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"You want to talk about it?" I ask him.
I don't have to explain what I'm asking. He knows.
"Nope," he says, his gaze drifting to the door. Pain flares in his eyes again, a well of grief bubbling up before he manages to school his expression again.
"You love her."
"Doesn't mean she feels the same."
"I'm not an expert here, but in my experience, women don't cry that hard over men they don't love," I murmur, pushing away from the wall. "She may be hurting, but she loves you too."
"Maybe. Maybe not." He sighs again, and then takes a step toward the stairwell. "I'm taking my ass home before I do any more damage tonight."
"You good to drive?" I follow him toward the stairs. As much as I want to go back inside, Gwen needs Jessa right now. I'd only be in the way. And if I know anything about women, it's that the last thing you want to be is a man at a we hate men party. Women are beautiful, majestic, terrifying little savages. And we love the hell out of them anyway.
"Yeah, I'm good."
The metal stairs vibrate beneath our feet, the rails rattling in protest of our combined weight. I can't wait until Jessa is out of this place. It's safe enough, but the complex is old and worn down, not at all the kind of palace she deserves.
Which reminds me….
"I'm moving to Nashville when your sister goes," I murmur to Cyrus as we cut across the parking lot toward our cars.
"Figured as much."
"You going to object to her living with me?"
"You planning on putting a ring on her finger?" he shoots right back at me.
"That's always been the plan."
"Then no," he says, heading toward his truck. "But you better make it soon. You plant your kid in her before she's married, they're going to be pulling you out of the river in pieces."
I watch him go, chuckling quietly. That went a hell of a lot better than I expected. Though, I don't doubt for a minute that he'd kill me if I got her pregnant before I married her. I guess it's a good thing I plan on putting my ring on her finger soon. Because the more I think about getting her pregnant, the more I want it. With her, I want it all and I don't want to wait.
We've had four years of that shit. We're not doing it anymore.
"Fucking hell," I growl, my dick turning to steel as Jessa saunters toward me across the hotel lobby, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Her little black dress has everyone turning to look at her. It hugs her curves like it was designed for them. Her tits are pushed up high, the creamy swells visible over the top of the dress. It dips between them, showing tantalizing peeks of her alabaster skin. Her hair hangs in glossy curls. Her makeup is dark and smoky.
She looks utterly fuckable.
I'm not the only one who thinks so. Every man in the vicinity is staring at her with lust in their eyes. I scowl at every single one of them, daring anyone to try to approach her. They'll be on their knees with my hand around their throats to silence their pleas for mercy.
"Hey," she whispers, almost shyly as she draws to a stop in front of me. With her heels on, she's at the perfect height for me to bend her over the front desk and fuck her from behind. I can't wait to feel her coming all over my cock while I'm breeding her.
I reach for her hand, using my grip on it to tug her forward. My free hand slides around her waist, pulling her flush up against me. I can tell by her little gasp that she feels my erection digging into her belly.
"You itchin' for a spanking, rabbit?" I growl against her ear.
"What? No. Why?"
"Because the bottom half of your dress is missing."
"Jax," she says with a soft laugh.
"Every man in this place is staring at you," I say, biting the shell of her ear. "You look too beautiful, baby."
Her body melts into mine, her breath growing choppy. I can't resist taking her mouth in a hard kiss. Fuck what anyone thinks. This little rabbit is all locked up. She's mine.
She whimpers wordlessly, clutching at the lapels of my suit jacket.
I keep the kiss brief, not wanting to embarrass her. I might not care what people think, but she does. That's all the reason I need to take care with her, make sure I don't do anything to cause her any embarrassment. Because, quite frankly, if anyone says anything sideways and hurts her feelings, I'll be flipping tables and causing a scene.
You can polish a turd all you want. It's still a turd. They may have put a suit on me and gave me carte blanche, but I'm still the same man I was seven months ago. And that man does not play well with others.
"Jaxon," someone says from behind me.
I know that deep timbre. It's unmistakable.
I reluctantly pull back, tucking Jessa close to my chest.
"Justice," I say, turning to face him.
He's grinning at me, amusement in his dark green eyes. Like me, Justice is big. He's in his early forties, rich as Crocus…and about as likely to play by the rules as I am. He owns a sizeable chunk of Wyoming and has scooped up a number of cattle ranches in Tennessee and Texas, too. His gaze runs over Jessa, curiosity sparking in his eyes. To his credit, he doesn't leer at her.
"Justice, this is my girl, Jessa. Jessa, this is Justice Foster," I say, quickly introducing them.
"We know each other," Jessa says, smiling at him. "He likes expensive whiskey and 80s rock. It's good to see you again."
"You too, sweetheart."
