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Well, that was interesting.
For the first time ever, a woman had shut me down.
Me.
Jason Cox.
The brain behind the Ghost app that facilitated all kinds of mischief, from discreet and untraceable communication, to helping the user up and disappear on anyone with the swipe of your thumb.
The man who had shut the metaphorical door on countless women who forgot that I didn’t do relationships.
I raked my fingers through my hair and narrowed my gaze, glancing back over my shoulder. I replayed the entire affair all over again. I glossed over unimportant details, like the sounds Scarlet made while I buried myself inside her. She had the mouth of a porn star, and it was about as sexually satisfying as whacking off staring at a computer screen. Don’t get me wrong, I could appreciate a vocal woman who threw in a cuss word or two while I was doing things to her body that made silence impossible, but like the silicone filled breasts and moans that were dialed up to ‘definitely faking it’, there was no authenticity.
She’d gotten off, because I was damn good. I’d felt her body twitch and grip me like her very life depended on it, but I’d barely broken a sweat. My climax had flitted away like a damn butterfly. I’d been thinking about how I should have gone for the bride’s quiet cousin instead, because then at least things would have been real. She would have slapped me across the face when I suggested a quickie in the bathroom downstairs.
Instead of enjoying the spontaneous delight of doing something so taboo with the clock ticking on my best friend’s march toward minivans and respectability, I’d been thinking about how there shouldn’t have been a march, or a bride, in the first place.
And then I heard a knock on the bathroom door, that gave me something else to focus on besides Scarlet’s monotonous pants. She was just loud enough that it was obvious that the bathroom wasn’t being used for its intended purpose.
Most people would have headed in the opposite direction, their faces warm with embarrassment, asking themselves a question they knew the answer to.
Were they...having sex?
But not her.
A smile dashed across my face as I remembered the look on our surprise voyeur’s face. The embarrassment was a fleeting, involuntary thing. Even I would have at least arched my brow, maybe made a joke to alleviate the awkwardness. But once I could get a good look at the woman after Scarlet’s dress vacated the premises, lust and curiosity had surged through me like I’d just thrown back a shot. She didn’t apologize or avert her gaze. Not at first, anyway. Those round, ivy colored eyes stroked every inch of my hard-on first, and I knew, without even touching her, that if I’d slipped my fingers inside her at that very moment, her body would have sighed around me. Drenched me to the bone with her wet anticipation.
The woman had covered her eyes when she realized she was staring and that I knew she was staring, but it was a delayed reaction. Like she was remembering that was what one was supposed to do in those kind of situations. But I’d already seen enough to know that she wasn’t like Scarlet.
She was like me.
Hungry for that intense, carnal connection that came when you stripped off the clothes and got down to business.
Before I forgot how our story abruptly ended and set off back to the bathroom to finish what those eyes of hers had started, I remembered that I’d committed a cardinal sin. Two, if we’re getting technical.
The first? Forgetting that at some point, the mystery woman and I had gotten very familiar. Familiar enough that she turned a single word, you, into the most lethal thing I’d ever heard.
The second? Calling her some other woman’s name.
Shayna. Or was it Shayla? I’d probably fucked the entire alphabet. Most of them blurred together in a kaleidoscope of lingerie and moans.
I cast a final, almost remorseful look over my shoulder. I had better game than that, but I was caught off guard by her brazenness. By that fierce, type A bun perched on top of her head, paired with a blouse and pants, making her stand out from all of the faceless dresses and gowns. It took balls to stand out from that crowd and the defiance in her intrigued me.
Unfortunately, I had to put my foot in my mouth by calling her some other broad’s name.
Amateur move, Cox, I chastised myself as I moved up the stairs, fixing my tie. I only remembered Scarlet’s name because she’d been introducing herself to me since the rehearsal dinner, even quizzing me to make sure I remembered. Making her intentions, to be the next notch in my bedpost, crystal clear.
When I hit the landing, the swell of music and the pull of the coming ceremony dragged me back to my duties like quicksand. I was half tempted to bound back down the stairs, wait for the chick I’d stupidly forgotten, and offer to whisk her away somewhere exotic for the weekend to make it up to her.
Jessie’s screech from the end of the hall put a swift end to my plans.
“Jason!” The key of her tone, somewhere between my mother and Mrs. Baxter, one of my babysitters growing up who made no secret of the fact that she hated children, set my teeth on edge.
I almost walked right past her, knowing that ignoring the great Jessie Stone would have really made her lose her shit, but I’d promised Scott that I’d show the woman a modicum of respect, for his sake.
I waited until she was within earshot and her staff had wisely ducked out of the line of fire before I answered her. “You know, Jess, usually when a woman screams my name, I’m at least getting some pleasure out of it.”
She was not amused, her dark brown eyes glowing like coals. “Considering the fact that Scarlet just made her reappearance a few moments ago with her skirt all over the place, reeking of sex, and you’re still rocking a woody, I think you are good in the pleasure department.”
