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“Why?”
I give up the ghost.For fuck’s sake.“She thinks this is a hotel.”
An eruption of laughter bursts out of him. It’s so sharp, so powerful, he’s forced to bend and brace his hands on his knees.Fucker.I’m glad he’s finding this funny. Although, I admit begrudgingly, it’s oddly satisfying to hear and see John laugh. No one else sees this rare side of him, only me. The man’s my rock. And I need him now. Begging isn’t beneath me, not on this occasion, yet whenever have I had to beg for anything in my life?
Except for forgiveness.
Except for mercy.
Except for peace.
“You done?’ I ask, irritated, going back to my chair. I settle and look across to the drinks cabinet. It’s still loaded with alcohol. Why hasn’t Sarah done what I asked her to do? I want it gone.
John’s quiet now, and I look up to find he’s also looking at the drinks cabinet. “And once I’ve assisted in helping Miss O’Shea measure whatever it is she needs to measure, I dowhatwith her?” he asks. “Escort her back to her car?”
“Not exactly,” I murmur quietly, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. He tilts his head, making the light hit his bald head and bounce off. “You then escort her to my private suite.”
“What?”
“Tell her to have a look around. Get a feel for the place.”
“And where will you be?”
“Waiting for her.”
“Hell, no.” The door is yanked open and he’s gone, slamming it behind him with brute force. The whole fucking office shakes, and I drop my head back, looking at the ceiling in despair.
See? Stupid idea, Ward. Fucking stupid.But it’s all I can think of to remind her. To show her. I’m about to go after John, not prepared to give up—he is quite literally my only hope—but he bursts back in again, slamming the dooragain. The office shakes.Again.
“Of all the stupid motherfucking shit you do, Jesse, this takes the cake.” He throws his arms out. “Trapping the girl? What kind of fucked-up shit is that?”
If only he knew what I’d been up to so far. I remain mute, completely defenseless, as he rants on.
“If you’re that obsessed about fucking your interior designer, take her to fucking dinner.”
“John,” I say on a sigh. “The closest I’ve come to taking a woman to dinner is when I wanted to screw the captain of the school hockey team and gave her a piece of my fucking chewing gum. You know I don’t do dinner. Besides, she’d only refuse.”
“Maybe because she’s not attracted to you, you dumb motherfucker.”
I balk at him, and he rubs at the wrinkles on his forehead. The cheeky bastard. Every woman is attracted to me. “She most certainly is, and not evenyoucan argue that. You were here. In this office when she showed up.” He stood there, observing, watching. He probably even had to duck out of the way of the sparks that were flying. I’m taking drastic measures, but it’ll be worth it. I know it’ll be worth it.
“What is it about her?” he asks out of the blue.
I pull up, startled by his question. “Apart from not being able to get her out of my head?” I hit my temple with the ball of my hand a few times, demonstrating, like I’m trying to physically knock her out.
“Yes, apart from that,” he says, reconciling himself to taking a chair opposite my desk and settling in.
I try to locate the words I need, but I’m struggling to find a way to explain. Plus, I’m a little shell-shocked by the whole situation myself, still trying to navigate exactly what the fuck is going on with me at the moment, so I really don’t have much hope of enlightening John. But I must try. I sigh. “On Friday, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I felt my heart beating, John.” He recoils, and I laugh lightly. Yes. It was weird as fuck. “There was the initial attraction, of course, but after that, I found my mind focused on one thing, and it wasn’t alcohol. It was her. She set something off inside, and I’m fucked if I know what to do with it.”
“Maybe don’t corner her in your private suite in your exclusive sex club. And perhaps, maybe, tell her it’s a motherfucking sex club.”
Tell her? Is he mad? If Ava O’Shea is deflecting me now, she’d run for the hills if she knew what this place is. Not an option. “I’m not trapping her. I’m making her see.”
“See what?”
“I don’t know,” I grate, my hands going into my hair. “All I know is she makes me feel good and, like the drink, it’s becoming a bit addictive.”
“Becoming?”
