Chapter 24 Amelia
amelia
. . .
A week later
Ever since we’ve been intimate, we haven’t been able to stop, and I’m scared that I’m becoming attached to him.
Black silk drapes over my body, hugging my curves, cool against my skin as we walk through the marble foyer of the gala, the lights casting a champagne glow across polished floors and gilded walls.
Every tattoo I have is clearly visible. Maverick insisted I wear this dress. He picked a black silk, thin spaghetti-strap dress with a low-cut back.
“Fuck them,” he said earlier with a wicked grin. “Show off your artwork, dollface.”
Maverick’s tux is all black. Matte lapels, a crisp white shirt, no tie, and just enough buttons undone to reveal the ink curling down his collarbone. His blonde hair is slicked back, but not perfectly neat—on him, it looks effortlessly reckless.
I can’t stop staring at him.
He’s standing beside me, holding a glass of champagne in one hand, while the other rests at the curve of my lower back. Every time he leans in close to whisper something in my ear, I feel it everywhere—the heat, the safety, that part of me that wants this to be real.
“Smile pretty, babe,” Maverick whispers as we approach another camera. “Pretend I’m not already picturing how fast I’m gonna peel this dress off you later.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, barely holding in my laugh. “You’re the worst.”
“I know,” he smirks. “But you love me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I playfully shove him. “Behave yourself tonight, don’t hit anyone.”
“No promises.”
We repeat ourselves. Laugh, kiss each other’s cheeks, and play the role Maggie assigned us. But... he’s not pretending. Not even for a moment.
And maybe I’m not either.
Maverick leans down, his palm warm on my lower back.
“Baby, I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple before a handler waves him toward the photographers.
I nod, smirking. “Go, be charming, behave, and maybe we can play later.”
He grins, giving me a wink, and then he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd, flashes sparking as he poses with sponsors.
I exhale and move toward the champagne tower, my heels clicking on the marble, fingers itching for a glass to keep me occupied. But the moment my hand touches the delicate stem, I feel that familiar prickle running down my spine.
Craning my neck to look around, my stomach drops at the sight of Jax Montgomery.
He’s leaning casually against a pillar, wearing a tailored charcoal suit with sleeves rolled up enough to reveal ink that he probably thinks makes him look dangerous. His dark hair is tousled, and of course, there’s now a nose ring.
He’s always needed another way to scream, “Look at me.”
His green eyes lock with mine, and my lungs constrict. My heels falter on the polished floor. Every nerve in my body sparks with warning.
He doesn’t hesitate as he crosses the ballroom, weaving through the crowd until he’s right there, cornering me against the champagne tower. His smirk is the same one he wore the day I left him.
“Amelia.” He drags out my name, savoring it. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. You still know how to make an entrance.”
I grip my glass tighter. “Get the fuck out of my way, Jax.”
He chuckles, leaning in close enough for his cologne to choke me.
“You always did get sharp when you were nervous. Cute.” His gaze intentionally drifts down my dress, lingering where it shouldn’t.
“But look at you now—polished up like a trophy. Whose idea was it, hmm? Yours? Or is your new husband parading you around, pretending you’re respectable? ”
My stomach knots. “Eat shit, Jax. Your manipulation shit won’t work on me anymore.”
He smirks wider and ignores me. “Silk, diamonds, a little smile for the cameras… Baby, you almost had me convinced. Almost. But I know better. Under all this?” His hand slides boldly along my bare arm, possessive, as if staking his claim. “You’re still mine. You’ll always be mine.”
Rage burns fiercely in my chest as I struggle to break free from his hold. “I was never yours. You lost that the moment I left.”
His eyes flash, as if he enjoys the fight. “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t get it. Men like me don’t lose. We let go when we’re bored.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping, filthy and cruel. “And judging by the way you’re shaking, I’d say you’re still hungry for it.”
I choke on the bile rising in my throat, every nerve screaming at me to lash out, to shove him, to cry. But before I can move, before I can even breathe—A shadow falls over us.
Maverick.
His blue eyes stay fixed on Jax as his hand slides around my waist, pulling me close against him.
“Is there a reason your hands are on my wife?” His voice is calm, low enough that it forces Jax to lean closer to hear.
Jax smirks, unfazed, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes stay on me. “Relax, quarterback. Just catching up with an old friend.”
Maverick’s lips curl into a smile that’s all teeth. “You don’t catch up by putting your hands where they don’t belong. Do it again, and you won’t have any left.”
Jax tilts his head, his eyes slowly sweeping over me. “I’ve seen you play, Hayes. Impressive footwork.”
Maverick doesn’t miss a beat. “Appreciate it, man. But I’d appreciate it more if you looked at me and not my wife when you spoke.”
Jax completely ignores him, his eyes fixed on me as if Maverick isn’t even there. His mouth curves into a smile, biting his lower lip. “Miss you, baby, even though you’d always bitch and moan about everything.”
My spine stiffens instantly as my breath falters in my throat, nausea rising quickly—the champagne flute in my hand shakes between my trembling fingers.
Maverick moves instantly, stepping in front of me, his arm pressing me firmly behind the shield of his body. His voice is flat, cold in its calmness. “That’s enough.”
Jax chuckles. “Come on. What? You gonna punch me in a ballroom?”
Maverick doesn’t hesitate. “If you keep talking to my wife like that, yeah, I will. And I won’t lose sleep over it.”
Jax only laughs, leaning casually on his heels. His eyes drift over me again as he wets his lips. “Thought so. All muscle, but a fucking pea of a brain.”
I feel Mavericks’ back muscles tighten as he lifts his arm and swings.
His knuckles crack against bone, a sickening smack that echoes over the music. Jax’s head whips sideways, blood spraying across the marble floor as he stumbles and crashes down, clutching his nose.
Gasps burst out around us, sharp and frantic. Champagne flutes break as people recoil. The press surges like vultures, cameras flashing rapidly.
“Maverick Hayes just punched—”
“Is that her ex?”
“Holy shit—”
Shutters click as the ballroom flashes with bursts of white light. Phones are raised to record, voices gasping ‘Oh my God’ while whispers swirl through the chaos.
Jax groans on the floor, blood drenching his smug expression, staining the silk of his tie. Maverick stands over him, chest rising and falling, as he shakes his hand from the punch.
“Keep her name out of your mouth,” he says evenly, kicking Jax’s foot out of his way.
“Let’s go,” Maverick growls, grabbing my hand with steel-firm fingers as he pulls me through the crowd.
I wobble in my heels, but he catches me and keeps me steady. He holds on tight, even as Maggie starts shouting from behind us.
He guides me out through the back exit, the cool night air hitting my flushed skin as the doors slam shut behind us. His matte green Bronco is parked at the curb, engine already purring.
He throws open the passenger door. “Get in, dollface.”
I slide in, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. He circles the front of the Bronco in seconds and climbs in beside me. His hands still tremble on the wheel.
I reach for him, my fingers curling around his wrist. “Mav—”
He turns, grabs my face with both hands, and kisses me.
Hard, desperate, and painfully longing.
It’s not the gentle, teasing type we’ve been pretending for the cameras. This is raw and messy. He kisses me as if he’s asserting his claim, like I belong to him.
And I don’t fight it.
His hands tangle in my hair, his mouth slanting over mine again and again.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles between kisses. “I couldn’t stand the way he looked at you. The way he talked to you. I should’ve done more—”
“Stop,” I whisper against his lips, breathless. “You did enough.”
We’re both breathless when he finally pulls away, his forehead pressed against mine, panting.
His voice is hoarse. “You okay?”
I nod. Barely. “Are you?”
He exhales a laugh, one hand cupping my cheek. “Not even close.”
I lean in again, brushing my mouth against his. “Then let’s get out of here.”
He floors it.
We turn off the highway onto the back road to Mavericks’ place. His Bronco rumbles up the long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires until he turns off the engine with a quick twist of his wrist.
“Come here,” he says, not giving me a chance to protest before scooping me up bridal style, my silk dress sliding dangerously high up my thighs.
“Maverick—”
“Can’t,” he whispers against my temple. “Can’t take it anymore, dollface. Been holdin’ it in since the second you walked out in that dress.” His grip tightens as he strides toward the front door. “You have no idea what you’ve been doin’ to me.”
The lock clicks open, and he nudges the door with his foot. The house is dark, the faint scent of cedar and his cologne wrapping around me the second we’re inside.
He doesn’t set me down right away. Instead, he presses me against the wall just inside the entryway, his forehead resting against mine, breath ragged.
“Please,” he says, a low, desperate rasp that doesn’t sound like the cocky quarterback the world knows.
“Please, Amelia. I’m losin’ my goddamn mind. ”
I slide down until my heels hit the floor, but he follows me, his big hands framing my face before dropping to my hips, then lower, until he’s on his knees in front of me, looking up at me.