Chapter 16 #2
Once my mom told him he could never reach me because I was using a number he didn’t have, he was relentless in getting it.
Every time I called from my California phone, he would give me a hard time. I made him promise not to give the information to Callum, and he agreed.
Jaxon’s shoulders square. “Why does talking to your brother always seem to evoke a negative reaction in you?”
I can’t tell Jax about Callum. Not now. It’ll only cause problems, and I don’t want anything to mess up whatever this is that’s starting between Jax and me. It feels too…right even though it’s just starting and supposed to be about sex.
Who am I lying to? It became clear to me last night that I can’t keep my emotions out of this. I want more of Jaxon Crowne, so I pull a trick out of my acting hat.
“Jax, it’s nothing. Bren’s just an overprotective brother.” I slide my phone back into my purse. “Do you have any siblings?”
He pulls back in surprise. “Me? Wait. Don’t change the subject. What happened with your brother?”
“Like I said, he tries to pry into my business and I get defensive.” I crawl from the edge of the bed and over to Jax. “We should talk about your rules, seeing as I broke all of them last night. I was wondering how to rectify that issue.”
His hardened expression falters, and passion sets ablaze in his eyes. “Is that what you want? To fix how you misbehaved?”
“Yes,” I purr. “But not before I get a shower.”
I jump off the bed.
My blanket falls away, and I run toward the en suite. “I hope you have soap made for a girl.”
He’s right behind me and fast. His arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me flush against his bare, heated skin.
“You’re nothing but a woman, Livianna—a tempting little firecracker who blew me apart with the shock of her explosion.” His erection grows between us, and I’m wet in seconds.
“So what I hear you saying”—I push my hips into him to create more friction—“is you want more?”
“So much more.” His palms slide down my stomach, toward my thighs.
My heartbeat thumps harder, but then his phone rings. It’s a different tone, like he purposely has it set to that one to alert him who’s calling.
Please let him ignore it.
“Fuck.” He tenses. “Your lesson will have to wait. I’ve got to take that.”
He releases me and stalks off.
“Is it okay if I take a shower?” I point to the bathroom, my disappointment covering my words.
“Of course. I might be a while, so I won’t be able to join you.” He grabs some sweatpants and his phone, then hurries out of the room.
Hmmm. There’s a shift in his demeanor, like a shield slamming into place—and it isn’t subtle. Who’s on the other side of the line?
I leave the room questioning everything. We’re not in a relationship, so I don’t have the right to pry. Or do I?
He said there can’t be side partners, but maybe he only meant that I couldn’t have one. Maybe he still can.
My stomach knots at the thought. Why didn’t I ask him when he approached me about doing this…whatever it is we’re doing? What if this entire situation is unbalanced and I’m just out here thinking we’re exclusive when we’re not?
If I want more of Jaxon Crowne, I’d better give him something to crave. Something only I can give him, and I have just the plan.
Once I’m bathed and refreshed, I steal one of his crisp cotton shirts that hides the marks he left on me.
I have to admit, I like the little red love bites he planted on various parts of my body. I have to believe he left them on purpose.
His. I’m his now.
I mosey out to his kitchen. His place is a fortress.
The air beyond his bedroom is cooler, touched by the scent of leather and something soothing like rain cleansing the area. Daylight reveals what the night keeps in shadow, but it doesn’t soften the edges. It sharpens them.
Floor-to-ceiling glass pulls Paris into the room, the Seine curving in the distance like a ribbon tossed carelessly through the city.
The space is all him—ivory-colored marble tables, brushed steel, precision in every line—but there’s a quiet warmth threaded through it.
A cashmere throw is draped over the sofa as if it’s been waiting for him to come home and snuggle in it. A moss-green rug pooling in sunlight warms the floor where his bare feet might stand.
I drag my fingers along the smooth back of an armchair. The leather heats under my touch, and a memory of the press of his hand at my spine last night staggers through my mind. Goosebumps scatter over my skin.
I shake the thought loose and continue to take in every part of Jax’s private life. The glass balcony doors catch my reflection.
My hair is in a messy bun, his shirt swallows my frame, and I remember the exact way his mouth felt against mine. I can’t get past how much I loved being with him last night.
As I replay last night in my head, I carry on with my first act of making Jax all mine.
The kitchen is immaculate. Black marble veined in silver glints in the morning light, and a crystal decanter throws fractured light across the counter.
I can picture him here with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled. He has coffee in one hand and the weight of the world in the other, but he’s still in control.
And then it hits me—the low rumble of his conversation somewhere down the hall. Smooth and gentle, like he’s speaking with someone who means something to him.
It’s the same voice that had been breaking against my skin moments before it was pulled away to answer that call. I’m not jealous, exactly. It’s something worse.
It’s a reminder that no matter what last night felt like, I can be shut out just as fast as I was let in. I know exactly what it means to stand here.
This isn’t just where he lives; it’s where he exists without witnesses.
No other woman has roamed these floors, leaned against this counter, or crossed from his bed into this room. And still, the fear hums through me.
If I start to belong here, I’ll give him the power to break me when he decides I don’t.
The sound of his voice cuts off, and I wait for him to come and find me. I turn and there he is, barefoot, wearing only dark sweatpants that hang low enough to make my heartbeat trip over itself.
His dark hair is still mussed, like he ran a hand through it mid-call. His beard is short and tightly trimmed. Sunlight drapes across the dark patch of hair on his chest, trailing lower, and I have to force my gaze back up.
“That was a long conversation.” I raise my chin and hook my questing stare with his, hoping he’ll give me more than the surface.
“You seem to have found your way around well without me.” He tosses me a flirty smile, bypassing my comment, and continues toward me.
He doesn’t rush. He moves as if the air parts for him…because it does. Broad shoulders, deliberate strides, and an unsettling stillness in his eyes that makes me feel like he’s already inside my head.
I let him think he is because I already have my own plan. I came in here to start breakfast. Eggs, pancakes, and coffee. Something warm and intentional. It’s similar to the one we shared that past New Year’s Day.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I’m willing to put the saying to the test. If I want Jax, I’m going to get him one way or another.
And this is my first move in a game I don’t plan to forfeit. The remaining question is, will he?