Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The kiss was supposed to be a decoy. A front to get this drunken jerk to leave her alone. When she turned and saw Jordan, she acted on a desperate impulse. She hadn’t expected her brain to short circuit the moment her lips touched his, but that’s what happened. All thought flew out the window.
Time stood still. The noise in the club quieted. Everything around her went calm, unlike the firestorm that scorched through her.
Jordan’s eyebrows shot up the second before her lips met his, and her stomach dropped. She’d gone too far this time. He was going to pull back and blow her cover.
But then his hand gripped her hip. She braced for rejection, a sharp word, his cool disdain. None came. Instead, his fingers tightened, and he tugged firmly, anchoring her to him. He flexed his hand once, clenching. Was he asking permission or giving her a warning?
And then, neither mattered, because she melted against him, their bodies fusing, their mouths crashing together and opening, letting their passionate kiss consume them.
He tilted his head, angling his mouth to deepen the contact, and their tongues met in a feverish tangle that left her clinging to him.
Astonishment morphed into something frenzied, something addictive and needy. Something that stunned her more than her brash decision to kiss him.
Slowly, his hand slid up her spine to the nape of her neck, where he grasped her and pulled her back an inch. His hooded eyes seared hers before he growled, “I thought I told you not to play with fire, princess.”
Fire? What she’d just experienced was an inferno. She wanted more. She leaned forward, but he edged back. The slight movement shook her out of her stupor. What was she thinking kissing Jordan? It was ludicrous.
She tossed a look over her shoulder to see what had happened to the slimeball who’d started this in the first place. He’d already moved on to some other unsuspecting group of dancers.
A light flashed inches from her face, blinding her momentarily. She recoiled, bumping against Jordan, and another flash went off. Sparks of light lit up the space around them as she realized people had their phones out, cameras pointed at them.
“Oh no,” she whispered, even as she instinctively smoothed out her high ponytail, brushing it over her shoulder as she plastered on her best smile. She should’ve seen this coming, should’ve known better. A few blissfully quiet months away from this kind of attention and she’d let her guard down.
“What the fuck?” Jordan barked.
Turning, she saw him flinch, his hand shielding his retinas from the camera’s flash. Guilt twisted her gut. Vanessa knew very little about Jordan Thompson. He spoke only when necessary, shared about himself even less, and if there was one thing he clearly, viscerally hated, it was attention.
And now she’d shoved him into the limelight.
The tension emanating from him was thick and volatile. This was her fault, and if she didn’t fix it fast, he’d never let her hear the end of it.
Grabbing his hand, she dragged him through the throng of onlookers and dancers. “We need to get out of here.”
Voices shouted at them as they struggled through the mob of people. “Is that your new boyfriend?”
“Who’s she with?”
“Is he an NBA player?”
“She goes for anyone, doesn’t she?”
“Can we get a selfie?”
“How long have you been together?”
The questions bombarded them from all sides, causing the knot of familiar anxiety to pulse in her belly.
The social media frenzy had probably already started.
All press is good press she’d been told, but she’d endured enough negative publicity to last a lifetime, and she hadn’t moved to Portland for more of it.
Her heart rate spiraled out of control as the crowd grew more demanding, causing her to stumble.
Right as she was about to fall, Jordan’s powerful arm locked around her waist, lifting her upright, and curling her against his solid frame. Panicked, she let herself be wrapped up by him, burying her face against his chest.
She stayed that way until cold air broke through her warm cocoon, and she was immediately released. Unfurled like a yoga mat. She teetered before finding her footing.
“What the hell was that?” Jordan snapped.
Before she could respond, his hands closed around her shoulders, firm and steadying. Warm. His head dipped, and his eyes searched hers.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Rougher, like his concern hadn’t erased his anger, only buried it.
The cold pebbled across her skin, everywhere he wasn’t touching. She missed his all consuming warmth from a moment ago. “Yes.”
Although she wasn’t sure she was. It had been months since she had been subjected to that kind of attention.
“Welcome to my life,” she mumbled, running her hands along her arms, trying to create some heat.
The familiar tang of shame bittered her throat, as it did whenever she found herself caught in a public uproar. Sure, this was small potatoes compared to what she’d gone through a few years ago, but she’d gotten used to living relatively drama-free in Portland.
“That’s not acceptable, Vanessa.” Jordan brushed her hands aside and rubbed her arms himself, warming her up so much quicker than she could do herself. “They took pictures of you.”
“Yeah.” Even though warmth flowed to her upper extremities, her legs began to shake.
“Without asking,” he bellowed with indignation.
Startled by the fire in his voice, she tilted her head toward his. For someone who, in her experience, usually communicated in grunts or one-word answers, this intensity was…unexpected. And oddly captivating. She hated how it made her heart stutter. “Um, yeah. People usually do.”
He tossed his hands in the air, his breath coming out in short, outraged puffs. “Aren’t there limits? Does Max not have contingency plans for this?”
She’d never seen him this worked up. But with their kiss plastered across every social media platform by now, she figured he had a right to his anger.
“Look, it was dark in there. Phones take terrible pictures in that kind of lighting. I’m sure no one will even recognize you. You’re safe.”
“Me?” He appeared truly aghast. “I’m a fucking nobody. It’s you. It’s not right. Half the people in that club spent the evening getting shit-faced and making out with anyone and everyone. No one was taking pictures of them.”
It’s because they think they own me, she nearly said out loud. But that didn’t seem fair. She’d chosen this life and knew this was part of the deal. The greatest consequence of her fame was the illusion that she belonged to everybody, that she was public property.
It was all superficial. She’d learned that lesson long ago. Along with the hard truth that the friends you thought you had were quick to disappear when things got ugly. She could count on one hand the true friendships she’d made in this business, and still have fingers left over.
“They do it because I live my life out loud. Social media is basically my second job.” She brushed a nonexistent fluff from her arm, trying to warm herself without showing it.
“They think they know me, like we’re old friends.
So when I do something unexpected, they snap a pic like it’s a keepsake for their scrapbook.
Except that scrapbook is the World Wide Web. ”
Jordan continued to glower at her, and she wasn’t sure if he was confused, irritated, or plain mad. If she wasn’t freezing her ass off, she might have given more explanation of the whole being famous conundrum, but she was starting to shake so bad she almost bit her tongue.
“Fuck,” he muttered, before slipping off his black leather jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
The blast of warmth was immediate, as was the scent—leather mixed with a rugged spicy aroma she couldn’t quite place. The combination was intoxicating, and she snuggled against the soft fabric.
“It’s winter,” he informed her, as if she hadn’t known that. “You should wear extra layers next time.”
“I’ll have you know my clothing is a gift from an up-and-coming designer. I’m a walking advertisement.” Come to think of it, the photo blitz tonight would probably work to the designer’s benefit. This outfit would be all over the internet by morning.
“Princess, I can design clothes with more material than that.”
She snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
He ignored her and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“Oh, I don’t do cabs.” She tightened his jacket around her neck. It really did smell good.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll call Anderson.”
“That’s Joel and Lucy’s driver when they’re in town.” He said this in the most monotone of monotones, one that matched his current facial expression.
“Yes,” she replied. “And they told me I can call him anytime I want.”
Jordan’s blistering glare could break weaker people. Of course he’d find a way to think the worst of her.
“Well, Mr. Judgy, not that I care what you think, but why wouldn’t I accept a service that’s been offered to me?
Besides, cabs aren’t always reliable. And some are downright gross.
You never know what’s on the seat.” She reached in her bag and retrieved her own phone, scrolling to Anderson’s contact and sending a quick message.
“Trust me. I heard a podcast about it once. Much more sanitary to use a private driver.”
Sure enough, Anderson replied in seconds, saying he’d be there shortly.
“See,” she said with a satisfied grin, holding out her phone to Jordan. “Safe and reliable.”
He shook his head and resumed his bouncer stance. Looked like she wasn’t getting any more words out of him tonight. Thank God.
She needed to focus on the disaster brewing. She was desperate to check Instagram to see the damage but wasn’t in the mood to stomach more of Jordan’s judgment. She’d wait until she was in the backseat of Anderson’s SUV.
In the meantime, she had no choice but to stand in the cold, stuck next to her least favorite person, wearing his jacket, wrapped in his tantalizing scent.