Page 32 of True Abandon

I gasp at the proximity.

The buttons of his shirt are level with my eyes. The fire of the dragon peeks out the top of his collar. From his strong legs encasing me, and the well-defined upper half of a man who clearly treats his body like a piece of art, paired with the intoxicating smell of warm honey radiating off his skin, I am trapped by the power of a man who is holding me still yet not one single part of his body is touching me. Not one, tiny inch.

I look up and am a breath away from lips whose kisses are still ones I dream about. I dare myself not to, but I find myself looking further up, and my heart stops at the look he’s giving me—the heated one of a man who is fixated on the one thing he wants. The determined, yet yearning gaze of someone who has been deprived for years. The look of someone who is staring at what he needs.

My body ignites.

From the tips of my fingers to the swell of my chest, right down to the simmering of my core reacting to having this hard, powerful body so close. It’s a feeling so intense, do direly missed—and so very, very dangerous.

I tilt my head to the side causing Jax to lean in and whisper into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

“There once was a time you looked at me like I was your savior. Now your eyes scream in disgust. Where you once melted, now you flinch beneath me. I did that to you, and it kills me.”

He pushes off the wall and stalks back to the middle of the room, his chest heaving. I was so concerned about my physical reaction, I didn’t even notice he was having one of his own.

“I’m not the monster you think I am.” It takes me a moment to process the words. I must take too long to respond because he adds, “Tomorrow is a new day.” Jax walks into the master bedroom suite closing the door behind him.

Part of me wants to follow him, knock on the door and yell at him to finish what he started. The other part wants to run away and hop on the next flight back to New York.

I don’t do either.

Instead, I stand here, confused and frightened as hell.

Confused because I still don’t fully comprehend what Jackson Davis is doing here, back in my life.

And frightened because, despite the past, I can’t help the way he makes me feel in the present.

…

“Trish, is that you?” Kelli’s voice calls out from her bedroom.

“Yeah. It’s me.” I close the front door of our condo and drop my bag on the ground. I pad over to the kitchen and open the refrigerator.

“I thought you were going to Duke’s?”

I reach for a bottle of water and open it against the bottle opener that’s nailed to the wall. “Wasn’t in the mood.” I’m taking a long swig when I hear a thump and then muffled voices. I lean toward her room to get a better listen. “Do you have company?”

Her door swings open. “Hi.”

She hops out. Her hair is a disheveled mess and the hem of her shirt is barely covering her boy-short panties.

I look over her shoulder towards the room. “Who’s inside?”

“A tourist. He was my three o’clock cut and style.”

With a slam of my bottle the counter, I hiss at her, “What did I tell you about sleeping with your clients?”

She grabs my drink off the counter, takes a giant gulp, and wipes her mouth with her forearm. “It’s only frowned upon if it’s on hotel property. What I do in my home is my business.”

I take the bottle from her hands. “You don’t know anything about him. He could be a predator or a thief.”

“And you could be a tad bit overdramatic. What’s with you anyway?” She waves a hand at me. “You’re extra, you know, you today.”

I fall back against the Formica countertop. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Kelli stares at me, her eyes squinting with an air of judgment.

I shrug my shoulders and say, “My clients this morning didn’t tip.” There’s no one reason why I’m not telling her about Jax. It just isn’t something I want to talk about right now.