Chapter 8
Eight
Jace
I expect to face fire and barbed wire.
Yeah, she was the one who was touching me first.
Still, I expect a verbal retort.
Maybe even a physical one—a hand covering mine, bending back my finger until I have to release that succulent thigh or risk a broken bone. Maybe a kick to the balls, nails clawing at my face.
What she gives me…
Is anything but that.
Her hand covers mine, stroking light fingertips over the back, lifting goose bumps on my flesh, making my cock go hard.
Hell, who am I kidding?
It already was hard, waking from a dream of this woman to find her standing over me, touching me, half naked and close and smelling like flowers.
And running her fingers through my hair.
Fuck, but I love it when a woman strokes her fingers through my hair.
Of course, I’d love it even more if she’d stroke something else.
I open my mouth to suggest that, but don’t get the chance to as her hand keeps moving, trailing along the inside of my arm, over my shoulder, across my chest.
“You work out.”
Not a question.
But I still want to answer it, anyway, still want to preen like a fucking peacock and tell her exactly how much I can bench press, squat, and deadlift, all at once.
I don’t, though.
Mostly because her hand shifts, sliding up, cupping the side of my neck.
“And your hair is soft.”
More preening.
More wanting to turn into that puffed-up peacock.
“Come here, cookie,” I murmur instead, tugging lightly at her thigh, stroking my fingers up a little higher.
Tempting heat.
Silky skin.
I get more of it when she heeds my tug and clambers on top of me.
“What happened to your pants?” I ask gruffly.
Her eyes come to mine—molten emerald—and then drift away, cheeks heating, knees buckling. She settles on top of me with a quiet gasp, and the weight of her is welcome. So is the heat of her pussy burning through her underwear. “They got wet.”
I slide a hand up, dip my fingers between her legs. “How?”
She squirms slightly, pressing against me, telling me enough. She’s as turned on as I am.
“The same way these are wet, gorgeous?” I ask, continuing to stroke.
That emerald gaze flies back to mine and I half expect her to shy away.
But who am I kidding?
I haven’t been good at predicting what the hell this woman is going to do, not from the moment she stole my Lyft out from right under my nose.
So, instead of getting shy, instead of hiding and curling up in embarrassment because I caught her creeping on me while I was sleeping, she’s on top of me, her hands on either side of my face, mouth curving into a grin that’s filled with naughtiness.
“How do you think they got wet, handsome?”
“Because you were thinking about me?”
Laughter, bright and musical rings out. “What makes you say that?”
I sit up in a rush, flipping us on the couch, glad as fuck that I bought the one that was big enough so we don’t topple to the floor.
Instead, I get to enjoy this.
Curves beneath me. Long legs wrapped around my hips.
A beautiful woman staring up at me in befuddlement.
“Told you I work out,” I say blithely.
That befuddlement disappears like a puff of smoke and then I get that beautiful laughter again. “I think I was the one who made that statement.”
“Well,” I say, hips flexing ever so carefully, groan rising in the back of my throat when it presses against the softness between her legs. I bite it back, just barely. “You’re not wrong.”
Her mouth kicks up. “Are we really going to keep talking when you’re hard and on top of me?”
“I thought women liked to talk.”
“And that’s why you’re single.”
I’m the one who laughs this time, loud and unbothered, then again when her nose wrinkles.
“What?” I ask, smoothing a fingertip along those ridges.
“You’re supposed to be offended.”
I shrug. “Not much offends me.”
“Hmm.” She tilts her head to the side, studying me like I’m a bug. “Stolen Lyfts don’t seem to bother you.”
“Convenient that the one I stole brought me where I needed to go.”
“And neither do flooded condos.”
“Wasn’t my condo that got flooded.”
“But for some reason, me teasing you about sugary cereal does?”
Guilt for the way I acted earlier coils through my middle—worse because she thinks it had something to do with her and not the fucked-up childhood demons that sit heavy on my heart…so heavily sometimes that I’ve found it easier to be single.
Of course, I’ve never met a woman like Marie before.
Never been quite so obsessed.
Instead of thinking about that—or the fear that bubbles up with those words sliding through my mind—I curve my mouth into a smirk. “A man who works out doesn’t like his diet to be picked apart by a woman who’s all of a hundred pounds.”
Eyes going wide…then narrowing. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a hundred and fifty pounds and can bench press one-ten.”
“A regular Schwarzenegger,” I say dryly.
Which earns me a swat on the chest.
But at least she’s smiling.
“Seriously, I’m impressed.”
“You should be,” she mutters, but I don’t miss the confusion in her eyes, as though not a lot of men in her life have given her an outright compliment.
I hate that for her.
But it’s not why I answer honestly, saying, “I’m serious, gorgeous. I’m impressed.”
That’s just who I am. I don’t play games. I go after what I want, but I don’t fuck over everyone on the way up.
They say there are no ethical billionaires.
But I’m doing my damndest to have that not apply to me.
Marie’s nose wrinkles adorably again and I stop thinking about society and the past and how much this impressive woman can bench press. Instead, I give in to the urge to bend down and press my lips there.
“You have freckles here.”
One shoulder lifts in an approximation of a shrug. “I wasn’t great about wearing sunscreen when I was younger.”
“Hmm.” I touch the smattering. “I like them.”
“Are we still talking?”
“Considering this is the most cooperative you’ve been from the moment I’ve met you, yeah, I’d kind of like to talk to you some more, cookie.”
“You could tell me why you keep calling me cookie.”
“ You could tell me why you were in my office, standing over me, stroking my hair, and generally acting like the creeper you accused me of being last week.”
“Technically, it was more than a week ago.”
“You keeping tabs on me, gorgeous?”
“Are you going to stop talking and get around to fucking me, handsome?”