by Kim Karr
Sometimes I’m not so sure I did.
With a push, he flings the door open to his loft and a flutter of nerves quakes in my belly. Then his hand is on my back and that quake turns into an eruption. “Come on in. I won’t be long.”
Walking close to him, maybe too close, I do as he suggests. “You don’t have to rush.”
Jasper shoves his hands in his pockets as if nervous about showing me his apartment.
So adorable.
The place is magnificent, but not in a way that screams money. More in a way that says “space, I have lots of space.” And it is handsomely decorated. Instantly, I know this is all him.
Rough and smooth.
Hard and soft.
Old wood floors, big beams, a high ceiling, and brick walls. It’s a living room, kitchen, and dining area, all in one large space. Industrial-size windows and modern French doors open to a small landing and offer a great view of the city. A hallway leads to what I assume is his bedroom and bathroom. Black-and-white photographs of cars are hung gallery style on the larger walls. There’s an actual loft, too, with a cute spiral staircase that makes me want to climb it. He says that’s where their temporary offices are, and the other guys come here daily. “Your apartment is really nice,” I tell him.
“Thanks. It works,” he says rather modestly, almost shyly.
He’s being so cute.
I can’t hold my smile back. “This place is about five times bigger than mine. It more than works.”
Jasper laughs. “Well, your apartment is a little on the small side.”
“You think?” I giggle.
His hand is gone and I miss the feel of it on my skin. “Do you like baseball?”
A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s after four. “I do, but I think the game already started.”
There’s a look in his eyes that I can’t decipher. “Sweet. Then I’ll definitely hurry. Maybe we’ll be able to catch the tail end at Harry’s. It’s not that far from your place.”
“Sounds great. When we get to my apartment, I’ll hurry too and I’m sure we’ll make it,” I tell him with excitement.
He turns on the television and flicks through the channels until he finds the game. For a moment his eyes lock on the screen.
Rather than watching the game, I watch him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. The way he seems mesmerized by the Tiger player who is up to bat, the smile that breaks across his face when that player hits a home run within five seconds of him having turned on the game, the fist pump he makes, the sound of the yes coming from his mouth. “No fucking way!” he suddenly shouts at the television, and then turns and says, “Can you believe that?” He’s pointing to the screen.
“What happened?” I ask, obviously having missed it because my eyes were on him.
“The ref is calling foul ball. That was not a foul ball.”
The laughter that bubbles out of me is unexpected.
Narrowed eyes glance my way. “What?”
I slap my hand over my mouth. “Nothing.”
Slowly, he saunters toward me. “Charlotte, what’s so funny?”
With my pulse pounding, I shake my head. “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing.”
Close, he’s getting closer. And closer still. Then his fingers are on my sides and he’s tickling me. “Tell me.”
I’m trying to push him away but not really that hard. I like the feel of his hands on me even if it is only in jest, but when I practically start crying from laughter, I have to give in. “Okay, okay. There’s this thing you used to do when we were kids that you still do.”
He straightens, breathing hard, his gaze bold as he waits for me to finish and when I don’t, he moves even closer. “Thing? What thing?”
I swallow, meeting his gaze. The air so thick between us I can barely breathe. “Whenever you get mad both of your eyebrows lower, both of your nostrils flare, but only the right side of your mouth quirks down.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I insist with a laugh.
As if in contemplation, he tilts his head and his hat falls to the ground, obviously having already been disturbed from his tickle attack on me. With the loss of his hat, his hair falls in disarray over his forehead. I want to brush it away but somehow manage to control the urge. He looks at me almost quizzically, and then he pushes it away himself.
Darn.
“I’ll have to check it out myself.” He smirks.
Without thinking, I reach out and touch him. Electricity sparks and for a moment I’m stunned by how much I want him to touch me, really touch me. Quickly expelling those thoughts, I draw a line from the corner of his mouth down. “You’ll have to look right here,” I say, a little breathy, “but what are you going to do? Make yourself mad while you’re looking in the mirror?”
As if my touch is too much for him, he takes a step back and shrugs. “I just might have to do that.”
Warmth still swirling within me like little pools of lust bubbling to the surface, I swear I can hear myself practically panting. There are parts of my body that have never tingled in my life but are almost vibrating now, and I have no idea what to do to stop it.
Another step backward. Then another still, and soon he’s standing a good distance away from me. Even so, his eyes glimmer at me with the newfound understanding we came to earlier. I think that’s what it is. Or maybe it’s something else. I can’t tell. I’m not good at this kind of thing. “I’m going to hop in the shower now before I make any more faces you find funny. Make yourself at home. There’s water in the refrigerator, beer, wine, whatever you want.”
That smile on my face feels like nothing will ever erase it. “Sure, I will.”
Left alone in the big open space, my eyes start to scour it, looking for pieces of his life. Anything that will tell me even a scrap about who he is. My surroundings seem so impersonal, but then I spot something—a picture on a table in the corner squeezed between two chairs under one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Trying not to be too loud because the loft is large and everything seems to be echoing, especially my heavy breathing, I walk softly over to the table. In a simple silver frame is a picture of Jasper sitting in his red and black go-cart with his father standing beside him. I never realized how much the grown-up Jasper looks like his father. That same light and dark brown hair. Those same big brown eyes. Even the same nose. Unable to contain my emotion, I can feel the tears leaking from my eyes.
Buzz. Buzz.
Startled, I jump and quickly place the frame back in its place.
Buzz. Buzz.
It’s the call button from the lobby. I’m not sure what to do. I should probably ask Jasper if he is expecting anyone before I let whomever it is up.
The hallway he disappeared down is fairly long and at the end are two doors. Both are slightly ajar. I can hear the shower running and music playing. I try to place the song. Just as I go to knock, I pause, and then grin, it’s Led Zeppelin—the same music that used to blare from his garage when he was out there with his father.
Somehow in my absentminded quandary, my fingertips have nudged the door open just enough that I can see inside the bathroom. Perfectly. In my direct line of sight is a huge glass wall and he is just beyond it.
My pulse is beating so hard I can feel it pounding at all my pulse points. I should leave. I don’t need to bother Jasper. Whoever it is buzzing to come up can just come back later. Yet, I can’t move. Or maybe it’s more like I don’t want to move.
Steam hovers in the air but there’s not nearly enough to obscure anything. And there he is, naked in the water, head bent as it sluices over him. His eyes are closed. One hand is on the wall. The other slides slowly down his belly and lands between his thighs.
Oh, God.
Now I really can’t move. I’m frozen in place. His hand is on his cock. I swallow the noise my throat tries to make, but I’m sure I don’t do a good job of it. Thank you, Jesus, he doesn’t seem to notice. No
, he definitely doesn’t notice because oh, my God, now he’s stroking himself. Slowly. Deliciously. Up, then down, and a twist of his palm around the head of his cock.
I shouldn’t be watching this, and yet I can’t look away. This is private. For him only, and yet I have to wonder if it’s because of me. Is it his attraction to me that made him step back just moments ago? Made him have to relieve the desire he was feeling? Then why did he say he wouldn’t kiss me again?
When he moves his wrist faster, I have to stifle my sudden harsh breath with my hand. My eyes are glued to his body and although I should leave, I can’t. I just can’t. Jasper, doing this to himself, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The only thing stopping me from reaching between my own legs is my perverted fascination with wanting to watch him come. Oh, and of course the terror of getting caught.
His mouth opens, water filling it and overflowing when he tips his face into the spray. I want so much to be in there with him, share the water, and feel that mouth on my body, but I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. We seem to be dancing around the attraction we feel for each other. Like both of us are afraid to take that leap from an old friendship to intimacy. Afraid perhaps of where it might lead, or maybe where it won’t.
I can’t be sure.
Then again, it could be that the ghosts that accompany us are just too strong to bear.
Soon he’s fucking into his fist with a deliberation that makes me weak at the knees, and I watch. I watch the way his muscles cord in his arms, the way his cock moves within the confines of his fist, the way his face contorts into pure pleasure.
Looking at Jasper, watching him about to come, it opens up something within me. The feeling is hard to describe and I can only think of one word that is fitting—primal.
His cock disappears inside his curled fingers and this stroke seems somehow more determined. Up, down, a twist around his crown, and then another twist. This time his head dips down, and then lowers still.
I press my thighs together to ward off the ache of arousal that is flooding me. I can’t hear him, but I wish I could. I know what he’s feeling, though, because I can see his mouth open and his face contort with satisfaction. He’s close. I can tell. And then soon enough, his taut belly strains, the muscles in his legs bunch, and then it happens—his desire jets out.
Never in my life have I wanted to make myself come like I do right in this moment. No, that’s not true. Never in my life have I wished for a man to take me the way I wish for Jasper to take me right now. Still, this is all kinds of wrong. I shouldn’t have watched him. I know this. Chiding myself, I lick salt from my upper lip and slowly, cautiously take a step back.
“Is there a show going on that I wasn’t invited to?”
That voice. I know that voice. The cynicism behind the tone.
Oh, God.
No. No. No.
Before I even dare shift my gaze, I take a step and then another, and another still away from the door. My heart is beating like a drum. And although my sight is a little blurry from looking through the steam of the bathroom, I force myself not to look petrified as my head snaps in the direction of the large living space, where Jake is standing at the end of the hallway.
He has no idea what Jasper was doing in there.
No idea what I was doing.
I can’t look guilty.
Can’t.
On trembling legs, I make myself walk toward him. “Jake, I was just going to tell Jasper someone was buzzing.”
The look he gives me tells me he knows something. “Yeah, well, no one answered, so I figured he wasn’t back yet and let myself in.”
“You have a key?” I ask stupidly. Obviously I already know this since he comes to work here, but these aren’t working hours, so I never expected that he would be standing here ready to embarrass the ever-loving life out of me.
His eyes appraise me but he says nothing.
My escape is slow, but soon enough I’m standing in front of the refrigerator and opening the door. “Jasper’s just taking a quick shower before he takes me home,” I say, hoping to avert his mind from the fact that moments ago he saw me staring through the partially open bathroom door.
With slow steps he walks toward me. “See you decided to forgive him and get in the car.”
Sipping on a water bottle, I practically spill its contents down my chin. “Jasper told you what happened?”
Now Jake is standing beside me. Very much at home, he opens the refrigerator and grabs a beer bottle. There’s a snicker in his laugh as he closes the door and twists the cap. “We tell each other everything, and I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Charlotte—you’re an anomaly.”
Insulted isn’t sufficient to describe how I feel right now. “I’m a what?”
He steps toward me. “You’re an anomaly, and the thing about anomalies is no one can figure them out, and therefore no one likes them.”
Feeling a little crowded, I round the island and take a seat on one of the bar stools. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Jake leans back against the cabinets. “I’m talking about you. Jasper never goes after a woman, and for some reason you have him jumping through hoops.”
My face scrunches. “That’s not true.”
“But it is. Don’t worry, though—I’m sure it won’t last long because there’s one more thing about him you should know: that as soon as a chick shows signs of being too needy or getting too attached, he’s gone. Like out the door, running far and running fast. The last thing he wants is for anyone to count on him for anything.”
All I can do is stare at him.
“But yet here you are in his apartment with need written all over you. I can only assume he doesn’t see it yet.” He tips his bottle in my direction. “How, I have no idea because I’d go as far as to say you’re a walking, talking billboard of need.”
I throw him the dirtiest look I can.
Ignoring me, he takes a sip of his beer then adds, “And that, Charlotte Lane, is what makes you an anomaly.”
Suppressing my anger, I try to keep calm. “Look, Jake, I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I don’t really appreciate being spoken to that way. Who I am or what I’m about isn’t really any of your concern.”
His laugh throws me off guard. “Glad to see you have spunk. You’ll need that after you make Jasper your world and then,” he snaps his fingers, “poof, when everything becomes too real for him, just like that, he loses your number.”
His words are mean. Are they meant to be? Or is he warning me? “You don’t seem to think very highly of your friend,” I say sourly.
The smirk on his face tells me how much he dislikes me. “That’s not true. Not at all. He’s like a brother to me, which means I care about him. A lot. And you being here in his life isn’t good for him. It’s dredging up all the fucked-up shit from his childhood he put behind him long ago, and from the sound of it, you only plan to dig up more of it, which I know can only hurt him.”
“That’s not my intention at all.”
“Then think long and hard before you open that door, because I’m not sure you really understand just how bad his life was after his father died in that fire.”
Damn him. I can’t even be mad, because his concern for his friend is what his vulgar behavior is all about.
Bare feet slapping against wood causes my attention to shift toward the hallway. Just coming into view is Jasper, towel slung low around his waist, a crisp white shirt in his hand, the rest of him bare—entirely bare.
My mood lifts instantly.
Sexy.
Sexy.
Sexy.
And oh, yeah—the shower.
Warmth spreads throughout my body. From where I sit, I can easily see the incredible definition of his abs. They are smooth, so smooth, and defined in a way that I could trace every indentation with my finger.
Not now, of course.
“Jake.” Jasper’s voice is ste
rn.
Jake bobs his chin toward Jasper. “Hey, man, Will kicked us out early, so I thought I’d spend the night looking through that report the Realtor gave you with alternate locations for the plant.”
Jasper nods, before his eyes find mine. “Everything okay?”
I nod and stand.
Jake talks for me. “Everything’s peachy. We’re just getting to know each other, aren’t we, Charlotte?”
An agreement—you keep your mouth shut and I’ll keep mine shut too.
There is no choice for me, is there? Besides, I know Jake has been Jasper’s friend for years and even if I don’t know him that well, I can tell what he’s saying is what he believes to be the truth.
What I choose to do with his warning is up to me.
Jasper’s gaze burns into mine for longer than a moment.
I shiver under the intensity of his stare. “I’m fine, really,” I tell him.
He walks toward me and hands me his shirt. “Here, take this.”
Dressed still in my biking gear, I take it. Jasper watches me as I slip into it and tie the shirttails at my waist rather than button it. I can feel my breathing pick up under his hot stare.
No doubt Jake notices the chemistry, the sparks; I don’t know how anyone couldn’t. Obviously feeling uncomfortable, Jake clears his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go grab that stuff and then get out of your hair.”
Jasper’s gaze flickers from mine to Jake’s for only a fleeting second. “Yeah, that’s fine. It’s in a folder in the bottom right drawer of my desk. Why’d Will kick you out before the game ended anyway?”
Jake smirks. “He had a guest coming over.”
The grin Jasper gives him tells me there’s something more to that statement. “Naughty secretary?”
Jake nods. “And he’s making her dinner.”
Jasper shakes his head. “Breaking out the frying pan already? Things might start getting serious really fast.”
Jake laughs.
I like how they get along—like brothers, just like Jake said.
