Naomi
“Sure, I'll edit it and send it to you on Monday,” I reply in near-perfect Italian, forcing a polite smile to stretch across my face. This project has officially become the bane of my existence.
“Grazie. Ciao, bella,” he says, blowing me a kiss through the screen.
“Buona notte, Fabrizio.” My grin remains fixed in place until the little green camera light blinks off.
The second the call ends, my slipper flies across the room. Poor bunny—adorable, innocent, and wholly undeserving of my fury. But it’s far better than booking the next flight to Milan with murder on my mind.
I slump back into my chair, dragging a hand down my face.
That meeting was brutal. Every now and then, I land a client who’s both indecisive and demanding—a deadly cocktail that slowly drives me to madness.
Glancing at the plans spread out across my desk, I debate whether to dive into yet another revision for the sixth time this week, but my stinging eyes force me to call quitting time.
It’s only a little after six, yet my body feels like it’s crawling toward midnight. I groan, twisting side to side in my chair, hoping to loosen the tension building in my lower back. When that fails, I surrender to the lure of a hot shower.
Twenty minutes later, my back is blissfully relaxed, and I’m wrapped in the softness of a flowy red dress that clings lightly to my curves, flouncing as I twirl. Dabbing some more makeup on the raging purple mark, it's still tender but I'll live—I just thank every star Aisha didn’t see.
Maybe a change of scenery will help me focus. I think listening to my audiobook by the pool while I work through client revisions might be in order. After swiping on a tinted gloss, I toss my hair up into a high pineapple, before heading down the back staircase toward the kitchen.
I slow at the edge of the entrance, as Jaxon’s voice carries low through the doorway. He's sitting at the breakfast nook, head tilted slightly down, his tone pitched soft like the words aren’t meant to travel.
“No—keep your eyes on him. I don’t care how he spins it,” he murmurs, lips barely moving. “Report back to me first. Understood?”
There’s a pause, then a quiet exhale, his thumb pressing against his temple like the conversation’s testing his patience.
“Good. Stay sharp.” He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking to the side like he’s checking the room even though he hasn’t spotted me yet.
“We’ll keep it between us for now,” he says, then ends the call with a swipe of his thumb.
Tucking away his phone, he opens his book again, posture casual and calm, as if he hasn’t just been whispering orders to someone.
His eyes lift briefly as I enter, and he adjusts his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, continuing to ignore me.
I rummage through the fridge for the tumbler I forgot in my rush earlier, pretending not to feel his heavy gaze on me just as much as he’s pretending to ignore me—the pages of his book crinkle but I know he hasn’t looked at the pages.
“Hungry?” he finally asks.
I peek around the open door, cocking a brow. “I can eat.”
His gaze lingers on the book for a beat before he tosses a bookmark into the middle and sets it down. “Okay, let’s go out. I wanna take you somewhere,” he says, flashing a smile that sends my heart pounding triple time.
“Take me somewhere?” I tilt my head, eyeing him skeptically as I take a sip of water from my tumbler. “That sounds questionable.”
Slipping out of the nook, he steals the tumbler from my hand and places it back in the fridge. “Shoes. Now, smart-ass.”
I roll my eyes but trudge to the front door, where my shoes—now neatly tucked side by side—sit in a corner after I practically ran out of them before my meeting.
I turn to face him with a raised brow. “Really?”
“You left them scattered across the floor. Someone could’ve gotten hurt.” He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes in faux disapproval.
“Ew. You sound like my dad.” I scowl, selecting a pair of nude heels from the closet next to the front door instead.
“Discipline’s not so bad, Naomi.” His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smirk. “With all of that attitude, I’d be happy to teach you some.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he moves toward me, his eyes locked on mine. Each step he takes is calculated, giving me the chance to run, to move, to push him away. But I don’t, and he thrives on it, watching me choose to stay.
The burn of his words simmers inside me, igniting something primal I’d rather not name. And I’m frozen, wide-eyed, rooted to my spot.
My mouth falls open slightly, but nothing comes out—no clever comeback, no sharp retort. Just silence.
That cocky smirk of his has me spiraling, every nerve in my body alive, buzzing with an intensity I can’t escape.
I hate how my body reacts to him, how he sees every crack in my armor.
Worse, he enjoys it. Reliving it—everything that happened last night—it’s written all over his face, and it’s fucking inescapable.
“Can you just—” My back hits the door with a dull thud, and I hate how shaky my voice sounds. “Stop.”
“Stop what, exactly?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a sharp edge that curls around it.
“This.” I throw my hand up between us like it could hold him back. “It can’t happen.”
“Too late.” His tone is a dark hum, filled with a certainty that twists my stomach. “It already has.”
“Well, it can’t happen again.”
He cocks a brow, his smirk deepening. “Can’t… or won’t?”
“It’s the same damn thing,” I snap, trying to sound firm, even though my voice falters.
“Is it?” His amusement is maddening, his gaze stripping away any resolve I have left.
“It is!”
“All right, all right.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, though the gleam in his eyes doesn’t match the gesture. He’s still playing, still toying with me. “No need to yell, Reina.”
“Just tell me where we’re going,” I bite out, my patience threadbare and fraying.
“That would ruin the surprise,” he says smoothly, like he isn’t driving me out of my mind, like the tension between us isn’t suffocating me more with every passing second.
“Jaxon!” His name rips out of me, more warning than plea, but it only makes his grin widen.
“You’re fucking adorable when you’re angry,” he murmurs, his voice a soft caress that makes my stomach clench. He reaches out and tugs on one of my curls, watching it spring back into place.
Shying away from his touch, I all but bolt out to the front yard, desperate to change the subject. No matter how much we both want this—whatever this is—it can’t happen.
“Is it at least somewhere with food? I’m starving.” I glance over my shoulder, only to catch him shaking his head, that damn panty-soaking smirk aimed straight at me.
Shutting the door behind him, he clicks the lock into place. He dangles my keys in front of me before pressing them into my palm. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you, Reina?”
When he first started calling me that, I hated it.
The mocking tone, the way it rolled off his tongue with a sharp edge to it—it grated on my last nerve.
But now there’s something different in the way he says it.
The word slides out low and smooth, wrapping itself around me.
He takes my hand as we head toward the black Escalade, a flash of last night burning its way through my thoughts.
The taste of his lips, the press of his body against mine, the feel of his tongue. I feel like I’m going out of my mind, and none of it seems to faze him. I slip my hand out of his, and he simply chuckles.
When he tugs open the passenger side door for me, my gaze snags on his worn, leather-bound copy of Macbeth sitting on the seat, and for some reason I can’t stop staring at it. My fingers find the delicate diamond pendant on my necklace, dragging it back and forth over the chain.
“You can just toss it in the back,” he whispers against my ear, snapping me out of my sex flashback.
I clear my throat, all awkward and loud. “Yeah. Yes. Of course.”
Gently placing the book into the pocket behind my seat, I slip into it. He closes the door just before I click my belt into place. The moment my eyes lift in his direction, I fall directly into his stormy gaze as he gets behind the steering wheel.
Butterflies at almost thirty should be a fucking crime.
I’m not some schoolgirl who melts under a suggestive smile, and yet here I am, struggling to keep my composure under the weight of his stare.
“What?” I snap, bracing for whatever teasing remark is brewing on the tip of his tongue.
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, as if he’s on the verge of saying something important. But instead, he just chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“Nothing.”
His seat belt clicks into place as he settles in, and his amusement is evident in the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.