CHAPTER 33 #3
“It was a gift from the promoter at Bridgestone,” he said with a shrug. “So technically it’s half yours.”
She hesitated for half a second before bending down to slip off her shoes. When she straightened she met his gaze, full of challenge. “I’ll race you back to your house.”
Clayton grinned, slow and lazy. “You’re on.”
She took off first, her bare feet hitting the ground, but he caught up fast. His long legs ate up the distance between them until, in the final stretch, he passed her completely, leaving her huffing and muttering curses.
By the time she reached the porch she was out of breath, her cheeks hot to the touch, her pulse kicking from more than just the run.
“C’mon, slowpoke,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement.
“Not fair,” she panted, bracing her hands on her knees. “Pebbles got stuck in my feet.”
Clayton stepped closer, reaching down to pluck a tiny rock from the arch of her foot. His fingers brushed against her skin, lingering just a second too long.
He smirked. “Sounds like a you problem. ”
The way he was looking at her—smirking, smug, but also something else—made heat burn low in her stomach.
Jamie swallowed. “Shut up and get the tequila.”
His smirk deepened but he turned and opened the door, holding it for her. “After you, slowpoke.”
They entered his house and she sank onto his couch, stretching her legs out with a sigh. The cushions were soft, swallowing her up, and for the first time all night she felt like she could breathe.
Clayton set the bottle of tequila and two glasses on the coffee table, his fingers lingering on the rim of one. The motion was slow, deliberate, like he was considering something.
“I need to change back into my normal clothes,” she said, tugging at the dress clinging to her skin. The fabric felt too tight, too foreign, like it didn’t belong to her. “This dress is killing me.”
He leaned against the couch with his arms crossed, his gaze dragging over her, heat coiling between them. His voice was smooth, almost lazy. “Think it’s killing me more.”
A flush crawled up her neck before she could stop it. She laughed—too quick, too light—before standing and heading to the bathroom.
When she came back out in her tank top and jeans, her body finally her own again, Clayton had poured them each a glass of tequila. It wasn’t for shots. This was meant for savoring.
She lowered onto the couch, closer to him than she realized at first, and reached for her glass. Her fingers brushed his as he handed it to her. Warm. A little rough. The contact sent a pulse of something sharp and electric through her skin.
She should have pulled away, should have ignored the way her breath shortened, how her stomach tightened. But she didn’t. Not right away .
Clayton didn’t move either.
His gaze flicked up and met hers, and for one charged second everything went quiet. The chirping of the crickets outside, the air conditioning kicking on—it all faded. Even the space between them felt like it was holding its breath.
Her fingers curled around the glass, tightening before she forced herself to lean back. A slow exhale. A sip of tequila, the burn grounding her.
“How do you feel about Nolan and Ruth tying the knot?” Clayton asked like nothing had happened.
She hesitated, still aware of the warmth on her skin where his hand had been. She was still unsettled by the way her pulse had jumped but she’d had too many drinks to bullshit him. “I’m happy she’s happy, but I feel like I’m losing my best friend.”
“Know what you mean.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes steady on hers. “Nolan’s always been single.”
“They’ll probably have kids right away.” She sighed. “I’d hate to look for another assistant. I guess that makes me a bad person.”
“You’re not a bad person.” Clayton’s gaze lingered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I reckon you’re pretty fantastic.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I’m a real winner.” She blew out a breath. “I couldn’t even pass my high school exam, and now I’m going to be without a place to live.”
His brows drew together. “A place to live?”
“Shorty rented his penthouse.”
“Were you planning on staying in Nashville?”
“Just for the summer, or until I can figure it out.”
“You can stay here.”
She blinked, taken off guard. “I don’t think so. ”
“Why not? The girls love you, and you don’t hate me as much as you used to, right?”
She took another sip of tequila, stalling. “I don’t hate you, Clayton.”
“So you like me?” His lips parted slightly, his smile teasing.
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
He set his glass down on the table and leaned in a fraction, close enough that she could smell the warmth of the tequila on his breath, see the flicker in his eyes.
“Look, Jamie,” he murmured, voice dipping low, “I like you. A lot.”
She shrugged one shoulder, playing it off. “I guess you’re not that bad.”
But her hand was still tingling where he’d touched her. For the first time she wasn’t sure if she was in control of whatever this was anymore.
The room fell silent as his dark eyes gazed into hers, but instead of looking away she stared right back.
Why is he looking at me like that?
God, he was handsome, in that rugged, untamed way that set her nerves on fire. His shaggy auburn hair framed his face and his full beard only added to his sex appeal. He was all man. Yet here she was, swallowing hard, unsure where to look as he kept his gaze locked on her.
He took her hand, his callused fingers wrapping around hers, and heat traveled between them in a slow burn.
“Now, I’m going to ask permission,” he said, his voice rough yet careful. “Because I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
She nodded, catching her breath.
“May I kiss you?”
Something in the way he asked, the quiet hesitation behind it, sent a shiver through her. Finally. A slow smile spread across her lips as she leaned in, giving him her answer without words .
His kiss was gentle at first, contradicting the intensity simmering between them. His beard was softer than she expected, the scratch of it against her skin adding to the thrill.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
Slipping her hand beneath his hair, she grasped the back of his neck and pulled him closer. He groaned against her lips, a sound that sent a tingle down her spine. When she parted her mouth his tongue met hers in perfect rhythm—slow, deliberate, devastating.
Her body melted into his as he slid a hand to her lower back, pressing her forward until there was no space left between them. The kiss deepened, shifting from hesitant to needy, from exploring to claiming.
And then he stopped.
He pulled back, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.
Jamie blinked, her breath coming fast.
What the hell?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, embarrassment creeping in. Had she misread this? Gone too far too fast?
Clayton exhaled and pointed at her chest. “Can’t kiss you while you’re wearing that.”
Confused, she glanced down at her tank top. The sight of it—his face on her shirt—made her laugh.
“No problem,” she said, pulling it over her head, leaving only her black lace bralette.
His jaw tightened. “No, I didn’t mean—”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to put it back on?”
A slow, wicked smile crept across his face. “Hell, no.”
She curled her lips in response.
Good answer .
She grabbed her drink and took a slow sip of tequila, letting the burn settle in her chest before meeting his eyes. “Grab your drink,” she said, tipping her glass toward him. “Let’s take this party to your bedroom.”
Clayton took a hard swallow. “My bedroom?”
She smirked. “Yes, Clayton.” As clearly as possible, she added, “I want to have sex with you.”
The way his eyes darkened sent a thrill through her. He was still caught up in whatever battle he was fighting in his head.
Well, too bad. Because this is happening.
“Are you going to argue with me about it?” she teased.
Instead of answering he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
Yeah. That’s what I thought.
She got up first and he followed her down the hall. They entered his bedroom and he walked to the nightstand to flick on the light, but she quickly turned it off.
“The moonlight’s better,” she said, walking to the window and pulling back the curtains. It was easier this way. Softer light, fewer questions about her scars.
He sat at the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and socks.
“Do you have protection?” she asked.
He pulled out the drawer of his nightstand and took out a box. “Probably expired.”
She read the package. “They’re usually good for five years, and this box hasn’t been opened.”
“Never used them,” he said sheepishly.
“Okay, they should be fine.” She handed him back the box and slipped out of her jeans to reveal a black thong and crawled onto the bed, kneeling to help him unbutton his shirt.
When he slipped it off she almost died on the spot.
His chest was broad with muscles that rippled down his torso, and she could hardly wait to get his pants off.
He unbuttoned them, pulled down the zipper, and let them drop on the floor. His boxers had horses on them, and she laughed out loud.
“Really?” she asked, giving him a hard time.
“Wasn’t planning on company.”
He climbed into bed beside her, his lips brushing over hers before trailing down her neck, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her. She shivered, her fingers instinctively curling into his hair as he continued his path south.
When he slipped her thong down her thighs she hesitated for just a second, resisting the urge to pull the sheets over herself.
But then his mouth was on her and every insecurity faded into sensation.
His tongue moved with practiced precision, but there was something else, something more profound than just skill.
He wasn’t just doing this to make her feel good.
He was worshipping her. She melted beneath his touch, lost in the pleasure he gave so effortlessly.
Her release came fast, her toes curling as she gasped his name. She barely had time to catch her breath before he crawled back up, capturing her lips in a deep, unhurried kiss. There was no rush, no urgency, just the two of them tangled in the sheets, tasting each other, breathing each other in.
As her hand slid down, grazing the hardness beneath his boxers, he tensed. His fingers wrapped gently around her hand, stopping her.
“You okay?” she whispered, searching his face.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded. “Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t want it to be over too fast.”
A slow smile spread across her lips. “That sounds like a challenge. ”
She slid his boxers down, watching his breath hitch as she wrapped her mouth around him. His hand fisted in the sheets, a deep groan escaping his lips. But after a moment she pulled back, reaching for the box of condoms. She tore one open and handed it to him.
“Here,” she said softly. “Put this on.”
He hesitated before handing it back. “Can you?”
She cocked her head. “Is there a problem?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I, uh . . . never used one before.”
She blinked. “You’re joking.”
He shook his head, his vulnerability laid bare in the dim glow of the moonlight.
She let out a slow breath. “I’ve never had sex without one.”
For a moment they looked at each other. This was more than just sex—it was trust. It was history and experience—in his case, the lack of it. It was a conversation without words.
She carefully rolled on the condom, making sure he was comfortable, then straddled him, slipping off her bralette in the process. His hands found her waist first, then her breasts, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her skin like he was seeing her for the first time.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured.
And damn it, she believed him.
He made a move to flip her over but she pressed him back against the pillows, determination in her eyes.
He chuckled, settling his hands on her hips and letting her take what she needed, what they both needed.
Their bodies moved together, slow at first then faster, heat building between them like a fire they couldn’t control.
When he groaned her name, his grip tightening on her waist, she felt the moment he let go—his body shuddering beneath hers, his breath coming fast. As she collapsed against his chest his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her like she was something precious.
Like she was everything.