Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
When Maxwell pulled into a space in the parking lot outside Jasmine’s building, she felt a sense of loss because the night was coming to an end. Spending time with him outside of work further shifted her opinion of him, which had already been changing.
She felt conflicted. While she didn’t necessarily consider him a nice guy, he was certainly a decent human being with a personality she enjoyed.
He was fun, they both had a competitive streak, he challenged her, and she liked that he was open to spontaneity.
But could he be trusted? That was the bigger question. She wasn’t so sure.
“Thanks again for going out with me. I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” Jasmine said.
“Hold on, I’ll walk you up to your apartment.”
His response jolted her. No. Absolutely not. “That’s OK. The door is right there, and I’m perfectly safe once I get inside the building.”
Jasmine pushed open the door, but Maxwell climbed out too and moved swiftly to her side of the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“If you don’t want me to walk you upstairs, at least I can walk you to the door.”
“Not necessary, and before I forget.” She shrugged out of his warm leather jacket, which smelled like him—the earthy scent of his skin mingled with the scent of Bergamot.
The combination reminded her of the two of them in her bed, her curling her fingers into the skin of his back as he rhythmically thrust between her legs and had her moaning and damn near sobbing with pleasure.
She shoved the jacket into his chest, fighting her erotic thoughts. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I’m going to head upstairs.”
Something shifted in his expression, and he tilted his head sideways. “What is it?”
“What do you mean?” Jasmine asked.
“You’re different all of a sudden.”
“I want to go upstairs and fall into bed and go to sleep,” she spoke in a calm, reasonable voice.
Slowly, he nodded, as if he had suddenly learned new information. “I know what the problem is. You’re thinking about the exact same thing that I’m thinking about, which is what happened the first time I came to your apartment.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You don’t trust yourself,” Maxwell said with confidence.
Jasmine let out a loud laugh to make sure he understood how ridiculous his statement was, even if it wasn’t ridiculous.
Maxwell simply stood there. Not a hint of a smile on his face, watching her as if he had already made a decision and was waiting for her to catch up.
“Tonight, two coworkers went out and had fun. That’s all,” she said.
“Whatever you’re feeling, I feel it too.”
Jasmine wrapped her arms around herself. “Whatever you think I’m feeling, you’re mistaken.”
Maxwell studied her with an assessing gaze, his tall body casting a shadow over her in the parking lot. “I don’t make mistakes like that.”
Before Jasmine could respond, one of her neighbors rushed from the back of the lot toward the building in a short dress and heels, her arms wrapped around her body in a vain attempt to protect against the cold night air.
“Hi, Jasmine,” she said, her eyes taking in Maxwell with an appreciative glance.
“Hi,” Jasmine responded.
“Cold enough for you?”
“Way too cold. I’m looking forward to warmer days,” Jasmine joked.
She waited until her neighbor had gone inside before she returned her attention to Maxwell. “Whatever you’re thinking, get it out of your head. Tonight was—”
“Platonic,” he finished for her.
He tossed the jacket on the hood of the car and rested a hand on the door beside her. He was too close, and though she wasn’t actually trapped, she felt trapped.
“I get it,” he continued in a low voice. “We’re coworkers. Friends. Except I don’t imagine my friends naked when I hang out with them, and the things you and I did the night we spent together, I don’t do those things with my friends. So, forgive me if I’m having a hard time right now.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it eventually.”
“Are you over it?”
“It’s been three weeks.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“And I’m not going to, because I won’t dignify your question with an answer. You might have been expecting a replay of what happened after NV Lounge, but that’s not going to happen. Not now. Not ever.”
Maxwell rested his other hand against the car. Now she was trapped. Caged in.
“So if I kiss you, you’ll push me away, right?” He asked the question with quiet confidence, as if he knew she wouldn’t.
“Yes. That’s exactly what will happen,” Jasmine said, the breathlessness in her voice killing the finality she had been going for. “Good night, Maxwell.”
He didn’t move.
“It’s cold out here, Maxwell.”
His right hand moved to cup the side of her neck, and she whimpered. All night they’d brushed or bumped into each other during their competitive games. This was different. He moved with intention, making the nerve endings under her skin go berserk.
“Then let’s get you warmed up,” he said huskily.
That was the last warning he gave before closing the distance between them.
Her breath hitched when his mouth found hers, dissolving whatever lame protest she had intended to offer.
Not only did her brain short circuit and betray her, so did her hands as they fisted in his sweater and pulled him closer.
He made a sound in his throat—something between relief and satisfaction—and deepened the kiss as if he’d been waiting weeks for permission.
His hand slid from her neck to her hair, winding the length of her ponytail around his closed fist. It was a demanding move.
He was taking control like he’d done before, tilting her head back to the position he wanted.
And she let him. God, how she let him, arching into him because she wanted to be controlled.
Because submitting to the strength of this magnetic man was a pleasurable place to be.
A place where passion took over and time ceased to exist.
Her arms wrapped around his strong neck as he pinned her against the cold metal of his vehicle, the slow grind of his hips forcing her to acknowledge the thick bulge pressing into her abdomen.
She trembled as her body remembered his possession.
The weight of him on top of her. The way he kissed her with the leisurely sensuality of a man who had nowhere else to be but right there, blowing her mind with every move he made.
“Jasmine.” He said her name in a rough whisper against her lips. Half asking. Half warning.
She replied by shoving her fingers into his curly hair and kissing him harder, opening her mouth wider for the invasive thrust of his tongue. Who taught this man to kiss like this?
His hands slid roughly and slowly over her hips and buttocks as if he were relearning the shape of her. Then he released her lips and trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, the delicious scratch of his beard adding a striking contrast to the softness of his lips.
“Max...” she breathed, tilting back her head to stare up at the black sky. Her nipples became taut and sensitive, longing for the slide of his tongue.
“I love the way you say my name. The way you plead. Shit turns me on,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth. “Need you.” He took her hand and placed it over his erection.
Jasmine released a shaky breath, going weak in the knees. She needed him too.
Their foreheads almost touching, both of them breathed in an unsteady pattern. His eyes were dark and questioning.
Jasmine opened her mouth to answer the unspoken question but then said nothing. Resting a hand against his chest, she gently pushed against him. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”