I shouldn’t be turned on in this moment, the man Jett just punched in the face is hunched over, holding the side of his face with his meaty hand. But an all-consuming sensationtakes my attention away from the scene, and I’m unable to focus on anything besides how the feeling ripples downward, through my core, settling as a heavy warmth between my thighs.
Heat flushes my neck, my cheeks, and licks up my back. And now I swear, everyone in the room has their eyes trained on me. Waiting to see how I’ll react. But I can’t do anything, because I’m so turned on by this side of Jett, and I’ve never felt like this before.
This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t what I was briefed on. I was supposed to play the role of an ecstatic new fiancée. Now, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Before anyone has a chance to look too closely at my reaction—or God forbid, take any pictures—I’ve turned on my heel and am high tailing it to the washroom.
I burst inside, startling the woman who works in here handing out towels and other essential toiletry items from a small rolling cart.
“Don’t mind me,” I tell her.
She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with her mouth in a subtleOshape.
I walk over to the sink and turn the brushed brass knob for cold water. The lighting in the bathroom is dim, and the sudden quiet as the door shuts behind me allows me to collect myself and reset.
I can’t splash water on my face, Brooke has me in too much makeup for that. Instead, I let it run over the insides of my wrists. The cold water brings the temperature of my skin down, slowly putting out the fire raging in my body.
Leaning on the cool, polished marble countertop, I take a few slow deep breaths. The bathroom concierge hands me arolled up towel with a pair of what look like salad tongs, and I flash her a look of gratitude.
Wiping my hands on the plush white towel, I turn back toward the mirror, and as I do, I hear the door open again.
A deep voice that seems out of place for the ladies’ room rumbles through me. “Can you give us a minute?”
When I look up my eyes land on Jett’s, midnight black, in the mirror, behind me.
“Make sure no one comes in here,” he tells the woman, taking out his wallet and handing her a folded bill.
She nods and then leaves us alone in the restroom.
I don’t move as Jett pushes open each stall door to ensure that we’re alone. But when he comes to stand behind me at the counter, I turn to face him, leaning my back against it.
“Are you okay?” A line of concern forms between Jett’s brow, his breathing is still heavy, laboured. As if he ran a marathon to get to the bathroom.
To get to me.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’m fine.”
It’s true, I am now. I have my head screwed on right again and have shoved the thought of being attracted to Jett somewhere deep down where I can’t reach it. The cold water brought me back to reality, and the plan we have in place. The fact that outside of this situation, Jett and I would never work.
Even this restaurant, I never would have chosen for my engagement. I always envisioned an intimate, private moment with the man I was going to marry.
“You ran off like you’re not,” Jett takes a step closer to me.
At this proximity, his woodsy cologne fills my nose. That pesky little spark flickers to life again, low in my belly.
“It’s okay if you aren’t. That guy’s a piece of shit.”
How do I tell him my running off had nothing to do with the waiter, and everything to do with the way he stood up for me? The words that came out of his mouth like they meant something.
Future wife.
“You just… socked him in the face,” I say, wrapping my mind around what just happened.
“He deserved it,” is the only explanation Jett offers, as if it’s the only truth he’s sure of.
“You did it for me.” Short, stilted sentences are all I can manage as I process.
Jett’s eyes flicker down to my mouth and linger there for a split second before they snap back up to meet my gaze. “You deserved that, too.”
