The Moretti brothers are back already from their quick chat.
Thatcher’s intense gaze descends upon me. “I need to talk to Jane alone.”
My eyes grow and I sweep him more inquiringly. Moments like these, I’d love to be able to predict the future.
13
THATCHER MORETTI
“Ignore the mess,” Jane says as she snatches dirty clothes off a fuzzy rug and flings them in a narrow, stuffed closet.
I shut the door behind me.
Her room is drenched in pastel colors, sequins, and animal prints. Coming here is like jumping into some type of milkshake-drinking bubblegum-blowing pop era that dresses up as the fucking 80s. Banks says it gives him agita . Makes him want to chug three bottles of Pepto-Bismol, and if it weren’t for Jane, I might feel the same.
But I step foot in here and I just see all the sides of Jane Cobalt. Bold and soft. Outlandish and unabashed. Feminine and eager.
Beautiful.
It makes me never want to leave.
Don’t go there —but I’m already here, and truth is, I’ve been in her room plenty before. For security. After the Nate incident, she asked if I could make routine checks each night.
I have.
It’s not a big space. Not many places for a target to hide. Not many entry-points for a break-in. Her four-poster bed is tucked up against the only window, and a pale blue vanity and cushioned stool hug a corner.
I’ve opened the mirrored closet door and peered behind her skirts and blouses before. I’ve lifted up the pink duvet, so I could inspect the dark area underneath her bed. Always littered with cat toys.
I’ve had to stretch over her mattress and push aside cheetah-patterned drapes. Just to secure the latch on the window and reset an alarm.
But I’m not here right now to assess and observe. I’m here to talk to Jane.
This is still about security , I remind myself.
This is still about her protection.
That’s all it should be.
I stand at the door like I’m on patrol and shouldering eighty-pounds of gear on my back. Just routine. What I’m trained for.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
I fold my arms over my chest, and I watch Jane fling a stray pair of cotton panties into the closet before she whirls around. Almost tripping over her own feet. She brushes wavy brown strands out of her face, and then she settles a confident hand on her waist.
Goddamn.
My blood heats.
“Thatcher,” she says, breathless. Her chest rises and falls and pushes out her breasts. Temperature ratchets up a hundred degrees, veins lit up on fire. Get it together.
There’s no waffling with me. Indecisiveness can fuck up a whole team, an entire op, and my mission this time is her.
Her.
“Jane,” I say, clear and cut and definitive, “I’ve already made a decision.”
She never breaks eye contact. “You have…?”
“I want to do this with you.”
Her voice catches, words stuck on her tongue.
I hold her gaze in a tighter grip. “I want to date you in public.”
Jane presses her knuckles to her lips. “For my protection.” She’s laying out the parameters before I even can. We’ve been good about that.
“For your protection,” I agree, and in a millisecond, my gaze slips down the nape of her neck. And she leans a hip on the bedpost like I’m fucking her sideways.
Christ. My abs tighten, and I rub my jaw with a tensed hand. I need to get my mind right.
“You’ve truly considered all the costs and benefits of being in a public relationship with me?” she asks. “I gain more than you. You’ll lose privacy, normalcy—your life will be forever different.”
She’s concerned about me being doxxed and the public scrutiny, but I’ve weighed the risks. “I know what I’m stepping into,” I say with severity. “No cost is greater than the cost of your life.”
Jane inhales, and then speaks in a whisper. “Just once more and I won’t ever ask again: are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I would take any shot if it meant scaring off another stalker like Nate. If it meant keeping her safe. “Do you want to do this?”
“If you’re confident—”
“I am.”
“Then yes.” She straightens up. “I’d like to deter a stalker or two, possibly more, so I’d very much like to fake date you…” Blush shades her freckles. “Platonically, I’m guessing. How does one actually fake date?” Her eyes glimmer like we’re headed into curious territory.
I soak up her excitement. It amplifies my readiness, and I crave nothing more than to push forward with Jane.
“We’ll have a new set of boundaries,” I explain. “The main goal is to make the media and public buy the fact that I’m your boyfriend.”
I can’t act like I’ve been set free to do whatever the fuck I want. This is a security operation and a publicity stunt. I have a team to think about, and I’m positive Alpha and Epsilon especially will want to pull strings and have a hand in what I do with Jane.
Whether I like it or not, I have to obey the rules.
I can’t think about how her eyes dropped to my dick at the word boyfriend. I can’t think about how, if she weren’t a client, I would’ve already had her on the bed. Bare and wet and ready for me.
My muscles bind.
I’m rigid, and silence stretches. While we stand on either side of the room, invisible tension threads from her body to mine.
Jane fills the quiet. “What type of boundaries are we talking about?”
“We can’t have sex.” I say the unsaid words that have hung untouched between us for months.
Shock drops her jaw. Jane reaches behind her back with two hands. Clasping the bedpost, standing pin-straight. “Sex?” Her eyes are fucking huge.
There’s no way I’ve read her incorrectly, not for this long.
“Jane…” I fix the mic on my gray T-shirt collar.
She processes slowly like she’s asleep. Dreaming.
“I want to make this clear.” I rub my mouth and then drop my arm. “This arrangement isn’t a free pass to sleep together. No matter how…” Don’t say the word horny in front of her like we’re fourteen. I’m twenty-eight.
She’s twenty-three.
I restart, “No matter how attracted we both are to each other.”
Her mouth falls and wavers into a shocked smile. “You just said out loud that you’re attracted to me.”
She’s more surprised that I said the words than that I actually am attracted to her. Which means I did a piss-poor job at hiding it, but I already knew that.
“Jane,” I say, voice deep. “No sex.”
“Oui.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything we do from here on out needs to be for the sake of fake-dating.” She tips her head, a question crinkling her forehead. “If you know that I’m forever closed off to sex, then why do you think it’s such a concern that we’ll sleep together?”
“I’m not a stranger. You feel safe with me. Right?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You still trust me?”
“Immensely.”
I nod once. “That’s why.”
Jane smiles softly. “Just for clarity between us, I’ve thought the same: that you’d be the exception if I were to ever touch a dick again—but I won’t touch yours,” she adds quickly. “We’re strictly fake boyfriend and fake girlfriend. Sex should stay out of bounds, I wholeheartedly agree.”
My expression hardens.
I can’t think about how she’d allow me to get her off. Because I hate that she’s been hurt in the past and that’s part of why she’d need me. On top of that, I hate that I’m jealous at even the idea of her opening up to another guy. When she should heal those wounds. When it’s not even possible for her and me to be together for real.
And I fucking hate Nate.
Oh and one more: buried beneath all these profe
ssional restrictions and complications, I want to bring her to the edge with orgasms so fucking intense they eke out her energy and sink her to sleep.
Inappropriate.
That’s the circle of hell I’ve been having a picnic in.
Jane shifts around the wooden post and leans on her bed, hands flat beside her waist on the pink duvet. “When we say no sex , maybe we should be more specific.”
I never flinch. “Specifically, my cock isn’t going inside your pussy.”
Jane crosses her ankles, her chest concaving in arousal. “I usually dislike when guys say pussy , but…that was good…very direct and assertive.” She smooths her lips together. “Assertiveness suits you.” She straightens up again and dusts her skirt, and our eyes meet in raw desire.
Fuck.
My muscles flame. Nerves scorched. I’m literally pinning myself to the fucking door. I can’t talk about this with her right now.
Not in her bedroom.
Not when we’re severing a shitload of rope that’ll allow me to move in closer.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I tell Jane.
She’s quick to change the subject like it’s as easy as counting to three. “We have to convince the world we’re madly in love.” She drifts to the vanity and then gracefully lowers onto the stool until she wobbles on the uneven floorboards. Jane catches her balance and then her big blue eyes lift up to me. “Do you have any experience in this area? Love.”
We’re really doing this.
I’ve wanted to.
I almost can’t believe I have the ability now.
“We should research,” Jane says in my silence. “Shouldn’t we?”
“We should,” I confirm.
She snaps off a hair tie, letting her wavy hair loose. “Well, you already know I’m looking down the barrel of four previous friends-with-benefits and zero boyfriends.”
“Why no boyfriends?” I ask.
Her eyes are on mine while she slips on a purple cat-ear headband. “Fame makes serious relationships utterly complicated, and it always seemed like too much stress. I’d rather put energy into my family.”
I nod.
She easily reads my features. “You’re not surprised.”
“No.” I’ve been around her every day for nearly a year. If any of that surprised me, then I’m not paying attention.
Jane likes her life structured and planned out. It gives her a sense of control that she’s inherently lost as a celebrity.
Feeling protected and confident in this plan to fake-date is important to her, and so it’s critical to me.
I watch Jane slowly rise to her feet, and I tell her, “I have two ex-girlfriends.”
“Two.” Her eyes drift along the rug before lifting up to me. “Did you experience love with them?”
A rough laugh catches in my lungs. “Hell no.” I shake my head. “They weren’t relationships I’d model anything after either.” I pause. “Not unless you want to cheat on me.”
Her lips break apart. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s way back.” I can see she’s interested in more. So I push forward. “Through all of eleventh grade, my high school girlfriend was sleeping with a guy she knew I couldn’t stand. I had no idea until graduation.”
She softens her gaze. “Teenagers can be particularly cruel.” She cups her hands in front of her. “I’d say we’re both equally awful at relationships, but you will be my first. Fake relationship, that is, but first nonetheless.” Red blemishes her neck.
I nod. “We’ll pull it off, Jane.” I breathe in a lung full of her fresh flower, spring scent. Wrong move.
My whole body reacts to the smell. It drives me fucking nuts, muscles contracting. Veins blistering. Cock straining against my slacks.
She wafts her blouse, clearly hot. “We will,” she agrees. “So what…um, kind of relationship should we have in public?” She talks quickly. “Should we be inseparably cute? Piggyback rides and sharing snow cones. Or scandalously flirty? French kissing and ass squeezes.”
My hand is clamped on my jaw and mouth. Trying not to think about my hand on her ass. Three Hail Marys is not enough to atone for what I’m feeling about her.
She hooks an arm around her bedpost. “I think being an inseparably cute couple would be easiest, but also not necessarily true to me.”
I drop my hand. “Not true to me either.”
A smile dimples her cheeks. “To us, then. We are highly…physical?” she asks tentatively.
“Affirmative,” I say.
The confirmation cranks the heat another hundred degrees.
“Okay…” She motions to me. “So cute couple is out then. The media might pick up on the deception. The other option is scandalously flirty. But how do we kiss? Not like the mechanics of kissing, which we both, I’m sure, understand.” She rambles on. “But the idea of kissing without screwing. Because usually I screw the people I kiss.” She presses her lips together like she’s forcing herself to stop talking, but our eyes stay glued on each other.
“We’re both adults,” I remind her. “I think we can kiss and stop ourselves from having sex.”
“Normally, I would agree. But it’s been six months.”
I’m inferring she’s talking about how long since she last got laid. I have her beat. “Ten months for me.”
She sways back in surprise. “Really? You didn’t hookup with anyone during the FanCon?”
“No. I wouldn’t fool around with tour crew, and I was busy.” I was focused on protecting Jane. I nod to her. “Been used to long dry spells.” I hear my Philly lilt come out thicker. “It’s not a big deal.”
She’s quick and smart and I’m not surprised when she connects the dots. “When you were in the military?”
I nod again. “I was deployed to combat twice overseas during my four-year tour.”
It feels like another lifetime, and since we’re talking about sex, I’m thinking more about the drawn-out dry spell I had.
Say more. I try to chisel my jaw open. “Staying celibate wasn’t an issue,” I explain. “I have no problem pushing myself into hard situations. I like testing my strength—but I couldn’t convince my girlfriend that I was faithful, not while I was on deployment.”
I explain briefly how my second ex-girlfriend was adamant that someone like me would attract a lot of other women, and she believed I’d struggle to resist and then slip up and cheat. When I got back home, I found out that she’d slept with her ex.
Now they’re married and have two kids.
“I take a lot of fault for what happened,” I say. “I’m hard to read, and I could’ve done better to ease her insecurities.”
She inhales a deeper breath that stretches a silent second into a boiling minute. Both of us hardly blink. Nearing a visceral edge.
Jane swallows and waves to me. “You’re very self-aware, you know.”
I don’t respond yet. Wanting to hear what else she has to say.
“And you’re respectful,” she lists, like she’s constructing a PowerPoint of my traits. “Very considerate, as well. All things I’m drawn towards—which is perfect since you’re my fake boyfriend.”
I throb harder. There is only one of Jane, no other person can be all of who she is, and anyone who harasses this girl might as well be tearing the wings off an angel.
I’m honored that I get to be the one to keep her safe.
She’s my duty.
I also shouldn’t want to fuck an angel.
She’s my client . Remember that.
Jane continues on. “And as evidenced by our history, we can clearly restrain ourselves. Which means we can be two consenting adults who casually kiss and not have sex afterwards.”
Our eyes roam beyond our old restraints.
“That sounds right,” I nod, and I study her flushed body, her ankles crossed like she’s squeezing her thighs together. “We should practice.”
“We should,” she agrees. “Kissing?”
“Kissing,”
I confirm. “I’m a whole foot taller than you.”
“Exactly,” she notes. “If we just do it in public without proper preparation, it’ll be obvious that we’re fake dating.”
“And that it’s your first time.”
Her intrigue piques. “My first time…”
“With me,” I say strongly.
“Right.” Jane smiles. “Should we start now then?” She hesitates, waiting for my answer. “It will be a good litmus test to see if this will even work.”
It’s going to work.
Because the alternative is doing nothing, and I’d rather mount up and frighten away a bunch of targets.
“I’m good to go,” I tell Jane.
She steps away from her bed.
I pry myself off the door, and I do more than take a single step closer. I take several unwavering strides.
She goes still, seeing me approach, and her eyes glint with eagerness. I watch her savor my assured demeanor, and I stop a breath away.
The top of her head, along with her purple cat ears, just reaches my shoulders.
Jane cranes her neck to look up at me. Dark lashes shading beautiful, emotive blue eyes. Silence bands around us, the space shrunken. Air vacuumed.
“So…” Her voice is a breathy whisper. “I’ll just stand on my tiptoes.” She rises on her toes, but barefoot, she barely lifts herself past the broad length of my shoulders.
I could just lean my head down.
I could.
But I don’t.
In a swift, natural move, I cup the back of her thighs, and I hoist Jane up against my body—we’re eye-level, her legs instinctively spreading apart. Wrapping around my waist, gripping tight.
Her hands fly around the back of my neck and nestle in my hair.
“Oh,” she breathes, lips parted in arousal. I can practically hear the my God that sticks to her throat.
Jane.
I eye her, my pulse pounding.
Heat brews and overflows—she feels too good against my body. This is dangerous. I feel her panting. I feel her thumping heartbeat. I feel her in ways I never fucking have, and I just keep drinking in her breathless state.
She’s lapping up this position. Me holding her. Us welded together.
Her palm slides against the back of my neck, fingers threading up in my hair.
Tangled Like Us Page 14
