by Amelia Wilde
Another pause. A rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.
“Is that what you want?”
The lump comes to my throat so fast and so painful I almost can’t swallow past it. “No.”
“Then let me in.”
“This isn’t...this isn’t good for you, Jett.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Let me in.”
I haven’t locked the door. If he wanted to, he could force his way inside. He’s strong enough, but he hasn’t. He’s letting me choose. He’s ceding me control. My heart bursts again.
I turn around, slowly, deliberately, and reach a shaking hand toward the doorknob.
In the instant before I open the door, I’m seized with the certainty that the hallway will be empty, that my delay will have been long enough to convince him that I’m not worth the effort, and he’ll have gone.
So I jerk the door open and stand there, breathing hard, taking him in.
He’s wearing dress pants and a pale blue shirt, the sleeves carefully rolled up to his elbows. All of it is tailored to the lines of his body. My mouth waters. Even now I want him so much that it hurts. I want him so much it clouds my judgment. I want to reach out and undo those buttons so I can see the hard lines of his abs—
“Can I come in?” There’s a strange light in his eyes, like he could laugh, only this moment is so deadly serious.
“Yes. Sure.” I step back, holding the door open for him, and he comes in, bringing along a breeze of his scent with him, clean, spicy, a hint of cologne, and I want to bury my face in the side of his neck, gently bite down on his shoulder with my teeth.
Jett goes to the center of the living room. “Nice place.”
That was supposed to have flooded. The memory of the lie brings heat to my cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Do you have a roommate?” He glances at the two doorways on opposite ends of the living rooms. Two bedrooms.
“Yeah. Her name is Sarah. She’s away on a business trip.”
He nods, and his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.
I stand rooted to the spot in the hallway in front of the door. It’s so strange seeing him here, in my apartment. We’ve only ever been to his places.
Unsurprisingly, he’s as much at home here as he was anywhere else we went. Jett Brandon owns any room he walks into, every single time.
“Mind if I sit down?”
The only thing that’s different is this attitude of deference. It hasn’t completely taken over—he had no problem telling me to open the door—but he’s being careful, like we’re on equal footing, even though we’re not.
“Not at all.”
He takes a seat on the couch and leans back against the cushions. It’s nothing like the furniture he has in his place, but I’ve never had any complaints about it.
Jett pats the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you join me, Angelica?”
For a moment I don’t think I can make the walk across the room to him, but then I take the first step and my body cooperates again. I don’t sit right next to him, though—I sit against the opposite arm, my back braced, my muscles tensed for a fight.
“So,” I say, my voice too loud, too strained. “What—what can I do for you?”
He gives me a half-smile that makes my insides go warm and melty. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, his expression turning more somber. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
I look away, toward my bedroom. “No discussion needed. What I did was completely unforgivable.”
He takes a breath in, then lets it out slowly. “Do you really believe that?”
“I think you really believe that. I would believe that, if I were you.”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I’m being obtuse and I can’t help myself.
“I don’t think it’s unforgivable.”
44
Jett
The moment I say it, her face relaxes, her shoulders falling away from their tense position up by her ears.
“You don’t?”
“No. I think it’s very possible that you did what you did because you thought it was your only option.”
Angelica turns red, bites her lip. “It was stupid to think that.”
“Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know, because you haven’t told me the whole story.”
She looks up at me, eyes flashing. “I wanted to, but—”
“But I was an asshole.” I scoot closer to her on the sofa and take both of her hands in mine. She doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches in her chest when our skin makes contact. “No matter what the reason is, I should have given you a chance to explain.”
“You didn’t have to then, and you don’t have to now.”
“Do you remember that night at my office?” She nods, narrowing her eyes slightly. “When you told me you had feelings for me, were you lying? Was that part of a plot?”
Angelica glances down at our hands, wound tightly together like our lives depend on it. “I wanted to tell you something else.”
“What was it?”
“I was going to tell you about Charlie. About all of it, but then...I couldn’t. So I told you I had feelings for you instead.”
“And was it true?”
“It’s still true.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the words send a warmth to my heart that radiates out to my fingertips. This is all we need. We still have a shot.
“Tell me what happened, Angelica. All of it.”
She takes a deep breath and turns, letting go of my hands, so that the side of her body is pressed up against mine. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold on tight.
“This is embarrassing.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. Start at the beginning.”
“My brother Adam called me one day. He doesn’t usually call, and he sounded pretty shaken up. He wanted me to come to his apartment.” Angelica focuses on some spot in the air in front of her. “I’ve bailed him out a few times since he moved to the city, so I thought it was more of the same.”
“Rent?”
“Yeah, or groceries. Once he got a job, he wanted to spend all his money on going out. I couldn’t blame him. We didn’t get much of a chance to cut loose back home growing up.”
“I see.”
“The only weird thing was that it had been a few months—maybe six?—since he’d called me for that kind of thing.”
“Getting on his feet.”
“So I thought.” Angelica tightens one hand around her knee. “When I got to his apartment, Charlie was there.”
“This is the guy he owed money to?”
“Yeah. And Charlie—” She shakes her head. “He’s tall. Taller than you, and strong. He looked like he came from the military or something like that, but....” She searches for the words. “But evil. He told me that to pay back Adam’s debts, I needed to help them with a project.”
“Getting access to my computer?”
“I didn’t know who it was at the time. But that’s what he said I had to do. Then he told Adam that he was lucky, because he and his guys could have…” Angelica swallows hard. “He said they could have taken me for payment.”
My stomach flips over. No wonder. “What a disgusting piece of—”
“Adam didn’t like it either,” she interjects. “He started to say something, and Charlie punched him. It was sick, Jett, the sound it made. He needed stitches.” She turns to look at me. “I couldn’t let anything like that happen to him again.”
I pull her in close and kiss the top of her head.
“After that,” she says, after taking in another deep breath, “I tried to go to the police. I didn’t want to talk my way into some guy’s penthouse and steal from him. But Charlie had a guy waiting for me. He pretended to be one of those guys selling CDs on the street, and he gave me a message.”
“What was the message?”
“One chance.”
My hands clench into
fists. “So you came to my penthouse.”
“Yeah.”
“That day in the elevator, you were supposed to go up there.”
Angelica laughs, sounding a little bitter. “There was a whole plan. He knew you were moving in that day, and I was supposed to pose as one of the movers and pretend to deliver a portable scanner. I had it in my purse.”
“A portable scanner?” I can’t help but laugh at that. “That was your cover?”
“Yes, and then you blew it all to hell when you got in the elevator!” Despite the heavy tone of the conversation, Angelica’s eyes sparkle. “All he told me was the last name. Brandon. I thought you’d be some crotchety old man.”
“Hardly.”
“Hardly.”
She looks deeply into my eyes, smiling at the memory. Happy for the first time since I walked in the door.
“That was real, right then.”
“It was,” she agrees. “When I got out on the eighth floor it took me a while to get myself together. I wanted to follow you up to that penthouse and...you know.”
“I do know.”
“You remember the rest from there. I downloaded the information Charlie wanted once a week and met up with him to pass it off. That’s where I was that night at three in the morning when you caught me sneaking in.”
“I figured.”
“I wanted to tell you so many times. I wanted to make it so clear that I was only doing it because I thought my brother’s life was in danger. It still might be. I don’t know if they’ve caught Charlie or his people yet. But every time I worked up the courage, Charlie would threaten me again. He even found out where my mother lives.”
Her eyes are wide, tears collecting in the corners.
“I would have done the same thing.”
She swallows.
“I’m sorry, Jett.” Her voice drops and her eyes fall to her lap.
I could tell her that it’s all right, that I’ll give her the rest of our lives to work this out, but the words escape me.
Instead, I put my fingers under her chin, tilt her face toward mine, and kiss her until there’s no doubt she’s forgiven, completely and totally.
45
Angelica
Jett kisses me long and deep and hard, and with every moment the kiss stretches out, more of my body relaxes, more warmth spreads out from my chest down to my toes.
At first it’s a gentle warmth, a happiness that I’ve been forgiven, that he’s no longer done with me, but as the kiss lengthens, a spark inside me catches fire.
I press into him, harder, and swing my legs over his lap so that I’m straddling him. Our bodies fit together so perfectly that it would be a shame if we walked away from each other ever again. Jett seems to know it. His hands go around my waist, pulling me down hard. He breaks the kiss and turns my head to the side with one hand, dragging his lips down the side of my neck, fast, then slow, so slowly that it makes me entire body tremble, sparks shooting from where his lips make contact with my skin.
“Fuck,” I whisper. When I can’t stand it I buck against him, turning back so I can unbutton his shirt. I get the first three done before he’s gripping the hem of my tank with both hands and tearing it over my head.
I don’t have a bra on, so my breasts are exposed, and as I work to unbutton the rest of his shirt he leans forward and circles one of my nipples—already hard—with his tongue, cupping the weight of the other in his hand, playing my nipple with the pad of his thumb. The sensation is electrifying and connects in a zinging line with my pussy, which is instantly soaked and throbbing.
“You’re a treasure, Angelica Chandler,” he says, his voice husky.
“You sure about that?” I can hardly breathe, I want him so badly, and his shirt won’t come undone.
“Stand up.”
I leap to my feet beside the couch and he stands, too, then rips his shirt open with both hands. He shrugs it off and tosses it to the floor, then gets to work on his belt buckle.
No time to waste. I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my yoga pants and slide them down along with my panties, stepping out of them as Jett gathers me in again, falling back against the couch.
I spread my legs over him. “Yes.”
He’s already hard, already waiting, and I put one leg on either side of him and line up the head of his cock with my opening. He’s touching my wetness, a fraction of an inch outside already, and I run my finger along his jawline and to his lips. He flicks his tongue out and then bites down, gently, so gently, on my fingertip.
“Do you really forgive me?”
“Yes.”
There’s only one way to respond.
I lever myself up and come down hard against his steeled cock, taking the length of him inside me in one clean thrust. Jett throws his head back against the couch and grips my hips so tightly I’m sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. It feels so good to be with him. To be possessed by him.
I swirl my hips around, rocking against him so that he fills every inch of me. He presses against the walls of my pussy, a pleasurable stretching that’s going to push me over the edge, it’s going to...
I work harder, circling, fucking, and he meets me with every thrust, the head of his cock hitting a spot inside that sends waves of heat through my entire body. I toss my head back and Jett leans forward and licks the space between my breasts. A deep moan escapes me. I hope the neighbors are out.
I’m riding him up to the very top and I’m almost there, almost there, when he grabs my hips and presses me down hard on his cock so I can’t move.
“Wait.”
“Wait for what?” I gasp.
“I wanted to ask you something.” He has a wicked look on his face, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He knows what he’s doing to me, that sexy bastard.
“Ask it,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Do you forgive me for breaking up with you in my accountant’s office?”
“Yes,” I growl.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes!” I cry.
He loosens his grip on my hips and I can’t stop myself, I’m thrusting hard against him and he’s meeting me with every movement, and being filled by him, taken by him, pleasured by him is so much, so good, so perfect, that it’s not long before I hit the peak and explode, coming hard around his cock, my fingernails digging into his shoulders, body quaking with the release, muscles clenching around him.
He meets me there a moment later, holding my hips down so that every single millimeter of his cock is firmly pressed inside of me, my hips still going wild with my orgasm, circling him with a frenzy I’ve never felt with anyone else and never want to feel with anyone else again for as long as I live.
It takes several minutes for the aftershocks to stop coming, and I ride them out with my face pressed against his shoulder while he runs his fingers through my hair, over and over. His cock responds every time another wave of pleasure comes, pulsing like we’re one person.
I never want to get up.
Soon, Jett whispers something in my ear. I’m so caught up in the scent of him, in the firm lines of him, that at first I don’t hear.
“What?”
“Shower.”
“No. Why can’t we stay here? Forever?”
He kisses me, tender and soft against my bruised lips, and smiles. “We can’t go to the police station naked and covered in sex.”
“The police station?” My stomach drops. This can’t be. Is he seriously still dead set on—?
“Absolutely, sweet thing. Do you think I’m going to let that Charlie asshole run around the streets of New York? No. We need to put some pressure on.”
46
Jett
The world seems brighter when Angelica and I leave her building, her hand in my arm. Angelica is a vision, dressed in a sharp little blazer over a deep maroon-colored sheath dress.
I beat Stuart to the door of the Town Car, then slide in across the seat.
“Hi, Stu
art,” Angelica says, beaming.
“Hello, Ms. Chandler.” He smiles back at her in the rearview mirror.
“We have something to take care of, Stuart,” I say, unable to wipe the grin off my own face. “The police station on 54th. Quick as you can.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting next to Angelica in one of the offices on the main floor of the station. There’s a bit of a crowd. A detective, the chief of police, two officers, Angelica’s lawyer, my own personal lawyer—who I forced to leave the meeting he was in fifteen minutes ago—and the two of us. We’re on a conference call with the DA’s office, and there’s a lot of legalese being exchanged that frankly makes me want to tear my hair out.
I want to be back at my penthouse with Angelica. But first, I need to figure out a way to prove to her, once and for all, that she’s the one. I never want her to have to worry about this again.
“Let me make myself absolutely clear,” I interject, putting one hand on the polished surface of the chief’s desk. “I do not want any charges to be pressed in this matter. Ms. Chandler was forced to provide access to my files under threat of violence. That’s extortion. Her brother’s safety was being held for ransom.”
There’s another burst of chatter in the room, and then the phone on the chief’s desk rings. “Quiet!” His voice is booming, and deep, but his face is calm. This isn’t a man who’s going to make a hasty judgment. “Yes?” His expression is neutral while he listens to the person speaking on the other end of the line. “Okay.” We all lean in. “This is going to be one hell of an investigation. Don’t screw it up.” Then he hangs up the phone, folds his hands on the desk, and looks around the room.
“Ms. Chandler,” he says, after a significant pause, “you’ll be happy to hear that our officers have apprehended the man you knew as Charlie and his associate, Malcolm Drake.”
“Malcolm Drake?” Angelica says, her forehead wrinkling.