“Theo!” Placing her hand on Jo’s elbow, Beth offered up a polite smile. “It’s been forever. What brings you back to Boston?”
“Business.” Theo offered the same one-word explanation he’d given Jo. The smile he offered Beth was genuine, however, with none of the layers of undertones that his voice had when he spoke to Jo.
“I haven’t seen you since that tournament...was it at Palm Springs? Two years ago. What are you into now?” Ford, too, seemed friendly as he offered Theo his hand, but the other man had been hanging around the Marchandes for long enough now that Jo caught the hint of stiffness in his voice. “It’s funny that you didn’t mention you knew my girl’s family when you accepted this invite.”
“I didn’t put two and two together.” Theo smiled smoothly, but Jo’s bullshit alarm screamed. He was lying through his teeth—but why? “I never would have imagined the girls opening a hotel on their property.”
“The girls, huh?” Ford rocked back on his heels. “You must go way back.”
Jo exchanged a glance with Beth as the two men puffed up like peacocks, each trying to posture their way to dominance.
“I’ve known the Marchandes for a long time,” Theo started, and Jo had suddenly had enough of the bullshit. Holding up her hands, she waved them in the air to stop the argument in its tracks.
“Let’s just cool it before we get to the point where you guys hose each other down with testosterone, okay?” Both men grunted, and Jo turned her attention to Ford. “Thanks for defending our honor and all that, big bro, but if you don’t like the dude, don’t invite him.”
“I liked him just fine before I knew what he’d done to you,” Ford muttered, “but I’d like him better back on one of the golf courses in LA, where I could go after him with a nine iron.”
Beth turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold in her laugh. Her laugh died as Ford dipped his head to whisper in her ear. Jo watched as her younger sister flushed from head to toe, her posture changing just slightly as she took in whatever dirty thing Ford had just said to her.
“I might be wrong, but I think they’ve forgotten about us,” Jo said wryly as Ford caught her sister’s elbow and led her from the lobby. She felt the pang of envy reverberate around her rib cage.
She was happy for Beth. She was. But was it too much to ask that she have someone who made her feel like that, too?
“Never would have thought that sweet little Beth would hook up with Ford Lassiter.” Theo took another sip of his club soda, calling Jo’s attention back to him. She watched as he swallowed, cursing inwardly when she caught herself watching the lines of his throat.
Couldn’t he have gone soft under that suit? Did he still have to look so damn physical?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jo felt the flare of temper as a knee-jerk reaction. “You don’t think one of the Marchande girls is good enough for a hotel tycoon?”
“Jo.” The exasperation he managed to inflect that single syllable with was a talent of his. “I was actually referring to the fact that, according to rumor, he’s a kinky fucking bastard.”
“What rumors? He said you were golf buddies.” Jo glowered up at Theo. Man, he’d been gone for so long, and yet within seconds he’d managed to tap right back into that special talent he had for getting under her skin.
It was during those times, when he would put his mouth all over her body except the place she most wanted it, that made her hate the fact that he made her wait.
“Golf buddies,” Theo agreed, a slight smirk curling the corners of his lips as he watched her. Heat rose into her cheeks—he knew. Damn it, he knew where her mind had gone. “And we also had some mutual friends. Friends who were into things that would shock you.”
Jo’s mouth went dry as Theo looked her over, top to bottom and up again. His eyes glinted with mischief, and also something darker.
“Shock me more than being trapped in a room watching you get blown by some other woman?” She found her voice and used it as a weapon. She no longer cared if she sounded jealous—she wanted an excuse to leave, leave this conversation and leave Theo, because the longer she stood here with him, the more she started to want things that she could no longer have—at least not if she was smart.
Theo. The dark. The rasp of a zipper, the wet sound of lips on skin. Without warning, Jo felt moisture surge between her legs, just from the memory.
She wasn’t jealous at all. Rather, being a voyeur on that little scene had awoken something she’d thought she’d never feel again.
Theo didn’t reply—he just kept on watching her with those dark eyes. And she absolutely did not have to fight back the urge to rise to her toes and trace her tongue over the golden line of his jaw.
“Fun as this has been, I’m going home.” Setting her now empty glass down on the bar, she wiped her palms over her thighs to hide the fact that they were trembling. “Good night.”
The way that Theo had been acting, the way he’d been flirting—for that was what it had been—Jo was surprised that he remained silent as she walked away, though she knew, just knew, that he watched her until she was out of sight. It wasn’t until she was back in her own room, her back pressed flat against the door she’d just closed, that she acknowledged that she was disappointed that he’d let her just go.
“No way, Jo. Not happening.” She shed her romper and the sandals as quickly as if they’d burst into flame. Pulling on white cotton panties and a worn Marilyn Manson concert tee, she exhaled with relief, as though in taking off the party clothes, she’d shed the Jo who was tempted by Theo Lawrence.
It was still there—that thing between them, that indescribable connection. Even in the dark, even not knowing who he was, he’d managed to turn her on.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself as she climbed into her bed, crawling beneath the covers.
The only man who made her crave was also the man who had broken her heart. What kind of person would she be if she took him back? Not that he’d asked. Not that she would.
But as she lay there in the shadows of nighttime, listening to her sisters return from the open house, she couldn’t stop shifting back and forth in her bed. If she got up and looked out the window, she could see the Lawrence house. Was he staying there? Probably not, but the thought of him being so close after so many years made her pulse race.
So she stayed in bed, but when she finally fell into a fitful sleep, she was chased by images of dark eyes, golden skin and wicked hands that woke her up from the sleep she’d been in since he’d left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LET’S TALK ABOUT VOYEURISM. If you’re reading this blog, chances are you’re a dirty birdie and you already know what it is, but for those of you who don’t, it’s getting hot and bothered watching someone else involved in illicit activities. Now, while this sounds like it could be a sexy good time, if you take it too far, it ventures into crime territory, so don’t expect to peep into your sexy neighbor’s bedroom window without consequences. But say you’re at a party and you’re grabbing some alone time. A couple with oral sex on their mind stumbles upon your hidey-hole, and before you can make your presence known, she’s giving him a happy ending and you’ve been whisked along for the ride. Is this awkward, or is it hot? Is it hotter if they discover you’re there?
Food for slutty thought,
Jojo Kink
* * *
The offices for Crossing Lines took up the entire third floor of a tall office building just outside the financial district in downtown Boston. The building was sleek, the smell of latex paint still evident as Jo closed herself in the shiny silver elevator that was so eerily silent she double-checked to make sure she was actually moving.
The woman at the front desk was the type who intimidated lesser specimens without having to lift a finger. She barely even looked up as Jo crossed the plush carpeting to the massive chrome des
k, clearing her throat when she arrived.
“Can I help you?” When the woman finally did look up, she flicked a glance over Jo, and though there was no visible change in her expression, Jo felt her distaste flavoring the air. Jo knew what she saw and couldn’t help but squirm a bit under the assessing stare.
She’d never gone on a job interview. The position at the paper so very many years ago had been offered to her over the phone based on her work on her high school paper. When she ghosted stories for other writers, they didn’t care what she looked like or how she dressed. She deliberately left images of herself off her blog.
That left today. She hadn’t had time to go shopping for something more appropriate and didn’t know what that was at any rate, so she’d settled on a pair of black jeans that were free of rips and tears, a black sweater from the men’s department, and a clean pair of sneakers. Face-to-face with this woman, whose hair was glossy and highlighted, and who wore a white blouse without a single wrinkle, Jo knew that she’d missed the mark, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
“I have a meeting with John Brooke,” she stated, drawing herself to her full, if insignificant, height, trying to look like what she was wearing was just fine. “At ten o’clock.”
“I’ll take you to his office.” When the woman stood up, Jo noted that she was also wearing heels that added at least three inches to her height, and that her skirt came to midcalf, hugging her legs like a second skin. How did she walk?
The woman, who hadn’t introduced herself, seemed equally interested in Jo, taking a long moment to look her over, her expression faintly puzzled. Maybe, Jo thought, she was wondering how security downstairs had let someone with such little fashion sense into the building.
Finally, the other woman turned and walked down the hall, gesturing for Jo to follow. Jo watched the sleek length of the woman’s ponytail, thinking of the woman last night, savoring the resultant heat.
Not now, Jo!
The woman paused outside a glass door. It was cracked open, but she knocked on it smartly. A voice called out for them to enter. The woman didn’t follow Jo in, just studied her intently again as she gestured her in, and Jo felt her stomach slowly roll with nerves.
“Miss Marchande?” The man who stood up from behind the desk was tall, well over six feet, and absolutely gorgeous. Light brown skin set off pale green eyes, and the short buzz of his black hair showed off the strong lines of his face. Dressed in a well-cut suit, he was, quite simply, hot. “I’m John Brooke.”
His smile was friendly enough that some of Jo’s nerves eased. He didn’t make her feel out of place like Miss Tight Skirt had, and when he offered a large palm for her to shake, she felt some of her confidence return.
“Nice to meet you.” She winced a bit as the words came out just a bit too loud, but he didn’t seem to notice. Gesturing for her to sit, he checked the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. “The owner will be here momentarily. While we wait, would you like coffee? Water, tea? I can have Ava get you whatever you’d like.”
Assuming that Ava was the girl at the front desk, Jo was tempted to ask for something as a petty revenge for the scrutiny. She knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a thing, though, since the news that another person would be joining them had ratcheted her anxiety back up again.
“I’m fine.” Doing her best to smile like a normal human, Jo took a second look at John Brooke. He’d said in his email that he was some kind of adviser to the company, which made her think of endless travel, city to city, clandestine encounters in airport bathrooms. He looked the part—sleek and sexy.
He did nothing for her, roused nothing more than a mild appreciation for a fine-looking man.
“Sorry I’m late.”
No. Oh, hell no.
Jo hadn’t recognized Theo’s voice last night because she hadn’t heard it in so very long. Now, with it fresh in her mind, she was on her feet before he’d even cleared the doorway, his voice triggering an instant surge of adrenaline.
“Miss Marchande.” He cast her a polite smile, almost as if they were truly meeting for the first time—almost. There was a glint in his eye that told her he was looking forward to seeing how this played out.
It pissed her off.
“What the hell, Theo?” Still standing, she planted her hands on her hips and stood up straight. “What are you doing?”
“Do you know each other?” John stood as well, furrowing his brow in Theo’s direction. “I thought Miss Marchande was the writer of that blog you showed me.”
“She is the writer of that blog,” Theo replied, fully entering the room. Crossing the room, he propped a hip on the massive desk, looking like he truly didn’t give a fuck about the tension brewing.
He’d never given much of a fuck about anything...anything except her. She couldn’t make out what his game was here, though, and she didn’t like being a pawn in it.
“Explain yourself,” she demanded crisply. He gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing, refusing to do anything he told her to.
“I’m going to go,” John announced, clapping his hands together as he cast Theo a stern look. “Please stop by my office after...whatever this is.”
Theo acknowledged the other man with a jerk of his chin, and then John was gone. He closed the door behind him, leaving Jo alone with Theo.
Her pulse tripped, then started to beat double time.
“What are you doing, Theo?” Her voice trembled, and she told herself that it was with anger. “You had a chance to talk to me last night. You didn’t have to drag me all the way here with a made-up story.”
“Let me be quite clear.” Theo’s voice was suddenly sharp, commanding in a way that she’d never heard before. It caught her attention, and she eyed him sharply. He still lounged against the desk, but he’d straightened.
Rather than the lazy, hedonistic Theo she was acquainted with, this man looked in control. She had no idea what to make of it.
“There was no false story. I own Crossing Lines. I am looking for a unique voice to draw in new users. The offer of a job is real.” His expression darkened, and he didn’t hide the way his gaze swept over her small frame. “But at the same time that John and I came up with that idea, I was looking into what my ex-girlfriend was up to, since I was coming back to Boston. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the sweet girl I’d left was the writer of a blog exploring all things kinky.”
“I’ve never been a sweet girl.” Jo made air quotes around the last two words with her fingers. “And you didn’t discover that I was the writer of my blog with a simple internet search. I’ve made sure of that.”
The corners of his lips twisted in a smile. “Touché. I may have had one of my programmers dig a little. But your secret is safe with me.”
“Why offer me the job, Theo?” Jo’s voice was quiet. “There are a million writers out there who could write what you want. This has messy written all over it.”
He paused.
“I owe you,” he finally said, tapping a finger on the desk. “Though of course, if you weren’t qualified, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”
“You owe me?” Jo heard her voice echo off the high ceiling and realized she was shouting but didn’t care. “Fuck that noise, Theo. You thought you’d come throw a job at your fancy new company at your hard-up ex and all would be forgiven? I don’t need your charity. I don’t need you.”
That was it—she was done. Her fury at his actions overrode the very real disappointment that the job wouldn’t work as she stormed toward the door.
When Theo grabbed her arm, she slapped at it with angry hands. “Stop manhandling me!”
“Then stop acting like an ass and listen.” Hauling her around so that her ass was pressed against the desk, he leaned in, a hand on either side of her hips, forcing her to rear back.
She could smell him, some kind
of pricey cologne that made her throat go dry. She could feel the heat of his body all along the line of her own, and damn it, that ache between her thighs decided that it would be a fine time to wake up.
It was Theo. It had always been him.
“The reason I offered you the damn job, and the reason that you’re going to take it, is because we have unfinished business.” He leaned in, and she felt his warm breath mist over her lips. “I didn’t leave because of you, or us, and you damn well know that. And there’s still something here. You can’t deny that.”
Opening eyes that she didn’t realize she’d squeezed closed, Jo looked up at Theo, saw the glint of truth in his eyes.
Her heart felt as though he’d placed it in his fist and squeezed.
“You may not have left because of us, but you still left.” She did her best to keep her voice level. “You really expect us to just pick up where we left off? Unbelievable.”
She placed her hands on his chest, intending to push him away, but the feel of his body beneath her palms made her hesitate. Like a shark sensing her weakness, he closed the ribbon of space between their bodies, pressing himself against her.
“Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.” He touched his lips to the thin skin behind her ear, and she couldn’t hold back the shudder. When her fingers dug into his chest, he slid those lips down her neck and over, measuring the beats of her heart in the hollow of her throat.
Damn it. Damn herself. She’d gone for so, so long without feeling this heat, and now that she’d had a taste, she wanted another hit, and another after that. Would it really be so bad to just let herself go, one more time?
Slowly, giving her time to say no, he moved his hands from the desk to her hips and up, until his long fingers framed her waist. He squeezed gently, and she remembered what it was like to have him grip her like that when he was inside her.
Between the Lines Page 6
