meant, hopefully, her return to her old life would work out. If she could secure the money to get the music program up and running again, of course.
Her heart nose-dived at the thought.
The flash mob had been her first attempt to raise awareness, but public interest had faded fast. And so far the phone campaign hadn’t brought in nearly enough. To top it all off, she wondered if her failure to come up with a better plan was somehow related to being distracted, her mind constantly occupied with thoughts of Blake. One more sex dream about the man and she might remain happily catatonic for life, living out her fantasies in her head.
And the advantages of remaining conscious were slipping fast.
Unnerved and restless, Jax looked out the window, the lights in Blake’s bedroom twinkling through the swaying palms. Apparently Mr. Workaholic had finally arrived home. Sipping her tea, she wondered what he was up to now. More work? Getting ready for bed? And would he be in boxers or briefs?
Blood singing at the thought, she downed the rest of her tea and set the mug on the coffee table with a thunk.
Enough, Jax. The state of his underwear isn’t your concern. The lack of funding for the club is.
Spying her guitar, she crossed the living room and picked it up. Music always made her feel better, helped her think. She would play a little, relax and come up with another idea to obtain the funds. She just needed to get her mind off the man who held her fate in his hands and her body at the mercy of her steamy thoughts.
Music and the sound of soothing waves should do the trick.
Guitar in hand, she pushed through the front door and settled into a chaise longue on the teak deck facing Biscayne Bay and the city beyond. The moon and the twinkling lights of Miami offered the only light, and Jax was glad the cottage blocked the view of Blake’s house. She crossed her legs, settling the guitar across her thighs. But indecision gripped her, and she started—and stopped—several songs in rapid succession, feeling too melancholy for rock and roll. Not melancholy enough for the blues. Nothing seemed to fit her mood. Her lips twisted in contemplation, and she was just about to strum the first chord to a good butt-kicking country song when a voice cut the air.
“You’re up late.”
&nb
sp; At the sound of Blake’s voice, her heart jumped and desire clamped around her body. Jax briefly closed her eyes.
You’re a warrior, Jax. Be strong.
She spoke without looking at him. “Says the man who got home from work at midnight.” A brief moment of dreaded guilt racked her. “When I asked you to help me with my legal problem, I had no idea you were the lead prosecutor in the Menendez case.”
Blake finally came into view, stopping at the deck railing in front of her. The full moon outlined his form. The only concession to the time of day was the lack of a jacket and tie.
Unbelievable. Midnight...and the man was still wearing a dress shirt and pants.
“The trial has been all over the news,” she said. “No wonder you’re away from home so much.”
Jeez, she hoped she didn’t sound like a petulant kid.
He leaned against the railing. “It’s taken a lot of work to get to this point,” he said simply. “Previous efforts to nail Menendez have been unsuccessful.”
Jax studied him for a moment. Though easy, the tone in his voice brooked no argument: Blake Bennington was going to bring down this guy. It was the same determination he’d exhibited on the news clip, only it was a thousand times stronger in person. So maybe his absence from home was less about avoiding her and more about his drive.
And suddenly, she wanted to know why he drove himself so hard. Why he spent so much of his life dedicating himself to his job. Away from his home. Away from his family. And away from her.
Because if that was the reason she was going to miss out on the experience of a lifetime, she wanted to know.
Curious, she tipped her head. “Is this the biggest case you’ve worked on?”
“It’s the most important one,” he said.
“Because it’s so high-profile?”
“High-profile is nice because that leads to the potential for promotion.”
She paused, digesting the information. “Surely you’re not dedicating all this work time simply in the name of upward mobility.”