by Claire, Ava
Jacob looked up, his eyes curious as he took me in. “Everything alright?”
I chewed on my bottom lip as I padded across the room toward him. "I should be asking you that after what you told me."
His forehead wrinkled in confusion for a moment before he caught my drift and let out a laugh that avoided his eyes. “Ah. That.” He flipped his cover over his tablet and shrugged. “I’m good.”
I was prepared to let it go, climb in bed beside him and push away anything Alicia Whitmore related. But the smile on his face looked physically painful, like he was trying so hard to put on a brave face for me when everything was falling apart.
I eased onto the bed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Jacob, you can’t just tell me something like that and...” I felt the emotion I’d tried to bottle up, stash away to keep from poking at an old wound rush to the surface. He was sitting there unblinking, nearly erasing every trace of the moment of vulnerability. Openness. Well, I was wide open—and I was about to cry. “And...”
“And what?” he said finally, studying me. “You want me to start sobbing about how devastating it was to actually wonder if she’d actually go through with it? That the maid would be a few minutes too late? A few seconds? I’d pick the wrong day to go over to a friend’s? Or maybe I’d be on the other side of the world, too far to save my mother from herself?” He grit his teeth in disgust. “This was why I didn’t want to say anything.”
The tears evaporated as I cocked my head to the side. “You don’t mean that.”
He massaged his temple and let out a tired sigh. “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t want secrets between us.” He gave me a reluctant smile. “I just don’t want it to be a production. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she affects me. So I act like I don't feel anything at all.”
I relaxed, feeling the smile pull at my mouth. “You don’t have to be Big Bad Jacob. Not with me.”
He licked his lips and I followed the hot trail he made, tongue sweeping left before it flicked right. "What's wrong with big, bad, Jacob?"
His eyes glittered dangerously. It was the smallest of movements, but it was like someone doused us with pheromones. Some eau de Whitmore that made my heart speed up in my chest and the tingle of warmth build in the pit of my belly. Nothing could scratch that itch but him.
I swallowed hard as he drug his fingertips along my arm, sending an electric jolt to my system that fried the serious conversation I was trying to have with him.
The smile that played on those lips weren't messing around now, drawing my eyes back to them. Filling my head with all the things he could do. The places he could touch and lick.
"Jacob..." His fingers were drawing up, rounding my shoulders, skating my neck. Cupping my chin.
"Say it again."
You're not okay, are you? The reason eating at me when I climbed the stairs, screaming when he snapped, tickled the haze that had taken up residence in my head. But that wasn’t what he was talking about. Jacob was using the dominant voice. That dark, authoritative, dangerous thing that used to scare the crap out of me but now it made me melt.
He wanted me to say his name.
I looked into his eyes. I was lost to him.
"Jacob."
The smile broadened as he pulled me toward him and wrapped his lips around mine. He was warm, his touch imploring. Sensual. His tongue didn't command, not yet. He swept it over mine, flicks as he kissed me, deep moans of satisfaction echoing through me as he cradled my face.
I remained still, savoring, loving the way I could feel his passion and desire rippling through his kiss. Washing over me. Possessing me. Everything was heightened. The way my fingertips trembled as I moved closer, tossing aside the sheets. My arms drew up; taking in the way his muscles flexed as I locked them around his neck and pulled him in. He let out a chuckle at my actions. Me thrusting my breasts into his chest like I had any control over any of this. Like I could up the ante. The fact that my body belonged to him, snapping to life when he gave me a single look was proof that he was in control. I was Jacob’s. His alone.
His lips swept over mine, slow, teasing as he pulled back. Not far enough that I would protest, but far enough that my lips quivered and missed his touch.
“You have no idea how sexy that is,” he said huskily, blue eyes darkening with heat. His fingertips spread along the line of my neck, fanning out before they tightened. Not tight enough to hurt or cut the air from my lungs. Breathing was irrelevant anyway. I stopped breathing as soon as he started stripping me down with his eyes.
He still had that effect on me. Even after all this time.
His fingertips branded me, making an invisible impression as he brought his lips down to kiss the trail he made with his hand.
“Seeing you like this. Wild—” He drug his teeth along the sensitive strip of flesh. “—All mine.”
My skin was on fire and when he started tracing lines, swirling his tongue, I threw my head back with abandon, dark curls dancing down my back.
“Oh Jacob.” I moaned, a long, lusty thing that poured out of my mouth. He reclaimed my lips, like he needed to taste me again. Taste my need. His hands locked in my hair, taking a handful, tugging as his tongue no longer hinted at what he wanted. It dove between my lips, slicking over mine before it dueled, daring me to go faster and demand more.
So I did. I rose up on my knees, raking my hands through his hair, my hair spilling down as I buried my tongue in his mouth. My body ached because I was straddling him, wanting other things to be buried. To spread wide. To give him all of me.
I could feel his curve of approval, snug, fighting against the slip of cotton that did nothing to hide his bulge. I rolled my hips and he let out a groan that said I wasn’t playing fair.
Punishment was swift and delicious.
He spun me around, bucking me down onto the mattress. I looked at all the tight lines and squares of his chest and abdomen, eyes racing down to the dark curls that angled toward his erection. He speared through his boxer briefs, promising that he wanted and needed this as badly as me. I brought my hands to the band of his underwear, hooking my thumb inside and started pulling it downward. He stopped me, gripping my wrists and vaulted them up and over my head.
He leaned down, eyes flashing with all the things he wanted to do to me.
“Not yet.”
I let out a muffled whine that fluttered behind my lips, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.
His eyes twinkled with mischief as he clucked his tongue. “Cute, but ineffective.”
He released my hands, knowing that I’d keep them where he left them. Even when he started trailing his hands down, fingers sliding over my collarbone before they drew between the valley of my cleavage. He cut toward my breast, stopping before he returned to the center, stroking the seam. Close to my curve...back. Alternating sides...back. When I hitched a breath, I saw him looking at my lips.
He was listening for those little gasps.
I stuck my tongue out at him and one side of his mouth tipped upward. He kept his eyes on my lips and I let out as sigh as he cupped my breast in his palm. The sigh changed into a loud gasp when he pinched my nipple. Nothing compared to that slice of pain that vibrated through the delicious pleasure. The wetness that grew, my juices coating my lower lips. Making me writhe.
But his hands weren’t done. Jacob smoothed down my abdomen before his hand rested solidly over my sex.
“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmured, looking down at me, the smirk nowhere and in its place, nothing but fire. An animal desire flooded me as he split the lips of me and thrust his finger inside. The abrupt invasion sent shockwaves sizzling through me and I vaulted my body upward to meet the next stroke, savoring the way my body clenched around his finger. I closed my eyes as he added another, my body adjusting to him.
“Your eyes, Leila.”
I popped them open and he stared down at me, lips parted, trembling as I hitched a breath when he went deeper. It was more tha
n just his hand. His eyes rocked in and out.
He drew his hand out and drove his pelvis into me, showing me that I wasn’t the only one losing it. Showing me what came next. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to touch him.
He arched a dark eyebrow, giving me a look like he could see inside my head. “What do you want, Leila?”
“You,” I whispered.
His eyes glowed. “Show me.”
I yanked my arms down and wasted no time pulling off his boxer briefs, eyes taking in the veiny, thick bulge of him as it snapped free. I took him in my hand, sweeping my thumb over the slit in the head, licking my lips when I felt the desire seep from him. I gazed up at my lover, my fiancé, and slowly slid my hand up and down his length.
His eyes closed and I saw the lust ripple across his face.
I tightened my hold and his eyes popped open and he growled. Literally growled.
And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
He threw my legs wider, moving in the space between them. Muscular arms flexed on both sides of me as he leaned forward and I could feel him pulsing at my entrance.
He watched me intently as I squirmed beneath him. Feeling how close he was to being inside. How close I was to being whole.
He moved one hand to his groin, holding it steady. Right there. So close that I was practically begging.
His eyes pinned me in place. “Tell me you want me.”
My mouth was dry from all the moaning and it came out as a croak. “I want you.”’
“Louder.”
“I want you!”
He entered me and I clasped him, those three words everything, filling me as completely as every new stroke. He looked down at me as he went deeper, the wildness racing across his features, settling on his lips.
I didn't wait for him to say the word to release me. How could I with him so deep, his gaze penetrating me in time with his body?
My core rocked, spasming, cooing as I gripped him and didn't let go. The warmth spread out over me, pricking my cheeks and I opened my mouth to explain, but he shook his head as he moved inside of me, the pace of his thrusts crashing. Eradicating my apology. Showing me just how hot he found it when I came, wrapped around him.
"This is all that matters, Leila." He leaned over me, lips brushing my ear. "Nothing else matters to me."
****
When I walked into the Kent strategy meeting I expected all bets to be off. The last time Missy Diaz and I attempted to play nice, it lasted all of five minutes. I had a feeling I’d walk into the conference room and she’d give me some sort of acknowledgement, a nod, maybe a smile if she woke up on the right side of the bed and was feeling generous, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
I stepped through the doorway, gripping my expandable folder to my chest, almost like I was holding onto the illusion that she’d give any of the suggestions and ideas inside a listen. Sure, we’d had a moment in a cab where we talked about her sister and put our beef on hold, but that was days ago. It was Monday, Mia had yet to sign her contract, and from the way Missy flipped through the papers in front of her, this was going to be a long meeting.
I was early enough that there were still seats near the front, but I gravitated to my usual seat near the back. Away from the line of fire.
Sia Murrow, one of the staff publicists, gave me a hearty wave. “Hi Leila!”
I had to remind myself to wave and smile back. She was one of my coworkers who generally didn’t acknowledge me at all before. At barely five feet with cropped white blond hair, big, expressive gray eyes and a fitted white dress, she was a bundle of frenetic energy...all of which was unfortunately focused on me.
“Have a good weekend?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and I felt the warmth of embarrassment and a hefty dose of annoyance. Some random chick who spent months looking right through me thought we were close enough to hint at questions about my sex life?
I abandoned my regular seat since it was right beside her and opted for one three seats away. I gave her a tight smile and turned my attention to my folder.
“Leila?” Mia said at the front.
I looked up at the sound of my name, only vaguely aware of the lack of condescension in her voice. "Yes?"
“Can you come up here for a second?”
I was very aware of the eyes locked on me as I slowly rose from my chair. It was barely a ten foot walk to where she was standing at the head of the table but it stretched on forever, horror movie style. The dread I’d been holding down burst free, doing wretched things to my stomach and I was grateful I’d only had time to scarf down a banana and coffee before the meeting. Even though my eyes were locked on Missy, I had a pretty good idea everyone else’s faces were along the lines of ‘Ooo Leila’s in trouble'.
I battled to keep my face from showing just how nervous I was, trying to take a page from the Whitmore Art of the Poker Face.
I stopped a few feet from Missy, giving myself an internal pinch. Cut. It. Out. Missy isn’t the boogeyman. You have a right to be here. Experience. And an established relationship with the client along with a pretty awesome management plan. My input, my presence, was just as valid as anyone else sitting around the table. Missy Diaz didn’t have any power over me unless I gave it to her.
I stood up a little taller, ready to face whatever drama she was about to send my way.
Missy was dressed in all black—blouse, slacks, with stilettos. Her hair was piled into a tight bun on the crown of her head and her brown eyes were intensified by smoky eye shadow. Her blood red lips creased and she gave me a small smile.
“Why don’t you join me up front?”
I must have looked confused. Heck, I was confused. Why did she want me up front? So she didn’t have to aim so far when she threw daggers my way?
She must have seen the question because she explained. "We’re partners and I don’t want to have to yell back and forth all meeting."
Partners.
She gestured behind me. “Is that yours?” She looked at Sia. “Sia bring Leila’s things up front.”
Sia’s glossy lips soured but she snapped to action, grabbing my folder and trudging to the front, the ball of energy fizzling as she looked back and forth between us like she missed the memo where she was my assistant.
She held it out to me, her eyes narrowed to charcoal slits.
“Thanks," I said awkwardly, accepting it.
She gave me a crisp nod and went back the way she came. I had a feeling our faux friendship was pretty much over. And me and Missy? I still wasn’t sure where we stood.
“Mind if I take a look?” Missy asked smoothly.
“S-Sure.”
I gave her the folder and watched as she leafed through the contents. Pulled out folders, scanned papers, nodding slowly as she surveyed the material. She passed it back to me. “There’s some good stuff in here.”
Wow. We were partners and now I was getting a job well done too? I was cautiously optimistic. This was what I wanted. We didn’t have to be besties or even like each other, but we should be able to check that at the door and work together.
The last person filed in and all eyes rested on Missy as she called the meeting to order.
“Good morning,” she began, taking in the room before continuing. “A new week and new developments in the Kent case. As I’m sure you know Mia Kent was rushed to the ER after a suicide attempt.”
Anywhere else, the word suicide would have raised a few brows or been accompanied by whispers. No one even blinked weird. We were in the fixing business and it wasn’t all promoting new movies and setting up TV appearances. Mia’s attempts weren’t Whitmore and Creighton’s first brush with a star who’d had enough and unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t be our last. Still, it was slightly eerie that no one even flinched.
I tried to tell myself it was because the media had been running the story all weekend. Talking to psychiatrists and people who knew and worked with Mia, leaving no stone unturned so the public could be over-
informed on every aspect of her life.
“She was released this morning.” Missy turned to me. “Have you spoken with Miss Kent?”
I cleared my throat, feeling the nerves cartwheel in my throat as eyes shifted to me. “We’ve exchanged a few texts since her admittance." From the way Missy’s eyebrow curved she wanted more than that so I added, “She seems to be doing better.”
Mia was doing better. She made sure she let me know that she still didn’t like that ‘mouthy bitch’ and wasn’t sure if she wanted to be represented by Whitmore and Creighton. The fact that she was considering it at all told me that she was at least thinking about her future. Of course I was sure I let her know that we could help her but more than anything I was just glad she was showing signs of the smart ass I’d met.
“That’s good,” Missy nodded. She pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling out a blank sheet of paper. “It still brings us back to the issue of signing her as a client.” She picked up a pen and spun it between her fingers. “Any ideas?”
Hands shot up like vines and I had to bite my lip to hide my amusement. A room full of Hermione Grangers.
Missy pointed the pen at a tall, dark haired guy near the back. “Paul?”
“I’ve done some research and I found out that she loves indie music and spa days. We could set her up for the weekend at Blue Heart and find out the best local band and get them to do a set for her.”
Missy crinkled her nose. “Girls day out and a concert for a client that’s way too high profile?”
“We’ll keep it small and intimate,” he suggested, his voice a little less confident. “Just Miss Kent and two friends.”
A warning sound fired in my ears and me and Missy exchanged a look. Paul’s suggestion wasn’t a bad one—but the idea of her being around friends anything like the one we’d met was.
Missy turned to the woman beside him. “Kara, what’s your suggestion?”
Kara sat up, sweeping her brown hair over one shoulder. “Well, piggybacking on Paul, I think we should woo her. A dress by her favorite designer. Shoes. Handbags. Have the chef from her fave restaurant cook her meals. Fly in treats from her favorite bakery, no matter the location.” Nods rippled across the room. “Christmas should come early. We need to show her that we have resources and we’re ready to use them on her.”
