Playful Misconduct
Poppy
There he is, Jaxson Stade, in his dark sexy suit, with his dark hair, that sexy smile, and those hard Italian leather shoes that make me want to get on my knees and kiss them, and then kisshisknees, and then work his pants open and kiss far sexier, hairier, harder things. Disgusting. I know. But that’s just how my brain operates around the god of Stade Steel. No matter how angry or affronted by him I may be—and I am both mind you, I can’t seem to shut off the hormone show that continues to rage within me. It’s a shitty deal, in a shitty situation, and one I’ll have to shelf because he’s coming at me with that wicked grin as if nothing had gone haywire between the two of us ever. He’s a damn good actor. I’ll give him that.
“You look delicious.” His brows tweak when he says it as he pulls me into a deep, strong hug. His fingers press tight over my back as if speaking to me in their own language. “And, Charlene—you beam on this, the almost-day of your birth. Happy birthday.” He offers her a hug as well.
I doubt he’s inflicting the keyboard hug upon her, trying to give her a code to decipher. If it’s not one mind game between the two of us, it’s another. I wouldn’t have pegged that weird silent period we endured for so long as a mind game, per se, but all of this chemistry we seem to have—albeit I might be wrong and this could be entirely one-sided—but I’m officially categorizing everything that’s ever gone down between us as one serious mindfuck.
Mom pulls us both in, connecting us at the elbows as if expecting us to click into place like Lego pieces. “Would you look at that? Jax, with you in that handsome suit and, Poppy, in that white dress? You look like you’re ready to walk down the aisle right this minute!” She clasps her hands over her mouth, and tears spontaneously bloom in her eyes. “I’ll need a drink to settle me.”
Wait a hot toddy minute. Mom is the one who suggested I wear white this evening. The thought occurs to me that Jax and I might be walking into what amounts to an ambush wedding. It wouldn’t at all surprise me to be bested by the best pranksters just this side of the Mississippi.
“I’d better go mingle with my guests.” She nods toward Jax as if he were royalty before ditching us for far more geriatric pastures.
“Delicious?” I huff as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Really, Jax? Had lunch yet?”
A devilish grin takes over his far-too-comely-to-ever-be-safe-for-my-vagina face, and I want to cry. But I don’t. In typical Poppy Montgomery fashion, I get even angrier to the point steam is literally seething from my nostrils. Most likely it’s due to the fact we’re still dealing with subarctic temperatures, but I’ll go with it because it totally fits the scenario.
“Yes, delicious.” He gives me the once-over with those blue topaz eyes. As an aside, I really don’t think it’s fair that he’s been gifted that face,andthose eyes,andthat body. He should be flagged by the military as a weapon of atomic vaginal warfare, not to mention the fact you can practically hear ovaries exploding like popcorn as we pass the girls in the crowd. “You look beautiful, Eight Ball.” His arms swivel around my waist as we make our way in.
It’s safe to say that the Stade residence has officially been transformed into a chalet. It’s probably a godsend that Jax isn’t really interested in me because what on earth’s sake would I do with all those billions? I mean, they would be mine by proxy, and I’ve been known to squander a dollar or two or twenty thousand. And because the wordnojust isn’t in my vocabulary, our children would undoubtedly grow up to be selfish brats. You know the ones with the social media accounts that document their lavish lifestyle. They’d lunch in Milan, have dinner in Spain. They’d order ridiculous things at exotic restaurants like water culled from some underground arctic cave, eat pasta from gold covered cheese wheels, and pay more for those two indulgences than the price tag of my entire college tuition.
I glance to Jax and bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from losing it. Jax isn’t like that at all. I seriously doubt his children would grow up to be assholes, despite the fact they could totally guzzle arctic well water whenever the mood should strike.
He leans in, and his lips tease my earlobe. “We should really hit a crescendo with this. Don’t you think?”
“Oh, right.” I glance up ahead where Mom and Deb eyeball us while speaking to a legion of their friends. God, I can’t believe we’re going to take them down so brutally. Never mind fearing the fact I might one day raise assholes. Iamone.
A string quartet plays softly to the side, and I wrap my arms around Jax and begin swaying to the music.
“Dance?” He offers a charitable smile and holds my right hand out, dipping me slightly, thus evoking a light applause from the senior sector. “Good call,” he whispers through the side of his mouth like a ventriloquist.
“I’d like to think I usually make them.” Not to be egotistical, but seeing that I don’t have an arrest record sort of backs me up on this.
“What about with me?” Jax softens as his gaze presses into mine. “Am I a good call?”
I open my mouth to say something, and Mack comes over looking impressed as hell by our two-step act of devotion.
“Boy”—she rattles her hand in our faces as if to insinuate these are some hot and heavy maneuvers we’re doling out—“the two of you really know how to preach it. You’re practically shoutingwatch and learnto all the old fogies running around with a stiff drink in their hands.”
“We do aim to please.” I land my head over Jaxson’s chest as we slow to a crawl.
“Don’t let me stop you.” She flicks a finger our way, beckoning us on. “Remember—the real show starts as soon as they cut the cake.” She squints over at the birthday girls and makes a face. “I cannot wait to pull the rug out from under those gals!” She takes off toward the open bar, and I’m starting to wonder if we should do the same. On second thought, it’s most likely a bad idea to add liquor to this toxic anger that’s fueling me. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so incensed. Jax is basically keeping his end of the bargain. I just so happened to be stupid enough to sleep with him in the meantime.
“You’re too quiet.” He smacks his lips as if this were a national offense.
“I’m contemplating.”
“Don’t contemplate. It’s a scary look on you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jax grimaces as he pulls me in close. He’s wearing his cologne a little thicker tonight, and for some reason, this pisses me off even more. Everyone knows a sexy man bathed in spiced cologne is a lethal combination.
“It means, you’re going to cause a scene if you don’t laugh or kiss me soon enough.”
“Ha!” I bark right in his face before landing a wet one over his lips.
