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“There you are,” she greets. “I need to run to chat with a client, but I have a surprise for you.” She squeezes my arm. “I’ll find you in a few minutes.” She steps away from me and unease rolls through me, a foreboding sensation that might be me working myself up over the journal. Or maybe it’s the journal making me aware of just how good this woman does bad.
My heart is racing and I yank my coat tighter around me, hurrying down the steps. A waiter passes with glasses of champagne I’d passed on earlier. I accept one, down it, and offer him my glass, which I replace with a full glass. I then walk straight through the crowd and exit to the outdoor balcony, which the cold night has left empty, and the boat isn’t even moving. Good. I need the alone time when ironically, I’d hated being alone just this morning.
“Careful,” a familiar male voice says. “It might be a little too easy to take advantage of you out here.”
Jax steps to the railing beside me and when I look at him, when our eyes meet, I’m melting right here in the chilly night air. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“How disappointing,” he says, and we turn in unison, facing each other, each with an elbow on the railing. He’s close, so much closer than I’d realized, the scent of his musky, earthy cologne lifting in the ocean breeze, teasing my senses. Thoseintelligent blue eyes piercing. “Because if you didn’t expect me,” he adds, “then you must be inviting someone else to take advantage of you.”
“I’m not as easy to take advantage of as you might think.”
His lips quirk. “Is that an invitation for me to try?”
Chapter eight
Emma
“Do youwantto take advantage of me?” I ask.
His lips hint at a smile, his eyes warm. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”
“Yes,” I dare. “I do.”
“Then yes, I believe I do.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “But only if you’re a willing victim.”
“Hmmm,” I say. “I’m not sure I like that word victim.”
“Hmmm,” he replies. “Well then, I guess I’ll consider that a challenge.”
I smile. “Will you now?”
“Yes. I will. Are you going to run again?”
“I didn’t run.”
He arches a brow.
“I left. I live in town. I wanted to be in my own bed.”
“And not mine?”
“That’s very direct,” I say.
“You prefer I play games?”
“No,” I assure him. “I have enough people in my life that do that without adding another.”
“Since I don’t like games, we should get along well.” He reaches over and covers my hand where it holds my glass, our eyes colliding, holding, as he brings it to his lips. He pauses there, his eyes holding mine as he drinks the bubbling liquid, a message of intended intimacy in the action.
Heat pulls low in my belly and I can barely breathe. I feel him in all parts of me, in ways I do not expect.
“No North Whiskey?” he asks, his hands slowly sliding away from mine, leaving me aching for the next time he will touch me, certain that he will, anxious for that moment.
“We settle for what we can get,” I say.
“Never settle for anything but what you really want. What do you want, Emma?”
You, I think, but he already knows that. “For now, I’ll settle for you telling me what happened between you and Randall last night.”
