Chapter 16
JASON
I pulled down one of the chairs from the stack by the door, sat down, and forced myself to stare at my phone, so I wouldn’t watch Laurel as she began to stretch.
Her black leotard and tights fit her body like a second skin, allowing me to see every sexy curve, and I’d struggled with temptation enough. No need to make it worse on myself.
Occasionally, I’d glance up to see her fluttering across the floor or spinning in impressive circles that somehow didn’t make her dizzy.
It was so goddamn hard not to watch her, but I felt like I shouldn’t. Like this time was personal, and I wasn’t sure she wanted to share, or if I’d earned the right to watch.
But after twenty minutes, she suddenly stopped dancing and stalked toward me.
She flung a finger at my phone. “Give me that.”
“You want to call someone?” My expression was dubious because that was a big deal, and she wasn’t allowed to do it from my phone.
“No. I want to put some music on.” The hopeful look on her pretty face made me weak. “Please?”
My gut told me this was a bad idea, but I ignored it and handed her the phone.
She went to YouTube and typed in the song she was looking for. Rather than hand it back, she grabbed an unused tumbler from the side bar, slipped the phone inside to amplify the sound, and set it on the next table over. Now I’d have no choice but to be her audience.
Perhaps it was what she had wanted all along.
“What are you doing?” For some reason, my heart beat quicker.
Her hands freed her hair from the bun it had been in as the music began, and her hair tumbled in waves around her. “My audition piece. The one that landed me my principal spot.”
The song was slow and sultry, the audio equivalent of sex.
From the very first move, I knew I was in deep shit. Her gaze locked onto mine, and she held it even when she slid straight down into the center splits. She crawled toward me, sensual and provocative, and every muscle tightened across my chest.
Then she was up on her feet again, her hands caressing her body and barely avoiding the places I most wanted them to go. It was a wicked tease, heating the air around me. Fuck, how I wanted those to be my hands.
Instead, I balled them into fists and shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
Laurel glided across the floor on her tiptoes, the satin of her shoes barely making a whisper as she traveled, fluttering with grace and precision. It was wild how nothing but her legs moved, as if the top half of her body were independent from the lower half.
She vaulted into the air abruptly, executing a huge turning leap, and as soon as she landed, she rolled down onto her knees. It was a display of power and control, and I swallowed thickly.
Was this what ballet usually looked like? Because if so, maybe I needed to get my ass to the theater.
She arched her back and rose on her toes, like an invisible string had been tied around her chest and pulled her onto her feet. Her gaze locked onto mine once more, demanding I watch. Daring me not to look away.
Like I could.
When she fanned her leg all the way up and around, my blood heated to a million degrees. God, those legs. So sexy they were criminal.
A voice protested loudly in my head. What was wrong with me? Getting this worked up, over a witness, and one who still had all her fucking clothes on.
But she swayed her hips as if there was only one thing on her mind. It was the only thing on mine right now. There could have been a thousand people in the room, I wouldn’t have noticed. Because this dance?
It was for me and only me.
Her graceful moves, while feminine, had the power of a professional athlete.
As the song and her performance worked their way deeper inside me, it felt like every inch of her was telling the story of what she wanted to do to me . . . if I’d only let her. It was passionate and unbelievably arousing.
Where the hell did this woman come from?
She’d eat me alive, and I was sure I’d love every minute of it.
Laurel’s final jump was an enormous leap where she threw her head back, bent her leg behind herself and nearly touched her toe to her head, effortlessly.
Everything was building, spiraling, and I felt my control slipping as she found my gaze and locked on. Her expression was all sin and seduction while she slid her feet across the dance floor in slow, deliberate movements.
It was a seductive walk I could not outrun, even if I wanted to.
She hadn’t yet reached me when I stood and charged at her, slipping one hand behind her head and the other onto her ass. I lowered my mouth to hers, silencing the noise of surprise she tried to make.
This kiss was like the one she’d given me, only amplified by a thousand percent.
It dripped with lust and desire and sex. The intensity of it caused my hands to tighten their hold, lifting her until she could lock her legs around my waist. I groaned with satisfaction, stumbled forward a few steps, and seated her on a tabletop without interrupting the kiss.
Everything beyond the small body wrapped around me fell away.
I’d never been more out of control and overwhelmed with the urge to connect than I was with this girl.
On a regular day, my impulse control was almost nonexistent, but after the gunfight at the gas station, the struggle to hold back my need crumbled into nothing.
She made me come apart, and—fuck, she tasted good.
My hands would not stay still. They craved to touch and explore, especially her perfect legs folded around me. My palms coasted over her hips, her thighs, enjoying every inch of her trapped inside the gauzy fabric of her leggings.
Laurel moaned when my tongue touched hers, and then she answered back, curling a hand up into my hair. Her other hand ventured inside my jacket, as if wanting to pull me tighter. But she drew it back like she’d been bitten.
I lifted my head, dazed.
“Your gun.” She gave me a small, embarrassed smile. “I’d forgotten.”
So had I, about everything else. Shit.
It was like rapidly coming down off a drug as the logical side of my brain fired back up. She must have sensed the change in me because her hands clutched tighter, especially when I started to pull away.
“No,” she pleaded, but I didn’t listen.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “I shouldn’t have done that.” I straightened, letting my hands fall to my sides, and then staggered back to give her space to climb down.
But she remained sitting there on the round tabletop in defiance.
“This is it for me, Jason. I don’t want to play this game.
” The words were edged with pain and frustration.
“I’m so tired. I’m tired of fighting it, of wanting you, even when I know I shouldn’t.
But I can’t stop,” she admitted, “and it’s just . . . exhausting.”
I released the air in my lungs in a slow, controlled breath, but my heart stumbled.
She touched the pads of her fingertips to her lips as if trying to remember where my mouth had been just moments ago, and her eyebrows tugged together.
“Maybe I could deal with it better if I knew I wasn’t alone in this.
” Her eyes softened and her voice dropped to a hush.
“I know it isn’t allowed, and I don’t make it easy for you, but just give me that one thing, please.
” Her expression was full of longing. “Tell me you want this.”
God, no, she wasn’t alone . . . but I couldn’t tell her that because I wasn’t ready to face the consequences. I’d lose my job, and it was the only thing I had. And I certainly couldn’t tell her the truth, that what I felt for her might develop into more.
It was already too much.
Words wouldn’t come. They were lodged painfully in my chest, and I stayed quiet like a coward.
I was too afraid to admit to myself what was happening.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Say something.”
“No.” It was all I could choke out. “I can’t.”
She folded her hands over her stomach and doubled over like I’d just landed a punch to her kidneys. I kind of wished she would do that to me. But abruptly, her face tilted up so she could deliver a cold glare that rivaled the one my mother used when she felt disrespected.
“You’re a fucking liar,” she hissed.
I’d never heard her swear before, and the profanity made her words stab into me. “Laurel, I—”
She lifted a hand, cutting me off. “Enough.”
I ceased to exist to her then. She hurried to undo the ribbons on her ankles and yanked her ballet slippers off. Thoughts twisted in my head, trying to work themselves free, but everything was chaos. The only thing I could make sense of was that I was a fucking liar.
I wanted her so badly it was painful.
When she slid down off the table and pulled on her street shoes, the atmosphere in the room was frosty. It forced me into action. I grabbed my phone out of the glass and followed her from the banquet room, fully expecting her to turn and slam the door on me when she charged through it.
Derrick cocked an eyebrow when we reappeared. We had to be quite a sight. Laurel looked pissed, and I was guilty as hell.
She said absolutely nothing as she marched across the parking lot, moving so quickly Derrick almost fell behind. When I attempted to say goodnight, she ignored me and shut her motel door.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. “You paid that guy a hundred bucks to piss her off?”
No, I wanted to snap, I can do that for free.
My frustration reached critical mass by the time I got to my room.
I’d lied to her, and if she didn’t trust me, what use was I? She could request a new marshal in the morning, and I’d be gone instantly. There was no other option, I had to fix this. Because the idea of her being gone forever?
It was somehow scarier than anything else.