Chapter 56
JORDAN
When the check arrives, Tate nudges my hand out of the way.
“Tate.” I give him a look. “You have to split it with me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do I, now?” he asks in a low, knowing way, and shivers run down my back.
Before I can recover, he hands his personal credit card to the server and pays.
On the walk back to the hotel, I tuck my arms around myself, goosebumps scattering over my skin in the cold March evening.
Tate frowns down at me and pulls his suit jacket off. “I should have made you get your coat before we left.”
“It’s fine.”
He drapes his jacket around me anyway, and his sharp, clean scent drifts up my nose. God, he smells amazing.
“Jordan.”
“What?” I look up at him to see him giving me a raised-eyebrows, teasing look.
“When someone does something nice for you . . .” he starts, smiling.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, too. Another thrum of heat twinges between my legs. I need to get away from this guy.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re very welcome.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, seeming pleased.
He paid for dinner, and now I’m wearing his jacket. I know it’s not a date, despite what those traitorous, scheming jerks were aiming for, but it feels a lot like one.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he says in the hotel lobby, and I don’t bother arguing.
In the elevator up, we’re quiet, sliding glances at each other and studying each other in the reflection from the mirrors.
“Do your feet hurt?” he asks, glancing at my heels.
“Nope.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “What’s it like, being able to reach the buttons?”
I turn to give him my best death eyes. “Was that another short joke?”
His mouth twitches but he doesn’t look at me. “It wasn’t a joke. It was an honest question.”
I shake my head, turning forward, but I’m smiling. “Shut up. Just shut up.”
In the reflection, I can see him smiling, too. The doors open and he follows me to my room while my pulse beats like a drum.
Do not invite him in, my logical brain tells me. Say goodnight and close the door.
At my door, he lifts a hand to rest on the doorframe, watching as I slide his jacket off and give it back to him.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He studies me, studies the key card I’m toying with in my hands. “Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?”
I shake my head. “Lovely, you said.”
He makes a low noise, like that isn’t good enough. “Well, you do. Look beautiful, that is. Extremely. It’s—” he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, like it’s a problem. “Distracting.”
So I’m lovely and beautiful and he’s paying for dinner and telling me to cuddle with him and, and—I shake my head, confused and frustrated.
“Don’t say that,” I whisper. I want what I can’t have. “You said I wasn’t an option. You laughed. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”
Shock flashes across his features. “You agreed with me.”
“Of course I did. You’re embarrassed to be attracted to me—”
He opens his mouth but I hold a hand up.
“You don’t get to tell me you’re jealous”—his jaw tightens and his hands come to his hips—“and in practically the same breath, tell me I’m not good enough.”
“Not good enough?” Outrage lights up his eyes.
“And now you think I’m ‘beautiful’?” I do the finger-quote motion. “Are you kidding me, Tate?”
He looks at me like I’m speaking another language. “When did I ever say you weren’t good enough?”
“The night I watched Bea. You told me it was never going to happen.”
My face is going red. Every insecurity laid out on display.
“You laughed, like I was dumb teenager with a crush on you. I know you don’t want me, or you don’t want to want me.
I know you’re probably embarrassed by it.
And I know I’m not the polished, five-foot-ten news anchor you normally date, who has a gorgeous apartment and a mortgage and a bunch of journalism awards—”
“Jordan.” His expression is incredulous, and very, very angry. “What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I rub my temples. I’m rambling. “None of this matters. I know that. You have an incredible kid who isn’t even a little bit annoying, which means I will never, ever even think about messing around with you.”
Liar. Little pants-on-fire liar. I’ve thought about it too many times to count.
I get a shocking jolt of self-consciousness. What am I doing? This isn’t me, laying out all my vulnerable truths. I’m cold and rude and detached. Or, I used to be, before Tate pried me open.
“You know what?” I reach for the door. “Let’s just—”
He steps in my way. “Jordan, stop.”
His hand comes to mine, pushing it away from the door, and something settles inside me, either from his touch or his low, steady tone.
“Let’s get something clear. I never said you weren’t good enough.” His tone is firm and he holds my eyes with an intoxicating intensity, eyes sharp and determined.
“I filled in the blanks.”
“You filled them in wrong.”
His fingers come beneath my chin, tipping my face up, but I close my eyes, listening to my heart beating in my ears.
“Jordan. Look at me, please.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he says, his breath tickling my cheek.
My eyes open. There he is, smiling softly at me. “There she is,” he says in a low, steady voice that makes my pulse settle.
In my chest, something clicks, like a lock opening. Something satisfying and right, like puzzle pieces sliding together. A perfect fit.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“I didn’t say those things because you’re not good enough.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t know which news anchor you’re referring to, but I can tell you for certain, that isn’t my type. That isn’t the woman I’ve been thinking about non-stop.”
I can’t look away from his eyes, so deep green and consuming. His expression is so certain. So steady. Like he’s got me. Like he’ll catch me if I fall.
“The fact that you think you aren’t good enough, Jordan—” He breaks off, shaking his head.
“You’re fucking spectacular. Do you realize that?
You’re amazing at what you do, both at the bar and with the team.
You have an incredible affinity for figuring out how people fit together, more than anyone I’ve ever seen.
You are so independent. Sometimes it’s fucking infuriating, that you’re so stubborn about accepting help, but then I remember you carved your own path with nothing and no one helping you.
Do you ever take a second to think about how hard that was?
You don’t, do you? Because there was no other option for you, but you still deserve the credit, because you made the most out of a shitty situation.
And yes, you’re prickly. You don’t make friends easily, but look at what you do for the ones you have.
Look at where you are, working for a father you haven’t spoken to in a decade, upsetting your whole life so they can keep theirs intact. And they don’t even know it.”
He studies me for a long moment, looking wistful and frustrated.
“They don’t even know what you’re doing for them. I bet you’ll never even tell them, will you? You won’t say a word. You’ll just go back to the bar and keep pouring their drinks and watching them celebrate without taking the credit you deserve.”
What’s this horrible, pulsing feeling in my chest? A mix of longing and loneliness, I think, because he’s right. That’s exactly what I’ll do.
“On top of all that, you’re kind. You pretend you aren’t but you are.
You watched Bea when I needed you. You gave her advice about the kids in school.
Yeah, she told me. You made her feel like there was nothing wrong with her.
You made her feel good about herself, Jordan, and that alone makes you a goddess to me, because my child is my whole world. ”
His hands are in my hair. When did that happen? I can hear my pulse in my ears, feel the light pressure of his fingers framing my face.
“Your mother would be proud of the woman you are, Jordan. I didn’t know her but I know that. Any parent would be.”
He searches my eyes.
“So no, it’s not that I don’t think you’re good enough.
I think you’re the most good enough person I’ve ever met.
I said you weren’t an option because I’m your boss.
I’m trying to lead by example, and how’s that going to look if I’m messing around with a woman ten years younger than me who works for me, huh?
What would that do for your career in sports? ”
I open my mouth but he shakes his head.
“If you say you working for the team is temporary, Jordan, I—” He cuts himself off with a heavy exhale. “I don’t want to hear it right now. You know what I want for you? I want you to work for the team. Not just until the end of playoffs. Forever. Because I think this is where you belong.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t argue with me,” he begs, his eyes pleading. “Just say thank you for the compliment.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly, and he exhales, pleased.
His fingers thread into the back of my hair, and he’s staring at my mouth.
“What are you doing?” Shivers run across my scalp, down my neck, down my spine as his fingers flex in my hair.
“I don’t know.”
“You just told me—”
“I know.”
“We can’t.”
“I know we can’t.” He shakes his head again, looking half-outraged and half in awe. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me lose it like this.”
The space between us disappears, and he presses a light, warm kiss against my mouth, barely more than a brush but lighting up every nerve ending in my lips.
My hands come to his chest, and even through his suit, I can feel his heart pounding against the firm muscle.
His stubble tickles my chin, his scent surrounds me, blurring my thoughts, and I just—relax.
Every part of me eases into him, like this is what I need. Like this is what I’ve been missing.
My eyes open, and his do, too, low-lidded with surprise, confusion, and wonder. We stare at each other, a question in his eyes.
He’s so careful with me. Like I’m important and special. Something to be cherished.
I nod, and he lowers his mouth again, faster this time. Harder. He tilts my head back, coaxing my mouth open with his, and I let him. I let him slide against my tongue, I let him groan into my mouth in that desperate, hungry way, and I let him walk me back until I’m pressed against the door.
So this is what it’s like when Tate Ward finally takes what he wants. This is what he’s like when he snaps.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, kissing me harder. Taking more from me.
“What are we doing?” I whisper against his lips.
“I don’t know.” He pulls back, breathing hard, and stares at my mouth like it’s a problem he can’t figure out. “You said I should take something for myself, once in a while.”
I nod, heart pounding, holding his eyes, running my fingers up the back of his neck, into his hair. When his eyelids close and he sighs, it’s like a match is lit inside my chest.
“Is this what you need, Tate?”
Are you lonely, Tate?
I am, I think, but moments like these make me feel less so.
His eyes lift to mine, dark and unfocused, and he nods. I don’t know who starts the next kiss, him or me. His hand is on the back of my neck, hauling my mouth to his, but I’m going willingly. A groan vibrates through his chest.
This is the reaction I wanted. He’s so controlled, so responsible, so good, and yet he’s claiming my mouth like he’s wanted this forever. Like he’s desperate for me. Like his control is shot and he can’t help himself and he’s finally taking what he wants.
What he needs.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, pressing hot, sucking kisses down my neck, and I’m speechless at the sharp sensations running through me.
So this is what kissing is. He’s still gripping my hair like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear, his other hand running over my ass, my thigh, my back, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch more.
He’s taking everything he can, devouring me, and I encourage it, giving him my neck so he can scrape his teeth over the sensitive part at the base, tugging lightly on his hair to hear more of those deep groans.
Tate’s audible pleasure is now an addiction. Those noises? I’ll hear them for the rest of my life.
An ache builds, low in my abdomen, as he consumes me. Arousal seizes me, making my nipples tighten, my breasts feel heavy and touch-deprived, making me arch against him.
My breath catches. He’s hard against my stomach, and big.
Confidence-inducing big. I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet my panties are damp and I’m picturing this moment turning, fast. I’m picturing him backing me into my room and us falling on the bed.
I’m picturing sinking down on his thick length, or trying to, because it’s been a while for me and he would take some adjusting to, and it would hurt a little, and is it concerning that that turns me on even more?
The elevator at the end of the hall opens and it’s like a bucket of cold water drops over Tate. Immediately, he pulls back, blinking like he’s waking from a dream.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “We shouldn’t have done this. I’m so sorry.”
The look of regret on his face—I can’t.
“Hey.” He steps back into my space, towering over me, holding my eyes like this is very, very important.
“This is not me rejecting you, Jordan. I meant what I said about you staying with the team.” His jaw works like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, taking a deep, steadying breath.
“I want you, but I want you on the team more. I can’t be selfish like that.
” He covers my hand with his, beeps my keycard against the lock, and opens the door, hand on my lower back as he pushes me inside.
The door closes behind me and I listen to his deep sigh before his footsteps move down the hall as he walks away.