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She speaks again, “I almost didn’t come to the club. I know you asked me to, and I wanted to do what you asked, but parting from that bed was so hard. I’m going to sleep like the dead tonight, even though I’m afraid to sleep in your place.”
My interest is piqued. “Why are you afraid?”
The doors roll open and she blinks at them as though just realizing where she is. She doesn’t answer and I follow her into the hall, guiding her to my door and pushing the key inside. She follows me, already working on pulling off her boots. She stumbles, and I catch her with my hands on her hips. I can’t lie and say this position with her in front of me, bent over like this, my hands on her hips and her full round ass on perfect display in her tight jeans—that I’m notthinking of what her ass might look like out of her jeans. I feel the vision of that in my dick.
She shimmies out of my hold, bracing against the wall as she kicks off her boots. Her cheeks are flushed. “Sorry.”
I don’t give her a reply, but she doesn’t seem to care as she stumbles into my condo. Standing in the living room, she does a slow spin. “I can’t believe you live in a place like this. It’s so pretty.”
With the exposed brick wall, the knotted wood floor and the high ceilings, I wouldn’t say it’s pretty. Of all the places I’d looked at, this is the only one I felt at home in. The only place with personality. With soul. I’m not the kind of guy who likes sleek, empty spaces. Black and white high-gloss voids aren’t my thing.
She points to the stairs on the far side of the living room. “Is your bedroom up there?”
“No. That’s next door to yours.” My words bring the red back to her cheeks.What are you thinking, Kitten?
“What’s up there?”
I give her a look. She shifts under my scrutiny. “I’ll show you; you think you can manage the stairs.”
She lifts her chin in cute indignance. “Why couldn’t I manage the stairs?”
I almost laugh, but don’t. Instead, I swing my hand in the direction of the stairs. “After you.”
With a cautious glance over a shoulder at me, shemoves that way. The girl slips on the first damn step, catching herself with the railing. She mumbles crossly, “That one came out of nowhere.”
“Just appeared,” I reply dryly.
She lets out a tiny squeak when three steps later, she does the same thing. I don’t even think about it as I scoop her into my arms bridal style, taking the remaining stairs fast and without complication. Her breath catches in her chest and her arms move fast to loop around my neck as she breathes my name in a way I really like, and really shouldn’t.
I don’t set her down like I should when we get to the top. I just let her take it in.
The space over the living area downstairs is high, the ceiling open. The second floor of my penthouse condo has a wide, open gym to the far right, and closer to the glass wall and double patio doors that lead to the patio is a bar and lounge area. Outside the patio door is a large rooftop lounge area, pool, and hot tub. A table sits under a gazebo next to a built-in bar and barbeque area.
When I saw this condo, I’d liked the brick wall and the warm wood tones. But I’d fallen for this outdoor space.
Her body goes slack in my arms a moment before she starts to wiggle herself free. “Cash.” She breathes my name again. “This is—this is crazy.” Her hand darts in the direction of the doors. “You have a pool. Ahot tub. You have—” Her head swings back to me and she squints. “Who are you?”
Originally from L.A. Only son of two famous movie producers and the grandson of the owner of Jagger Productions who married the heiress to Aroura Diamonds. Saying my family has money is like saying snow is white. It’s just fact. Plain and simple.
I don’t give her any of that. Just say simply, “I’m Cash Jagger.”
She blinks wide eyes at me before she turns back to the patio, muttering, “Your band must be doing really good. That, or you’re in debt big time.”
It’s charming how she doesn’t know about me. How she doesn’t know about my family. Most chicks I fuck around with are turned on by the tortured musician, but they want to be taken care of by the guy with the family worth billions.
Who I am is no secret. Most of the women in my company know. The fact she doesn’t speaks volumes.
I wonder how long it’ll take her to figure it all out. Wonder how long I have with this Wrenlee before she changes.
She takes a step toward the doors, then stops to glance shyly at me. “Can I?”
“This is your home now, too. Do what you like.”
Her face flames and she dips it before she turns and moves slowly to the doors. I watch her, hands shoved in my pockets. I think my little game of showand stun has sobered her just a bit, because she doesn’t fumble with the lock or stumble as she strolls in awe around the patio. Moving forward, I flip the switch that lets the patio glow with little iridescent bulbs that hang over the space, giving it that magical quality girls get giddy for.
Wrenlee isn’t unlike the rest as she tips her head back to gaze at the lights, mystified. Where she differs is in what happens next. Most girls get seductive now. They want to fuck on the patio below the lights, they want the chance to sink their claws deep, let their poison run loose. I always take the offer, then I toss them out on their asses, the lustre of what they could have been lost.
I hate being wanted for the shit I possess. I despise being desired for the money in my bank account, the name I carry. But the thing I won’t admit to anyone, hardly even admitting to myself, is that it fucking hurts when the woman I want isn’t interested in knowingme, because all she wants, all she cares about, is what I can give her.
