Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
JORDAN
It’s been four days since we arrived in Zermatt.
Four days since Matt gave me that massage.
Four days of pretending like it never happened.
Meanwhile, I’ve been slowly unraveling like a loose thread on my favorite sweater.
I’m going insane. Losing all sense of logic. Thinking of ways to torment him while pretending I’m in control. Changing in front of him. Bending over when I know he’s watching. Wearing my pajamas like I’m not painfully aware of what they do to him.
It’s been a slow journey to hell. And I’m enjoying every torturous second of it.
Flirting with Matt has always been my favorite thing. Only it used to always end the same way. Clothes on the floor. Tension worked out in the only way that ever satisfied us both.
This isn’t like that at all. This has built and built until there’s no other option but to reach for my vibrator the second he’s out of the room.
We have a suite, but it’s just one bedroom with two full beds side by side, a large bathroom, decent sized closet, and a living room.
We were together all weekend, and it only took a few minutes on Saturday morning at breakfast to get past the awkwardness of the night before. Matt was just himself. Confident. Flirty. Unapologetic.
And I did what I did best.
I pretended I was fine.
Like it didn’t touch me.
Like I didn’t fall asleep staring at him, thinking about everything I wanted him to do to me.
We shopped, ate, hiked. Zermatt’s been everything I’ve needed, an escape from my family, a break from reality.
I pull the dress I bought for the benefit from the closet, and a slow smile curves my mouth. Matt’s going to lose his fucking mind.
And I can’t wait.
The water shuts off from his shower, and I dress quickly, stepping into the matte black liquid satin. I pull it over my hips, fasten the halter at my neck, then hook the tiny diamond chain that drapes low across my back.
It’s an open back. Of course, I’d pick nothing less. Bare skin from my shoulder blades to the curve of my spine.
I peel the tab on the sticky tape and press it to my breasts, then push the fabric where I want it to hold. The front is a keyhole, opening from the halter to my midsection.
I bend, the slit climbing high as I grab my shoes—Christian Louboutins. Satin. Strappy. Gorgeous.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror, evaluating the damage. My hair’s pulled back into a loose ponytail, leaving just enough natural wave to keep it soft. The open back is fully exposed. Exactly how I want it.
Matt gave me his credit card for tonight.
And I used it like a weapon.
Matt opens the door as I’m clasping the backs of my diamond earrings.
He stops mid-step, freezing in place, towel wrapped around his waist. “Holy shit.”
His eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate, the heat of his stare searing into my skin. A corner of his mouth kicks up. “You look—” He clears his throat, gripping the back of his neck. “Christ, you look terrible.”
I smile, satisfaction seeping through me.
He walks right past me to the closet, letting the towel fall as he reaches for his tux.
My gaze follows, landing on his bare ass.
He glances back and grins when he catches me staring, like he just won a fucking prize.
What an arrogant ass.
He keeps his back to me while he dresses, and I keep staring anyway, butterflies stirring low in my stomach.
He finally turns, buttoning his cuff links, looking as handsome as the devil himself. He moves toward me, and I step back on instinct, putting space between us. But it’s no use. He keeps coming, until my back hits the wall and the only thought I have is to keep breathing.
His eyes lock on mine as he lifts one finger and drags it slow from my shoulder down my arm.
Then he leans in, breath hot against my ear. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, babe.” He pauses, his mouth brushing my ear. “You look… fucking beautiful.”
Oh my God.
My head spins, gravity failing me. A whirlpool of desire hits fast, swirling in my stomach and stealing the air from my lungs.
A pulse thrums between my thighs, and I force my attention away from it.
To the man in front of me, looking at me like I’m already his…
and I’m one breath away from letting that be true.
He steps back, holds his hand out for mine, and says, “Let’s go.”
“Champagne?”
I smile at the cocktail waitress, grabbing a flute from the tray. “Thank you.”
She smiles back and continues her loop through the throng of people dressed in black tuxedos and European designers that cost more than most people’s rent.
Matt’s deep in conversation about the resort, his hand skimming my lower back. It’s been there most of the night.
He’s been handsier than usual, and now that he’s almost finished with his second drink, he’s getting even more touchy.
I have mixed feelings about it. Because of course I enjoy it. I love being on Matt’s arm tonight. He’s made sure to introduce me to everyone he talks to, always as his wife.
The way he says it, like he’s proud to be here with me, to call me his wife. It does something to me. Makes me want to be the best damn wife he could ever hope for.
He’s kept me close all night. Making sure I’m comfortable. Stealing little glances. Looking at me in that familiar way he used to. It’s brought every emotion to the surface. Confusion. Happiness. Hope.
And buried underneath it all?
Sadness. A deep, hollow ache of wanting something so badly, of being so close to every dream coming true, and not being able to hold onto it.
I wish I was stronger. The kind of woman who could stand beside a man like Matthew Grayson and not feel like everyone is silently wondering if I’m enough for him.
I wish I was brave. That I could stand up to my family and tell them I choose him. That I’ve always chosen him… even when it meant walking away from him.
But mostly, I wish I could be selfish. Just for one night. That I could forget everything with Cole and why we’re doing this and just sleep with him. Let him do all the things I know he’s dying to do, simply because it would feel good.
I’d have to be drunk as hell to do something stupid like that, and this is only my second glass of champagne. I barely feel anything at all.
The guy Matt’s talking to shakes his hand before taking mine and doing the same thing, only softer. “Jordan, it was very nice to meet you.”
“You as well. Thank you,” I reply with a smile.
He gives Matt a nod and says, “I’ll see you in Zurich,” before turning and walking away.
Matt turns to me the second he’s gone. His hand slides behind my neck, and his lips are on mine before I have time to turn away.
It’s firm and soft at the same time. No tongue.
Just the heat of his mouth on mine for a second too long, bordering on inappropriate.
I grip his lapels, steadying myself when my legs go weak.
He nips at my bottom lip with a grin. Then gives me a peck on the mouth.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“There was a guy who was staring at you. Wanted to make sure he knew you were taken.”
I shake my head softly, something like pride filling my chest. “You’re ridiculous. It’s not like I’m interested in anyone here.”
“Hmm. That’s not true,” he says simply, amusement in his eyes.
Cocky bastard.
And God, it’s such a turn on.
“Oh, really? You think you know what’s going on in my mind?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Babe, I can read you like an open book.”
“Yeah? Then what am I thinking right now?”
He pulls me in close, mouth at my ear, palm flat against my spine, fingers dangerously low. “You’re thinking about the other night. My hands on your skin. How you want them to slide into that dress and touch you. Make you feel everything you’ve been denying yourself.”
All the blood rushes to the center of my legs.
“Matt.”
A British accent cuts in, and Matt turns to meet him, leaving me standing there speechless. Matt introduces me, but it all blurs together. This is my wife. This is Joel. A friend of Leo’s. A capital partner.
The room spins. I can’t focus on any one spot—only the pulsing between my thighs, growing louder every passing second. “Will you excuse me?” I blurt, interrupting their conversation.
They turn to me, and I pull my shit together. “I’m sorry, I need to use the ladies room. I’ll be right back.”
I weave through the crowd, but I don’t go to the restroom. I go straight to the bar because I can’t fucking breathe.
This built-up tension, this longing, this desire, whatever I’m going to call it, it’s making me feel insane. The pressure all piling up at once.
I need a solution.
And the solution is Matt.
All of Matt. I need him. On top of me. Beneath me. Inside me.
I need a release.
The only way I’m going to get that is if I can just stop thinking. Stop being so damn careful all the time.
There’s only one way to do that.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, his accent thick.
I glance back at Matt, his eyes locked on mine, watching me like a hawk.
I turn back to the bartender.
“Whiskey.”