Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
JAXON/JAX
Then
The Classy Button-Down Claim & The Caution She Arms Me With
Breakfast should feel mundane, but there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye.
Iend the call and start down the hall toward her. Livianna’s standing in the middle of my kitchen, draped in my shirt like it belongs to her.
A crisp blue cotton button-down hanging from her tiny frame hides the marks I left on her, and it’s enough to get my heart racing...again. The sight of her is enough to awaken every possessive instinct I own.
Her eyes drag up my body, slow and assessing, like she’s weighing whether she wants to keep looking at me or bolt.
“That was a long conversation.” She shrugs and hooks me with that unblinking stare. There’s curiosity in it. Suspicion too.
“You seem to have found your way around well without me.” I offer a suggestive smile and cross the space between us, unhurried, every stride intentional.
Her attention doesn’t waver and neither does mine. The air tightens between us. Her in my button-down, moving through my kitchen like she’s planning something far more dangerous than breakfast.
“Coffee?” I point toward the pot. “Or we can have espresso. Your choice.”
“Whatever you prefer is fine with me.” Her grin sharpens. It’s the kind that hides a dare. She pivots toward the pantry, bare legs whispering against each other with each step. “But I’m taking care of breakfast.”
What is she up to?
My brow lifts, but my eyes stay locked on her. “Is that so?”
She opens the pantry door and disappears inside. “Are you going to tell me who was important enough to interrupt us this morning?”
She’s fishing, waiting to see if I’ll take the bait.
“I was talking with a friend, Livianna.” I let the words hang there, casual enough to pass, definitive enough to remind her not every door in my life is open to her.
“You keep your contacts close enough to cut into your Sunday?” She peeks out at me.
I step closer until she has to tip her head back to keep my gaze.
“Some things aren’t up for discussion.” I hold her stare. “You’ll learn which ones.”
“That’s fine, Jax. I wasn’t trying to pry.” She inches back. “I was merely thinking it must have been someone important since you stopped everything to take the call. Considering what we were about to do, I just thought…”
Her dad’s words whisper in my ear. “Livianna doesn’t give up when she wants something, so be careful when dealing with her.”
Sure, he was talking about me mentoring her, but I know this wicked little firecracker. And she’s digging for information. She’s not going to get it.
I give Livianna a little more to keep the peace. “The person I was talking to is someone I’ve known for a long time. So yes, it was important.”
There’s a moment of tension between us so thick it’s almost impenetrable. Both of us are holding our ground.
Typically, this kind of behavior would have me rethinking whether I should be involved with a woman. I don’t tolerate partners who challenge me like this, but I knew Livianna would be different. She’s always known how to get under my skin.
That’s why I have such a strong desire to defuse her. I need to regain my sense of control when I’m around her, but so far I’m failing miserably.
She breaks the silence and nods. “Okay then. It’s settled, so we can end the discussion. Besides, we still have plenty of time to finish what we started in the bedroom after I cook you an amazing meal.”
“I like the sound of that.” I glance at the shelves, thankful she didn’t push me too far. “What ingredients do you need and I’ll help you find them?”
“I can handle finding everything.” She steps deeper into the space, scanning the area like she owns the place. “You can just stand there looking handsome.”
My jaw ticks. She’s trying to get a reaction and I’m fighting the urge to give her exactly what she wants.
“You’re bold this morning.”
“Am I?” She emerges with a box of pancake mix and a bag of chocolate chips.
I study her. “You are.”
“How so?” Her hip brushes me as she passes.
That was intentional.
She sets the items on the counter, every movement suggestive, like she’s performing just for me.
“Correction…” My gaze drops to the hem of my shirt swaying against her thighs. “You’re wearing my clothes in my kitchen and making me breakfast. That’s not bold, that’s dangerous.”
She peeks over her shoulder, her gaze meeting mine, lips curving like she’s already won something. “Then maybe you should stop me.”
Every part of me wants to close the distance, pin her against the counter, and remind her who she’s dealing with. But if I do, she’ll know how much power she already has.
Instead, I lean back against the island and watch her get eggs out of the refrigerator. “I’m not in the habit of stopping things I enjoy.”
Her smile widens in satisfaction.
And that’s the problem.
Because the longer I let her move around my space as if she belongs here, the more I wonder if she actually does.
“Mr. Crowne, is everything okay?” Natalie’s polite concern cuts through my distraction.
We’re in a conference room across the hall from the office where Livianna is working. She’s got a dressmaker’s dummy she’s pinning different materials and designs to. And I can’t keep my eyes off her.
“Yes.” I glance at Natalie and focus on the list of items we’re supposed to be discussing. “Please, continue.”
“Of course.” She focuses on the task at hand while I pretend to be paying attention.
The worst part about wanting Livianna is how easy it is to forget I should be working. I peek at her again.
She analyzes something on a sketchpad, lips pursed in concentration, and hair spilling over one shoulder in a way that makes me remember exactly how it felt tangled in my fingers.
Days have passed since our date that stretched into late Sunday evening, and visions of that weekend play on repeat in my head.
My shirt on her. Her bare legs under my clothes. Her voice teasing about breakfast while I fought the urge to drag her back to bed.
Again, I failed and spent all afternoon on Sunday ravishing her until she could barely keep her eyes open. I can’t get enough of her.
And as I stare at her right now, she never glances my way, but I swear she feels my gaze. Every line of her body radiates a quiet confidence like she knows I’m watching and doesn’t care.
The pen in my hand stills. My grip tightens. I can almost smell the faint trace of her perfume from here.
She stops what she’s doing and picks up her phone. Her smile beams as soon as she knows who’s speaking on the other side of the line.
My jaw twitches because whatever that person said has her glowing like the weekend never happened. And I can’t have that.
“Excuse me, Natalie.” I stand and motion to the door. “We’ll need to reconvene. I just remembered I told Livianna I’d help her today. She’s in the other room and is accessible, so I’d like to see if I can meet with her.”
“Yes, Mr. Crowne.” Natalie gathers her belongings from the table and peers at me. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You seem distracted.” She laughs in a light and airy way. “And you’re not one to explain why you do anything to me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I’m not following.” My throat closes.
Fuck.
I must be letting my emotions show.
She turns away to leave the room. “You just went into explicit details on why you wanted to end our meeting. That’s never happened.”
“Hmm.” I say nothing more.
If I do, I’m bound to slip up.
She opens the door to the room. “Let me know when you’re ready to review the updates I’ve made.”
“Of course.” I slide my pen into my suit jacket and wait for Natalie to leave.
Once she’s gone, I take a breath and try to get my head on straight. I’m going to find out who’s on the phone with Livianna, making her as happy as she was when she was at my place.
My heartbeat is faster than I want, but I need to go to her right now. I stride out of the conference room and into the one where Livianna’s working.
She doesn’t notice me, so I close in on her. I come up behind her, casually place my hands on her hips, and peek down at her sketchbook.
She jerks slightly. “Hold on, Daddy. Jaxon just stepped in to check my designs.”
Oh, it’s just her dad. My pulse steadies, and I take a half step back.
She hits the mute button. “Give me another minute and we can go over my latest numbers.”
“Take your time.”
“Thanks.” She unmutes the call. “Sorry about that.”
As she continues talking with her father, I scan her drawings. She knows exactly what she’s doing. That much is obvious.
“I will.” She moves a piece of paper aside to show me another creation she had hidden beneath the other. “When will that be?”
I nod at the picture and let her conversation fade into the background.
I’ve flipped through hundreds of designs before. All with clean lines, clever tailoring, even a few that anchored multimillion-dollar campaigns for my alumni, but this one stops me.
Not because it’s beautiful. Beautiful is easy. This one is lethal.
The pencil work alone could seduce a boardroom. Midnight silk that looks like it would pour over skin instead of clinging to it.
The bodice is a contradiction of sharp structure and sinful exposure. A slit that isn’t for convenience—it’s a warning.
I trace the beadwork on the shoulder with my thumb, feeling the pull in my chest and twist in my gut I didn’t invite. Every line tells me what she’s creating.
How someone wearing it would own a room without asking for permission. How every man in it would think the outfit is for him and be wrong.
It’s a power play disguised as a dress, a declaration without words: I’m a fucking force to be reckoned with.
And then my mind betrays me. I visualize her in it—hair swept back, throat bare, and the fall of that skirt parting just enough to reveal the inside of her thigh.
The image is so sharp, so consuming, I have to grip the edge of the portfolio to ground myself.