Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Madeline
If someone had told me last month that I’d end the night in Jesse’s arms under a giant chandelier, I would’ve laughed myself unconscious.
But I can still feel the phantom press of his palm against the small of my back.
I still remember the way he’d looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
I replay the moment he leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek like he was about to kiss me.
The rest of the evening passed quickly in a blur of handshakes, polite smiles, more champagne, and my mother shooting daggers at me and Jesse from across the room.
But her glares and judgement didn’t seem to stick to me the way they normally do.
Because the whole time, Jesse stayed close.
Not hovering, just there. A steady, solid warmth at my back.
A subtle touch at my elbow. A quiet, “You okay?” when he thought no one else was listening.
And then the night was over.
The car ride back to the hotel promises to be its own kind of slow torture.
We slide into the back of the ride-share, both of us a little breathless, the air thick with whatever we’d been dancing around earlier.
My dress rustles when I sit, a soft whisper over my thighs, and Jesse’s knee brushes mine—accidentally at first, then not.
Neither of us say much. We don’t need to. I can feel him looking at me in the passing glow of city lights, but I refuse to look back, because if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to look away.
By the time the driver pulls up to the hotel awning, my pulse is a riot. Jesse steps out first, offering me his hand as if we’re still in that ballroom, still pretending we’re a couple. But the second my palm touches his, it all feels real again. It all feels dangerous.
We step into the lobby, and I can feel the weight of the night press down on me.
The champagne, the adrenaline, the small victories, and the tiny wounds my mother left me with.
My heels click softly against the polished marble as we walk toward the elevators, Jesse a step behind me.
I swear I can feel his eyes on me, watching the movement of my dress.
The tension hums quietly between us like a current.
The hotel is dimly lit, warm, and elegant. Late-night guests drift past us, their voices low, but the world feels narrowed to just the two of us. My heart taps against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
We stop at the elevator, and I press the button with a hand I hope isn’t visibly shaking.
Jesse shifts beside me, sliding his hands into his pockets—a move that somehow makes him look even broader.
Even more unfairly attractive. His jacket is slung over one arm, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves pushed to his forearms.
I swallow.
The silver doors glide open with a soft chime.
We step inside.
Just the two of us.
The doors begin to close and something in the air snaps tight, like a cord pulled too far.
He stands close. It’s not inappropriate, but it’s close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him. Close enough that the scent of his cologne—clean and woodsy—wraps around me.
The elevator hums as it begins to rise. Jesse clears his throat. I pretend not to notice. My pulse does the opposite. Then he shifts, turning slightly toward me.
“Mads…” he says quietly, and now the sound of that nickname on his lips makes my entire body react like he’s whispered something sinful.
I force myself to face forward, eyes trained on the glowing floor numbers. “Hmm?”
He lets out a low breath that I feel more than hear. “About earlier. On the dance floor…”
My heart stumbles. “What about earlier?”
“Don’t tell me that was nothing.”
Oh god. I grip the railing behind me, the metal cool under my palms. “Jesse…”
“I’m not asking for anything.” He steps a fraction closer, but it feels like a seismic shift. “I’m just…acknowledging it.”
The cord between us tightens.
And suddenly I’m not breathing.
I turn my head slowly toward him, and the look in his eyes is so warm with intent, completely unguarded that it knocks me off balance. Heat crawls up my throat. “Jesse…”
The elevator dings softly as it passes another floor. Neither of us looks away.
He moves first. Just his hand, lifting slightly, as if he’s deciding whether to reach for me or stop himself.
I can see the battle in his jaw. In the faint tension at the corner of his mouth and in the way his eyes drop to mine, then to my lips, then back again.
He shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t.
But God…we’re both thinking about it.
Jesse’s eyes drag slowly down my face like he’s memorizing it.
And then…something in him breaks. Or snaps. Or gives in. I can’t tell which. But God, I feel it.
He moves before I can think, before I can breathe, before I can even finish saying his name. One second, we’re standing a polite distance apart. The next, my back hits the wall as a soft gasp escapes from my lips, his hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face up to him.
“Jesse—”
I’m not able to get the rest out before his mouth crashes onto mine with a groan so deep it vibrates through me, stealing every coherent thought from my brain. His other hand slides into my hair, fingers weaving tight, tugging just enough to make my knees buckle.
Heat floods me everywhere. He’s pressed against me, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, every hard line of his body pinning me in place like he’s been dying to do it for weeks. And maybe he has. Maybe I have too, because I grab his shirt—fist it—and pull him closer, like I need him to breathe.
He kisses me like a man starved. His thumb strokes along my cheekbone, the touch shockingly tender compared to the urgency of his mouth.
His fingers grip the back of my neck, angling me exactly where he wants me, deepening the kiss until the world slides out of focus.
I feel his breath against my lips as he murmurs my name between kisses, like he’s addicted to the taste of it.
“Madeline… Madeline… Madeline…”
My hands slide up his chest, over warm, hard muscle, up to his shoulders. I cling to him, my legs threatening to give out. The elevator sways slightly as it climbs, or maybe that’s just me, drunk off him, dizzy from the force of Jesse Winters.
His hips press against mine, pinning me a little harder to the mirrored wall, and a quiet sound escapes me.
It sparks something dark in his eyes before he kisses me deeper.
Hotter. Hungrier. My back arches when his hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, thumb stroking the hollow just below my ear, sending a shiver straight through my stomach.
His lips trail down the corner of my mouth, then back up, teasing and claiming.
I’m gone.
Completely undone.
I don’t care that I shouldn’t want this.
I don’t care that he’s my boss, or that my mother is somewhere across town planning an intervention.
All I care about is his mouth on mine and the way my body fits perfectly against his, like we’ve done this a thousand times in every lifetime before this one.
“Jesse,” I whisper against his lips, breathless.
He pulls back a fraction—just enough for me to see the fire in his eyes, the wrecked, hungry way he’s looking at me like he absolutely cannot believe he finally touched me.
And then he leans in again, voice rough. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you walked into Cove.”
The elevator dings.
Neither of us moves.
He’s still pressed against me, and I’m still holding onto him. The air between us is molten…and the doors are about to open.
Jesse doesn’t move away from me when they do. Not even an inch. If anything, his grip on my waist tightens, his body still caged against mine, the heat of him sinking straight into my bones.
The doors are fully open now, and a couple stands waiting outside, staring.
I should be mortified. I should be scrambling away, smoothing my hair, pretending we weren’t just devouring each other.
But then Jesse mutters, low enough for only me to hear, “Not done.” A second later, he pulls me back in, mouth catching mine in another blistering kiss that steals every logical thought from my brain.
It’s rougher this time, deeper, like something in him has snapped and he’s done pretending he doesn’t want me.
I don’t even hear the couple shuffle away. All I hear is the sound Jesse makes when his hand slides into my hair—this helpless, low groan that shoots through me like lightning.
“Jesse…” I gasp when he finally lets me breathe.
His forehead drops to mine, breath uneven, eyes dark.
“Come on,” he rasps. “Before I do something I absolutely shouldn’t do in a public elevator.”
My laugh is breathless and shaky, because he already has.
We don’t talk as we walk down the hallway.
We don’t need to. Every few steps, his hand grazes my lower back, and I feel him looking at me.
When we reach the door, I fumble for the keycard until Jesse takes it gently from my hand.
He holds it up, but instead of swiping it, his body presses against my back, slow and deliberate.
His breath ghosts along my neck as he murmurs, “Tell me to stop.”
My fingers curl uselessly at my sides. “I won’t,” I whisper.
The sound he makes is nothing short of feral before he spins me gently so my back hits the door with a soft thud, and his mouth crashes onto mine again. The kiss is hot and urgent and when his hands slide to my hips and his tongue sweeps into my mouth to find mine, every muscle in my body softens.
Needing more of him, I run my hand to the back of his neck, dragging him closer, wanting him everywhere. His tongue brushes against mine, and I swear my knees nearly buckle.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against my mouth, “how much I’ve wanted this.”
Another kiss, harder this time. Another kiss, a little slower. His hands are everywhere—roaming over my waist, my ribs, tracing a searing path up my spine.