7. The Kiss that Changes Everything
Chapter seven
The Kiss that Changes Everything
M y laptop screen fills with photo after photo of Jaxon’s lips sealed over mine in a kiss.
God, that retreat certainly lived up to the hype.
I scroll faster through the endless headlines: Touchdown for True Love? Jaxon Scores Off-Field! Quarterback Sacks Rumors with Passionate PDA.
I had to remind myself that it was all just smoke and mirrors. Strategic PR, nothing more. Just as I click to the next tabloid story, a familiar chuckle rumbles through my office.
“Admiring our handiwork, Michaels?” Jaxon strolls in like he owns the place, signature smirk firmly in place as he perches on the edge of my desk. Too close. I can smell his cologne, fresh and woodsy.
“It was quite the performance,” I counter, leaning back in my chair to put some much-needed distance between us. “The media is eating it up.”
“Performance, huh? It didn’t feel like acting to me. In fact, I’d say we nailed that kiss at the retreat. Lots of...chemistry.”
“It was PR practice, Jaxon. Don’t let it go to your head.” I try to remain professional but damn it, my cheeks flush hot under his gaze.
“And what about the cabin?” He leans forward and his fingers graze my knee. “Practice makes perfect, right? Maybe we should rehearse more often.”
I swat his hand away, ignoring the electric tingle his touch leaves behind. “In your dreams, Reid.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Standing abruptly, I smooth my pencil skirt and reach for a stack of papers. “If you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do. Like making sure your image stays squeaky clean for the rest of the season.”
“Whatever you say. Just remember...” He leans in close and his hot breath tickles my ear. “That consummation was only the beginning.”
Consummation? CONSUMMATION?! I feel my heart race in my chest. “This is pure business. Remember that.”
Maybe I need to remember that.
I move onto the next business at hand. “Here.” I slide a glossy invitation across my desk in his direction.
“What is it?”
“You can read, can’t you? I sigh. “The Anderson Foundation Gala. This weekend. Black tie, red carpet, the works. Every big name in sports will be there schmoozing sponsors.”
“Another gala?” He picks up the invite and groans. “Do I have to go?” He looks at me with those devastatingly blue puppy-dog eyes.
I roll my own in response. “Yes, you have to go. It’s a major event and a perfect opportunity to show everyone you’re more than just a pretty face.”
“You think I’m pretty?” He grins.
“I think you’re impossible.” I snatch the invite back. “I’m serious. Best behavior at this thing, okay? Charm the sponsors, make small talk, and for the love of God, keep it in your pants.”
He mimes zipping his lips. “Scout’s honor.”
I arch a disbelieving brow. “Were you even a Boy Scout?”
“Nah, but I look damn good in a uniform.”
“Just be ready at eight. And wear a tux that fits.” I pause, remembering the way his pants stretched across his perfect ass at the last event. “On second thought, make it a slightly baggy tux.”
He continues to smirk. “Anything for you, babe.”
“I’m not your babe.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Michaels.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I slump into my chair with a groan. This man will be the death of me, I swear.
***
That night, he arrives early; fashionably early, just as I finish the final touches on my makeup.
I smooth my hands over my dress before I open the door.
And there he is, in a perfect tailored tuxedo; broad shoulders and hypnotic eyes. They rake over me and lock onto the slit in my gown.
“Damn.” A low whistle escapes his lips. He steps closer and blocks the doorway. “You look damn good, as always.” His fingers touch my hip, sending sparks across my skin and for one moment, I think about taking him inside by force and saying to hell with the gala. I want to rip off his tux just to see his unbelievably cut body again…
Instead, I clear my throat. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”
His lips curve slowly into a smile. “Lead the way. I’m all yours.”
The ride to the Gala felt like another form of torture. He decides to sit next to me in the limo, even though there is enough room. His heat seeps through the fabric of my dress and he drapes his arm along the seat behind me.
“I like the fabric,” he comments while his fingers play with the hem of my dress. “I bet it feels good against your skin.”
I slap his hand away. “There’s enough room in here. Why do you have to sit so close?”
“Why not?”
The limo arrives and before we make out exit, I take a deep breath. “Remember, this is for show,” I tell him.
All he does is smile.
Cameras flash as we step out of the limo and onto the red carpet. I should be used to this by now. I feel his hand on the small of my back as he leans in close. “For show,” he whispers. “Smile.”
We make our way inside and every eye in the room is on us.
He shifts into celebrity mode. He shakes hands, all the while flashing that beautiful smile. He chats with donors and they laugh and nod to his stories.
He leaves my side and I stand and watch him as he works the room, realizing that he is a natural at this. There is so much more to him than the bad boy image I’m trying to save. Our eyes meet and he shoots me a wink. I shake my head and force a smile in return.
He returns a few minutes later and his hand finds the small of my back, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of my dress. “Care to dance?”
I know what happened last time and I did not want to go through that again. But, before I can protest, he’s steering me toward the dance floor. The band strikes up a slow, sultry tune, and Jaxon pulls me close, one hand sliding dangerously low on my waist.
“Jaxon,” I warn, but my voice comes out breathy and unconvincing.
He smirks down at me, those blue eyes glinting in the soft lighting. “Just a dance.”
But it doesn’t feel like just a dance. Not with the way his body molds to mine, the way his fingers trace idle patterns on my hip. Not with the way my heart is pounding out a staccato rhythm against my ribs.
Jaxon leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We should talk about the cabin.”
“No, we should not talk about the cabin.”
He ignores my comment. “I enjoyed it. I know you did to.”
I catch my breath, heat flooding my cheeks. I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out.
“You know how I knew you enjoyed it? The sheets were all wet.”
Before I can process my scrambled thoughts, a voice cuts through the music. “Jaxon! Tori! A quick word?”
It’s a sports reporter, his press badge glinting under the chandeliers. He corners us at the edge of the dance floor.
“Jaxon, there’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship with Tori,” he starts, eyes darting between us. “Some are saying it’s just a PR stunt to clean up your image. Care to comment?”
My stomach drops. This is it, the moment of truth. I brace myself for Jaxon’s usual playful deflection, the wink and grin that always accompanies his non-answers about us.
But Jaxon surprises me. He loops an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. “Tori and I, we’re the real deal,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “She’s not just my publicist. She’s my partner, in every sense of the word.”
The reporter’s eyebrows shoot up. I’m pretty sure mine do too. Partner? In every sense of the word? What is Jaxon playing at?
But he’s not done. “I know my reputation precedes me,” he continues, his grip tightening on my hip. “But Tori... she’s different. She’s changing me, man. For the better. She is everything to me.”
The reporter scribbles furiously in his notebook, a gleam of triumph in his eye. He’s got his scoop, the sound bite that will dominate the sports pages tomorrow.
I should be thrilled. This is exactly the kind of positive press we’ve been angling for. But all I can focus on is the warm, solid weight of Jaxon’s arm around me, the sincerity ringing in his words.
Was any of that real? Or was it just another masterful performance, a play for the cameras?
My head is spinning as the reporter thanks us and moves on, already tapping out the story on his phone. Jaxon turns to me, a question in his eyes.
But before he can say anything, I step out of his embrace, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I... I need some air,” I manage, my voice shaking.
I walk away on unsteady legs, desperately trying to ignore the heat of Jaxon’s gaze on my retreating back.
***
The cool night air hits my flushed skin as I push through the doors and onto the balcony. I grip the railing, taking deep breaths, trying to steady myself.
What the hell just happened in there?
Jaxon’s words replay in my mind. “She’s everything to me.” The conviction in his voice, the way he looked at me... it felt real. Too real.
But that’s impossible. This is Jaxon Reid we’re talking about. The playboy quarterback, the media darling. He doesn’t do real.
And I don’t do complications. I’m here to do a job, to repair his image, not to fall for his charms.
I hear the door open behind me, and I know it’s him before he even speaks.
“Tori.” His voice is low, urgent. “Are you okay?”
I keep my back to him, my knuckles white on the railing. “I’m fine. You played your part perfectly in there. The sponsors will be thrilled.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then, “Is that what you think that was? Me playing a part?”
I turn to face him, my heart in my throat. “Wasn’t it?”
He steps closer, his blue eyes burning into mine. “No. It wasn’t.”
His hands cup my face, his lips crashing into mine. The kiss is searing, desperate, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this one moment.
My mind short-circuits. This can’t be happening. But my body betrays me, melting into him, my fingers fisting in his tux jacket.
A camera flash makes us jump apart. I whirl around to see a photographer grinning at us from the doorway. “Thanks for the money shot, lovebirds!” he calls before disappearing back inside.
I stumble back from Jaxon, my hand pressed to my tingling lips. “I... I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I want to leave. Now.”
And then I’m running, pushing past him, ignoring his calls for me to wait. I have to get out of here, away from the cameras, away from him.
***
The ride home is excruciating. Jaxon sits beside me, his knee pressing against mine in the confines of the backseat. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything left unsaid.
I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding, the way I can still taste him on my lips.
“Tori,” he says finally, his voice low and rough. “That wasn’t just for the cameras.”
I close my eyes, my fingers trembling in my lap. “Don’t, Jaxon. Please.”
“Why not? Why can’t we just be honest about this?”
I turn to face him, my eyes flashing. “Because it’s a terrible idea! You’re my client. I’m supposed to be fixing your image, not...” I trail off, gesturing helplessly.
“Not what? Not falling for me?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting over my cheek. “Not fucking me at the retreat?”
My breath catches. I’m saved from answering by the limo rolling to a stop outside my building. I scramble for the door handle, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze.
“Goodnight, Jaxon,” I manage, my voice unsteady.
I don’t look back as I hurry into my building, my heels clicking too loudly in the quiet lobby. The elevator ride to my floor seems to take an eternity, my heart racing the whole way.
Finally, I’m inside my apartment, the door shutting behind me with a decisive click. I lean back against it, my chest heaving, my eyes squeezing shut.
I stand there for a full minute, reliving that kiss, the way his hands felt on me, the heat in his eyes when he looked at me.
I can’t want this. I can’t want him. It goes against every professional instinct I have.
But as I stand there in the dark, my lips still tingling from his touch, I’m terrified to realize that I do want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
And I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.