8. “IT ALL KEEPS ADDING UP. I THINK I’M CRACKING UP.” #3
He thought the solution was to run at this full speed and simply power through, but her instincts warned that he was being short-sighted.
There would come a time when he realized he’d made the wrong choice.
And then the fallout would come. The awkwardness around the others.
The resentment. It would poison their friend group until one of them eventually pulled back.
She loved her home, loved her community. The townspeople were all she had. But he had his brothers. Real family. His life just seemed so much more anchored in this place than hers, and if he wanted to, he could easily push her out.
Then, he’d eventually move on and meet a real partner that suited his needs. Sooner or later he’d bring her around to birthdays, christenings, holidays…
How would she stomach that?
The food had been delivered, and they barely touched their plates. Every time the waitress had come by to check on them, Soren had silently signaled her away. Her glass was empty, and her dinner was cold, but she didn’t want a refill of either.
“I should go. Cordelia’s at home and it’s past her dinner time.”
“Come to my place.”
She stilled. Soren had never once invited her to his private home. Even as friends, she’d never stepped inside his inner sanctum.
“I can’t. Cordelia needs—”
“Bring her. King’s there. They can play.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“One night, Joce. Give me one night to convince you before you completely shut me down. That’s all I ask.”
It wasn’t a small request. It was a genie wish for a million more wishes.
At least when he came to her house, she decided when to let him in and could disappear when she wanted him to leave. Now, he was aiming for a home-court advantage.
She looked around the bar, but no one was staring.
“They don’t care,” he whispered, mouth close to her ear. “Come home with me.”
Her breath caught when he nuzzled the curve of her jaw, playfully licking at her pulse as it leapt and fluttered. The patrons around the bar might not be openly staring, but his closeness was being clocked. Tomorrow, there would be gossip.
The worst part wasn’t imagining what they’d say.
It was her disappointment that she cared how they might judge her.
Soren was a catch, a billionaire CEO and Hideaway’s most eligible bachelor.
She was an over-caffeinated Viking smut author that didn’t come with a filter.
She prided herself on having a zero-fucks-to-give attitude, but apparently, when it came to her personal life shifting into public view, she wasn’t as brave as she thought.
“One night, Joce. Don’t be a scaredy-cat. What have you got to lose?”
The moment he turned it into a dare, he tapped into her cutthroat competitive nature. “Fine. One night.”
His hand glided up her denim-covered thigh, as his warm breath fanned over her cheek. “Let’s go.” He threw several crisp bills on the table and took her hand.
Heat burned through her as he led her out of the bar like a Viking drags a concubine after a hard-won victory. In that moment, he was so indisputably male, claiming his spoils of war. And she was about to get pillaged and plundered until dawn.
“Soren, wait.” She tugged her hand free when she caught people staring. It was too much. “Are you trying to make a scene on purpose?”
He paused, actually giving the question some thought. “Maybe I am.”
“Well…don’t.”
He closed the distance, pressing his front firmly against hers as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
He was pure testosterone encased in elegance.
Masculine determination that made her inner feminist rage because her body was not immune.
Her heart raced as she recognized the dangerous promise in his eyes.
While she pleaded for discretion, he overwhelmed her senses with potent intent. He didn’t plan to simply show her a glimpse of how he hoped things could be. He intended to ruin her defenses, breaking down every wall until she had no excuses left.
“Soren, please,” she begged so quietly he shouldn’t have heard her plea for mercy, but he read it in her eyes.
“Hey.” The calming way he pushed through her panic only alarmed her more. He shouldn’t be able to do that.
She broke eye contact, looking up at the sky, hating this softer side of him.
“Look at me. Only me.” He stepped closer, framing her face. “Why does it bother you if they see?”
“I don’t know. It just does. And I hate that I care.”
His hands settled on her shoulders, grounding her too fast for her own comfort. “So just put it out there, Joce. Let them believe it doesn’t bother you, even if it does, then they won’t be able to use it against you.”
Fake it ‘til you make it…
Maybe he was right, but the thought still made her stomach swoop in a disorienting way.
It wasn’t the fear of people knowing they were together. It was the humiliating dread of making a public spectacle when this thing between them would inevitably end. Admitting that, even to herself, made her feel weak and small.
“I’m scared,” she confessed, giving no more detail than that.
“Me too. But not enough to back down. We’re in it now. Me and you.”
When she closed her eyes in resignation, his lips pressed firmly to hers.
Soft and patient as he waited for the tension radiating through her body to give, and when it did—as it always did whenever he put his lips on her—he took full advantage, deepening the kiss and putting on a public show for anyone watching.
Her heart tripped into overdrive, and her body took over. She pulled him closer, needing more. With Soren, she could never have enough.
She wanted to crawl under his clothes and rub against the hard lines of his body, steal his warmth, and breathe in that familiar scent only he owned. As if he could sense her mounting desires and read her thoughts, he chuckled and broke the kiss, but didn’t immediately pull away.
Jocelyn’s face heated, and she pressed her burning cheeks into the shelter of his throat, where his scent was even stronger.
His hand dragged down her back in a slow, grounding glide. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
She winced and bashfully turned her head, peeking at their surroundings. There were no crowds or news reporters. No paparazzi or Jumbotron Kiss Cam.
Pedestrians moved about at a regular pace, not a single one scandalized by what they had just done. But then a shiver chased up her spine, and her attention pulled to the right.
Not ten feet away, Olivia stood, shopping bags hanging at her sides, and a cold, blank stare on her face.
Every bit of warmth sapped from her body as their stares clashed. Understanding exploded between them, the detonation enough to push Jocelyn back from Soren, as if she were breaking some unspoken set of rules.
The other woman looked at her as if she had no right to touch him. Survival instincts pushed Jocelyn back another step as the blonde’s eyes narrowed.
“Soren, what are you doing?”
“Olivia…” Something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes, and it was enough to convince Jocelyn she shouldn’t be there.
Turning on her heel, she rushed toward her car.
Soren cursed and yelled her name, but there was nothing he could say to call her back now.