Chapter 16
Trask swung his legs out of bed after a fitful night’s sleep, got up, and padded to the door to peek out.
Jett’s room was still closed up tight, and the bathroom was currently unoccupied, which gave him the opportunity to speed over and claim the facilities first. If Jett woke up and found the room being used, she’d just have to wait.
Trask did his morning business, brushed his teeth, shaved his face, threw his dirty boxer-briefs in the laundry basket, then took a quick shower before wrapping his hips in a towel.
He peered out into the hallway again to see if Jett’s door was still shut.
It was.
He scooted out and hurried back to his room to get dressed, happy for the reprieve, and not looking forward to running into her until he got some coffee in him.
Trask sighed as he pulled on his jeans. He was pretty sure he owed Jett an apology for what had occurred last night, but he’d rather try to ignore the whole thing.
But really, what should he do?
After a few minutes of pondering, he determined that it would probably be best if he took his cues from Jett. She’d most likely berate his ass, then she’d want to hash things over, ad nauseum.
If it came down to that, he’d suck it up.
For the good of the company.
Yeah. For the company.
Because he, personally, didn’t need anything more to do with Ms. DeLuca.
His brothers, however, had determined that her skills and pilot’s license would be a good fit for Diver Downeast, so he’d be as amiable as possible moving forward, attempting to do a reset between himself and Jett, so they could proceed as colleagues only.
Coming out of his bedroom again, he noted that her door was still firmly shut, and that surprised him. She said she’d set her alarm.
He glanced at his watch. It was just after seven. She definitely needed to get her fine ass…
Nope. Not going there. He would not think about those gloriously round, smooth globes and how they’d felt under his palm. His only concern should be that she needed to get those fresh cheeks out of bed, pronto.
Trask dragged in a breath and gave a perfunctory knock at her door as he walked past, heading toward the stairs.
There.
If she wasn’t awake already, that ought to do it.
Once he entered the kitchen, he noted that his father had already come and gone, which was probably for the best. The last thing his patriarch needed to hear was what Jett might have to say when she came down, if she so much as hinted at what had gone on last night.
He didn’t know how his father would handle it; finding out that Trask liked to flex his dominant muscles in bed. But he cringed, knowing that if his dad found out, his mother being filled in wouldn’t be far behind.
And that, he couldn’t abide.
No mother wanted to hear that kind of stuff about her son, and to make matters worse—if that were possible—Ellen was already half in love with the chaotic Jett.
If the two women ganged up on him, he was going to get drummed right out of the house.
He’d have to rent a hotel room, and wouldn’t that raise a lot of eyebrows and questions amongst his siblings?
Not that he had any idea of his brothers’ sexual peccadillos, but it wasn’t something he ever wanted to discuss.
Did he have regrets about last night?
A lot.
Had the way things had unfolded been all his fault?
Debatable.
Jett, after all, was the one who’d invaded his room and taunted him. He’d just responded in the way he always did; by taking the upper hand.
Taking the upper hand, he groaned to himself.
Yeah. He’d done that. On her fine posterior.
Trask lowered his head to his guilty palms and huffed. He was so fucked.
But…there was no need borrowing trouble before trouble came down the stairs, so Trask bucked up and poured himself a cup of coffee that his father, thoughtfully, had already brewed.
He sat and took a sip, forcing himself to face his behavior of the night before.
What he’d done had been a first.
Not in the commanding/disciplinary department. No. He’d always enjoyed meting out a good dose of stimulating punishment before sex. It got his engine revving, and always did the same for his woman of choice.
What he’d never done before, was to pull that shit on someone who didn’t already have a heads-up on how he liked his foreplay. He’d always, in the past, found ladies who were mutually on board with some spanking, some aggressive posturing, and some simple bondage.
That had only failed him once before.
Then last night, deviating from his vow not to open himself up to trouble again, he’d reverted to kind with Jett, and for that he felt a modicum of guilt.
Still, she’d gone along with things eagerly once he’d shown her how it was going to be.
Right. But she’d also complied with an unaccustomed sassiness that had assured him if she wanted to change things up, she could have.
She’d had him fucking enthralled.
Until she hadn’t.
When she’d beckoned him forward, letting him know without words that the penetration portion of the evening could proceed, he’d turned her down. And then when she’d said he could fuck her mouth…
Trask had uncharacteristically panicked. His brain had shorted out, swiftly overloading his circuitry and rendering his eager libido into nothing more than a pile of melted goo.
And a good thing, too. If something within him hadn’t set off that damned wake-up explosion, he would have fucked a woman who was the antithesis of everything he wanted in a partner; someone who would clearly be looking for more. And that had always been a hard “no” with him.
Which begged the question, what was up with this unexplained attraction? Jett was scattered. She was spontaneous. She was messy, and she had no filters; things that usually had him running the other way. But she’d somehow wriggled her way under his perimeter wires.
Trask sighed.
It was bad enough he’d have to put up with all that unsettling bullshit in the office once she began work. He’d damned well better not invite it into his bed.
So why couldn’t Trask stop thinking about her?
He glanced at the stairs for the dozenth time since he’d come down them a few minutes earlier. He hadn’t heard the shower running upstairs, nor had he heard the telltale creak of any floorboards.
What did he know? Maybe she was out cold; a sound sleeper even after years in the military, although she’d assured him differently.
He sighed, took another chug of his coffee, and looked up at the clock that had been in the same place on the wall since he was a small boy.
The thing had certainly seen better days, it’s face discolored from age, its edges chipped from thrown balls and unplanned falls; marred by the glue that had been used to patch it back together.
But he’d miss it terribly if his parents got a new one.
A hell of a metaphor.
Some things were meant never to be changed.
Like the way Trask always approached sex and women, even if it might make him appear…damaged.
Trask shifted in his seat and watched the minutes tick by. He got up and made himself a bagel. He ate slowly. He poured a second cup of coffee, then scrolled through the morning’s news on his phone to find that nothing momentous had occurred while he was asleep.
He took another glance at the clock.
Seven-forty-five.
Alright. Screw this.
It was time to get Jett’s lazy ass out of bed.
He climbed the stairs with trepidation.
Trask wouldn’t be surprised if he got a pillow thrown at his head as soon as he opened the door, and would he deserve it? Probably. Starting the day off with a conflict wasn’t something he ever enjoyed, but she was asking for it, not paying attention to the clock.
Maybe, however, if he started with an apology instead of…
Dammit. His mind had circled right back to where it had been when he’d first woken up. Ask for forgiveness or not?
He still didn’t know, and he was a freaking mess.
Play this fucking thing by ear, he finally chastised himself. And since when are you afraid of a woman?
The answer to that was, never. Not once in his entire life. Even the one time when he should have been. So, he damned well wasn’t about to start now.
Walking boldly forward after reaching the landing, Trask rapped his knuckles against her door.
“Jett. Time to get up. We have things to do,” he barked.
When there was no answer, he huffed. She could be giving him the silent treatment, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t the way she rolled.
“Come on,” he repeated. “Time to get up.”
When still no reply came from within, Trask began to worry. Had something happened to Jett in the night? Was she sick?
Without another thought, he pushed through the door, and—
“Fucking hell,” he swore.
The bed was made, and Jett was nowhere to be found.
His nostrils flared as his chest seized with an uncharacteristic ache.
Trask sent a hand up to rub the spot, as the reality of what he was seeing really settled in.
Jett had ditched him.
She’d waited until he was asleep; waited until sometime in the middle of the night when the house was quiet, and she’d snuck out.
But why?
She’d seemed all in on their aggressive play, even though he never should have started things with her. She’d basically told him as much when she’d urged him on with her sweet little moans and thrusts.
And if there was one thing he’d learned about Jett in the past eighteen hours, it was that she was adventurous.
So… The only answer to her absence was, his dismissive attitude once he’d thought better of things.
Without a doubt, he’d rejected her overtures.
Had she taken it personally? Been pissed? His bet was on the latter.
She’d clearly had no reservations about what was going on between them while he’d been licking her into oblivion. But once he’d turned her down? The look he’d briefly seen in her eyes had been…
He thought back and groaned.
Hurt. Confusion.
Her entire visage had hardened just before she’d lashed out and ripped him a new one.
Had he deserved it?
Without a doubt.