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My attempt to lighten the conversation obviously doesn’t work, and it makes the frown on his face sharper. More like a scowl that looks so wrong on him because Jordan’s too nice. “I’m not joking.”
“I just need a few more days to get my head straight.”
“What? A few more days to stare at that newspaper and obsess over a guy that doesn’t deserve you?”
“You don’t know him. You don’t—”
“Here’s what I know, Georgie. He’s a spoilt rich brat that thinks he can do what he wants and treat you any old fucking way because his family name entitles him to have a high opinion of himself.”
“That’s not—”
“No?” Jordan stands to his feet and comes to a pause beside me, waiting for my reply. One that I can’t formulate after his cutting remark…
Because it’s true. It’s true for every man in my life. My father, my brother…Christopher…
They’re all entitled, even if they graft and make unimaginable sacrifices. It’s who they are. It’s their world. Something that an outsider will never understand.
So why do I understand it? Why can I see past the pomp and circumstance…past the arrogance of it all?
“Look,” Jordan breathes, taking my hand as he gently pulls me to my feet. “Look at me, Georgina.”
The urgency in his words has me doing as he bid me. Warm eyes flit between mine as a hand cups the side of my face. Although my chest squeezes tight in protest at the loaded touch, my feet refuse to move when I divert my stare from his, down to the vanity where the folded newspaper glares up at me, mocking my guilt for allowing his warmth to spread through me. It’s comforting, different to all the other times we’ve touched and that he’s held me.
“I’ve watched him come and go, and every time he steals a little more of your sparkle. He’s a fucking dickhead, George. He throws you a bone and then rips it away…”
A thumb slowly strokes over my lip, and as good as I keep wanting it to feel, it never does. It’s warm and nice. Comforting. But that’s it. There’s nothing more. No fire. No devastating need that tears me apart, yearning for more, to be devoured and marked. There’s no lust for pain or greed to feel his hurt as his eyes fix on mine and he lowers, closing the space between us with deep, ragged breaths that make my guilt needle over my skin with the need to put a stop to his intentions. They’re as clear as day as his other hand cups the opposite side of my face, gentle and soft. Jordan touches me like I’m a delicate flower, easily breakable and too precious to scuff or damage.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first time they made you dance with me at the academy.” His murmur ghosts over my lips as he steps closer, his body flush to mine. And God, he’s strong. His body is hard with well-worked muscle. Still, the rest of him is the complete opposite.
“Jord—”
“I still want to kiss you now.”
Shaking my head, I grasp his wrists as I tip my head down to block his access to my lips.
“Don’t, Jordan, please.”
“I’m going to get the Bolshoi job, and we won’t dance together again for a long time. Especially if you take the New York opportunity.”
“I know.”
“So why not?”
Pulling away from him, I take a deep, shaky breath. “Because I won’t kiss you back.”
Disappointment and devastation blanch his flushed face as he levels me with half-lidded eyes that make me take another step back.
“You know how people say that when it rains, it pours?”
Jordan blinks his acknowledgement, full lips pursing to a beak as he stands taller with his hands crossed over his chest.
“It’s fucking pouring right now, and I need my friend.”
My heart picks this precise moment to fall apart. All the pieces that I’ve been trying to hold together around all my feelings and emotions combust, allowing them to run rampantly through me. The tears that were stinging my eyes bleed to the surface before sluicing down my cheeks, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them because his comfort and warmth makes him a safe place even though his actions and intentions are the trigger for my guilt-ridden meltdown.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he closes the space between us, wrapping his arms tightly around me as mine are wrapped around my chest.
“I’m sorry, Jordan. But—”
