Once I’m inside my apartment, I follow my nightly routine.
Play with my dog.
Take a shower.
Collapse into bed.
And dream of Jax Monroe.
The café isn’t nearly as crowded as I expected it to be. Maybe I’ve miscalculated the time of the lunch crowd?
She’ll never agree to see me with only one other table occupied.
Not that she’s called.
Not that I expected her to.
But I’m holding out hope that she’ll show. I’ll look up, and there she’ll be, with her long hair and pretty eyes.
And she’ll listen.
My leg bounces. I’m never nervous. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. I deal with powerful and intimidating people all the time. I’m always calm. Always prepared. Always ready to close the deal.
Somehow, this woman has brought me to my knees, and she doesn’t even realize it.
It’s been two weeks, and I’ve done absolutely nothing but think about her.
Morning. Noon. Night.
Night is the hardest, because it’s at that time I know her exact location. I know exactly what she’s doing.
More than once, I’ve called my driver to take me there.
But I never go.
She needs time. I know this because Tara reminds me constantly. But I know she’s right. If I’m to have any chance at all, I have to give her time.
My hand wraps around my cold cup of coffee, and I wait.
It’s nearly two when I get an alert on my phone, reminding me of a meeting at my office in an hour. I toss some cash onto the table and text my driver, letting him know I’m ready to go. I’m just about to hit send when I feel someone’s eyes on me.
I look up, and there she is.
Time stops.
All I can do is stare.
She looks tired and thin.
And so, so beautiful.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
How do I tell her that she could have been ten hours late, and it wouldn’t have mattered?
“You’re not.”
She steps closer to the table, and I stand, pulling out a chair for her.
“Could we walk?”
Her voice trembles. She wants to walk because she’s nervous.
“Sure.”
I’m careful not to get too close as we walk along the sidewalk. I don’t pick the direction, but I can’t help but smile when she leads us past the empty property I inspected earlier today.
Tara says I’m crazy.
I am.
“What do you think of this building?” I ask.
Tesla stops in her tracks and looks at the structure. There isn’t really much to see, but it’s a good size. It’s the perfect size for a small business.
“It’s cozy.”
“Cozy?”
“Yeah. And it could use a coat of paint.”
She’s right.
“What color?”
Tesla grins, and I want to laugh out loud, because I’m so happy to see her smile.
“Are we really playing this game?”
I shrug casually, as if this doesn’t matter at all.
“Pick a color. Any color.”
I watch her face as she scrutinizes the building.
“Sky blue,” she says.
Sky blue it is.
The keys rattle in my pocket, but I don’t push my luck. Instead, there’s a wooden bench just outside the building, and I ask her to sit.
“I don’t apologize often, so this is extremely hard for me,” I admit quietly. “That’s not to say that I shouldn’t apologize more than I do. I just . . . don’t.”
“I imagine you don’t have to.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Something as simple as saying you were wrong shouldn’t be this monumental, but it is for me. Growing up, my parents apologized by spoiling us with gifts.”
My conscience screams at me, and I try to ignore the building behind me.
Baby steps.
“Tesla, I’m sorry.”
There. Just like a Band-Aid. Rip it off.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry that I offended you. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Her green eyes flash with determination, and I know she wants to deny that my actions caused her an ounce of pain. But she’s a good person. Truly good. And she doesn’t lie.
“You’re an asshole,” she says instead.
“I know, but for the first time in my life, I really don’t want to be.”
Tesla searches my face. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Stripped bare of all my bullshit, because my bullshit doesn’t impress her. The designer suits. The billion dollar empire. The private plane. The personal driver. None of it intimidates her, because she knows it’s all meaningless. It’s my armor, shielding me from ever having to feel anything.
For twenty-eight years, it worked flawlessly.
What changed?
One look into those green eyes and the answer is obvious.
“I want to forgive you,” she says softly. “I just need some time, I think.”
“I can handle that.” And then, because I’m feeling courageous, I ask the question I’ve wanted answered since that night in the VIP room. “Did you mean what you said that night?”
You could have had me for free. The words burn my memory and haunt my dreams.
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t even know me.”
She sighs softly and looks out across the street. “I knew how you made me feel.”
“How did I make you feel?”
“Beautiful.”
“Don’t you always feel that way?”
She laughs. “Why would you assume that? Because I strip for a living?”
“Well . . .”
“Jax, there’s a difference between feeling beautiful and feeling sexy.”
I don’t understand, which must’ve been obvious by the expression on my face.
“Forget it,” she says with a sigh. “It’s really hard to explain.”
“But I made you feel that way?”
“Yeah. There was just something about the way you watched me when I was on stage. So, when you propositioned me, it just—”
“Made you feel cheap.”
“Yes.”
“That was never my intention.”
“I believe that.”
My phone chimes again. I’m tempted to cancel my three o’clock meeting, but the guy flew in from London, and that’d probably be rude.
“Have dinner with me.”
I haven’t had to ask for a date since I was eighteen years old. It’s still awkward as all hell.
And why are my palms sweaty?
“Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
We smile at each other.
“Tonight?” I ask, because I’m an impatient bastard.
“Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay, I’ll text you my address.”
We stand and say goodbye. I go one way, and she goes the other.
But I can’t help but think the direction doesn’t really matter.
We’re both moving forward.
My hands shake as I smooth down my skirt. It’s pretty and pink and flows down my legs, pooling into ruffles at the bottom.
Jax said to dress casual.
Is this casual?
Too casual?
Not casual enough?
Gazing at myself in the mirror, I breathe in and breathe out.
I count to ten.
I count to ten again.
I decide a skirt isn’t casual and change into jeans. The silk blouse still works, so now I just need shoes. I spy a pretty pair of strappy heels, but it’s my night off, so I grab a pair of flats instead.
By the time he knocks on the door, I’m trembling with nerves and anticipation.
Excitement.
I’m excited.
I’v
e even more excited when I open the door, and he’s wearing jeans.
“Hi,” Jax says, his blue eyes ghosting over me. Warm. Appreciative. Making me feel beautiful.
“Hello.”
“Ready to go?”
I nod and follow him out, locking the door behind me. I’m not surprised to find a sleek black car waiting for us. Jax opens the back door. I slide inside and say hello to the driver. The man’s surprised eyes find mine in the rear-view mirror. Maybe he’s not allowed to talk to me?
“Good evening, Miss Jones,” he says with a smile.
Jax climbs in, brushing my leg with his.
Accidentally.
I think.
Jax looks at the driver. “We’re ready, Gus.”
Gus gives him a nod and heads down the road.
“You look lovely, Tesla.”
“Thank you.”
We share a smile. This feels awkward, like we’re sixteen years old and don’t know what to do with our hands. Or our eyes. So we just stare at each other.
“You really are pretty,” he says softly. “And I want you to know I understand now. About the difference between being beautiful and sexy.”
“You do?”
“My therapist explained it to me.” He smiles, and I feel like I’m missing some private joke.
“You see a therapist?”
“Sometimes. When forced.”
“I just can’t picture the powerful billionaire Jax Monroe talking to a shrink.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have some issues.”
I had noticed, but decide it’d be impolite to say so.
“It’s a good thing,” he continues. “Talking to her, I mean. She can be quite outspoken and opinionated at times.”
“Your therapist is a woman?”
“And my sister.”
I laugh. “That’s not a conflict of interest at all.”
He laughs, too. “Oh, it’s completely unethical, but she’s harder on me than any regular therapist could ever be. I wouldn’t put up with anyone else telling me what I should do. Tara’s honest. She tells me what I need to hear.”
I have no idea where we’re headed, and I’m too fascinated with the man by my side to ask. I haven’t even glanced out the window. Not once.
“I don’t even know what it is you do for a living,” I admit.
“I’m CEO of Monroe Investment Group. And that’s as boring as it sounds.”
“If it’s boring, why do you do it?”
“Because it was my father’s company. And his father’s. Family tradition is important to me. Besides, making money isn’t boring. Helping struggling businesses isn’t boring. It’s just our name that makes me cringe. But . . .”
“It’s tradition.”
He nods.
My heart thaws a little more. “That’s kind of adorable.”
“I have my moments.”
The car comes to a stop, and I finally manage to look away from the beautiful man. Gus seems to have taken us to a park.
“Tesla,” he says hesitantly, “I don’t know how you feel about gazebos and picnics, but . . .”
“I love gazebos, actually.”
His entire body relaxes, and he grins. “Good. Wait here?”
“Okay.”
Jax gets out of the car, and seconds later, he opens my door. I don’t know where it appeared from—maybe the trunk?—but he’s now holding a picnic basket in his left hand. With his right, he slips his fingers along mine and leads us down a cobblestone path. Nestled at the end is a lighted gazebo. It’s white, with ivy twisted along the columns.
“Tara suggested this place. I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s beautiful, Jax.”
There’s a table in the middle, and I wonder if it’s always there or if he pulled some strings. Either way, it’s nice, and he places the picnic basket in the middle of it before offering me a seat.
He frowns. “There’s sandwiches and chips. And wine. Casual, as suggested.”
“Why are you making that face? You don’t like casual?”
“I don’t care what we eat, Tesla. I just . . . I don’t know. It’s our first date, and you deserve . . . better.”
He’s so nervous, and I understand why. Two weeks ago, I was grinding on his lap with my boobs in his face. Today, we’re sharing sandwiches in a lighted gazebo in the park.
Could we be more dysfunctional?
He’s trying so hard, and I don’t want him to be nervous. I reach over, gently brushing his hand with mine. I hear his sharp intake of air, and our fingers entwine.
“I love the gazebo, and I love the sandwiches.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“It’s so simple, though.”
“When everything up to this point has been complicated, isn’t simple a good thing?”
Jax laughs softly and squeezes my hand. “As long as you’re happy.”
“I am.”
We talk about everything while we eat our picnic dinner. Our families. Our friends. Places we’ve been. Places we’d like to see. By the time the basket is empty, we’ve finished the bottle of wine.
Somehow, our bodies have remained touching throughout the meal.
He notices it the same time I do. We smile at each other, and then Jax takes my hand, sliding his index finger along mine, making me shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
Jax grins and continues sliding his finger until it reaches my palm. I bite my lip as he twirls his fingertip along my skin.
“We’ve never kissed,” he says. “Isn’t that ironic? I’ve seen so much of you, and yet—”
“I know.”
“And I want to . . . so fucking much. It’s taking every single ounce of my self-restraint not to kiss you right now.”
I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his arms around me.
I want it too much.
I’m being so strong, and if he kisses me, I know I’ll crumble.
“Please don’t.”
“I won’t.”
His words break my heart, but I force a smile anyway.
Because I know it’s the right thing to do.
For now.
“Did you preheat the oven?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Tesla sighs. It’s cute as hell.
“Jax, you have to preheat the oven. Otherwise, the cake could sink in the center.”
She moves around my kitchen as if she designed it herself. I sit at the island and watch, mesmerized, as she finds cake pans and special ingredients I never even knew existed. I’d have to remember to give my housekeeper a raise for keeping it so well-stocked.
Tesla is in her element, and it’s amazing to watch as she carefully stirs ingredients in a stainless steel bowl. I’ve never seen anyone so happy to be making such a mess.
Tonight is officially our seventh date.
One week.
Without one kiss.
Tara assures me this is healthy.
Smart.
Respectful.
I, on the other hand, have other choice words for it.
Hell.
On.
Earth.
“What are you thinking about?” Tesla asks as she finishes placing the cake in the oven.
Lifting you up on the counter and kissing the shit out of you.
I lie, despite my endeavor to always be honest with her.
“I was thinking about a meeting I had today.”
She sets the timer before joining me at the island. “A good meeting?”
“I think so,” I say, pouring her a glass of wine. “I’m working with the chamber of commerce on a small business initiative. We’re going to try to revive a part of downtown that’s been hit hard by the recession—offering low-interest loans to new local businesses.”
“That sounds interesting.”
I nod. “We might be a global conglomerate, but we’re always looking
for ways to help the local economy. I’m looking into some investments. Besides, I admire small-business owners. They start with nothing and build a business from scratch.”
“Kind of like baking.”
“Exactly like baking,” I agree. “You start with a few small ingredients, and hopefully—”
“It will rise.”
Something’s rising, all right.
And suddenly I’m seventeen again. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny, and I am incapable of controlling my body’s reaction to her.
“Is that why you were looking at that piece of property? The one by the sidewalk café?”
“Yes, it was.”
“That’s a good location,” Tesla replies, sliding her finger along the rim of the glass.
How can a finger be so seductive?
“I think so, too, and the blue was a good color choice.”
“You really painted it sky blue?”
“I did.”
Her entire face brightens, and I want to kiss every inch of it. A blush creeps across her cheeks, because she knows. She knows how much I want to kiss her, and it gives me hope that maybe she wants me to kiss her, too.
When the timer sounds, Tesla leaps off the stool and pulls the cake out of the oven to cool.
“Do you prefer chocolate or vanilla frosting? I can make either.”
“Whichever you prefer is fine with me.”
“That’s your answer for everything, you realize.”
It’s true. She’s called all the shots this week. I truly don’t care what we do or where we go, as long as we’re together and she’s happy.
Tara considers it some sort of breakthrough.
“I miss baking,” she says as she starts to prepare the frosting. “It’s so good to have a few days off from the club.”
She doesn’t mention the club much, and for that I’m thankful. Even though I know the rules are strictly enforced, the realization that strangers pay to watch her strip makes me a little deranged.
My sister calls that a breakthrough, too, but I think it just makes me sound like a hypocrite.
Needing to be closer, I slide off the stool and walk toward the counter, peeking over her shoulder. She’s working away, carefully frosting the delicious looking cake. Very gently, I slide my hand along her shoulder, brushing her hair to one side.
She visibly trembles, and I smile.
I love how her body responds to my slightest touch. How goosebumps erupt on her flesh when I stand a little closer, letting my nose skim along the side of her neck. Her quiet little moan when I let my lips briefly brush across her skin.
Stripped Bare Page 3
