Jaxon - Bad Boys of New York Book #1

by Mackenzy Fox

  “Is that necessary?” I ask.

  He looks at me, puzzled. “What, the connecting doors?”

  “Yes,” I say like he’s dumb.

  “We’ve been through this already so don’t start.”

  I roll my eyes and go in search of the minibar.

  He looks around my room and I think he’s just slightly impressed. His room is smaller being the connecting junior suite but it still has a magnificent view.

  “Pretty nice, huh?” I say with a smirk.

  His eyes come back to mine. “It’s opulent that’s for sure.”

  “I like opulence,” I tell him.

  “Haven’t noticed,” he mutters.

  “You want a drink?” I pull out a vodka and soda can out from the fridge.

  He shakes his head. “Going to order some room service and have an early night, it’s been a long week.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” I agree, glancing at my Apple watch. It is after nine o’clock and I barely ate on the plane. I hate flying to begin with but my stomach in knots regardless.

  “If you need anything; I’ll be right in there,” he says, pointing at the interconnecting door.

  I nod as he disappears through it and closes it gently.

  I stare at the door after him.

  He’s definitely out of sorts.

  Ever since that night, I’ve been picturing Jaxon differently so maybe he thinks the same about me? Maybe he does think I’m a drama queen who can’t hold her liquor? I hate that I suddenly care what he thinks, and that I kissed him, twice.

  I look down at the bags and I realize that Jaxon’s on-board carry-on is in my doorway. Great, now I’ve got to go disturb him and give him his bag. Or maybe I should just leave it until he needs it in the morning?

  Stop being such an idiot, he just left.

  I knock tentatively on my side of the door and listen, I can’t just go barging in there, maybe I could just wheel it and slide it through so it sails into his room and I won’t need to go in there at all.

  I open it and try doing just that, it won’t roll on the carpet though because of the wheels.

  I huff.

  “Jaxon,” I call out. I don’t hear anything. “I’ve got your case,” I yell a bit louder. Then I hear some movement and I realize he’s in the shower, the water is running and I hear the faint sound of humming.

  Jaxon sings in the shower?

  The thought of him all soaped up in there does things to my nether region and I know I need to go instead of lingering around like a creeper in his room. I wheel the case through to the lounge and I turn to see steam billowing out of the bathroom. I also see a mirror.

  In the mirror is the reflection of Jaxon through the clear glass door, butt naked, duh… of course he’s naked, he’s in the shower, and his hands are running over his body as he soaps up some kind of intoxicating shower gel that should be illegal it smells so good.

  His chest and arms have tattoos which I never knew he had. Well, I’ve never seen him without his shirt off, obviously. His legs also have tatts up his shins and they wrap all the way up his legs in swirling patterns.

  His body is ripped, his torso is God’s gift to women it’s so chiseled and muscular and hard that I don’t know where to look. But I do look, I look at him and his broad chest, there’s a smattering of hair between his pecs and then more at his snail trail that leads down to his… oh my God. He’s hung like a fucking horse. That thing cannot be real.

  I don’t mean to stare, I mean, I should go, but I can’t, my feet are glued to the spot as I gawk at him and I feel my temperature rising. He dips his head under the water and closes his eyes as the hot water soaks him, his back now to me. I have a full shot of his ass and I marvel at how his butt is a masterpiece too; small, taught, terrific, his back strong and muscular with tattoos scattering in patterns all across his broad skin. It’s the most luscious, beautiful, sexy thing I’ve ever seen and every nerve in my body is on fire watching him.

  It’s then that he turns around, and as he does, his eyes flick up to mine as his hands run up his face and he pushes his slick hair back off his face. Our eyes lock.

  The humming stops.

  I know my mouth opens agape and I’m standing there staring at him like a creepazoid. Instead of telling me to go and get the hell out of there, he stands there and continues his sexual assault of my senses by reaching for the shower gel and rubbing his hands together, soaping them up as he moves them down his pecs and down to his torso, he doesn’t stop there, oh no, he does not. One of his strong, large hands runs through the hair at his snail trail then moves to his dick that hangs heavily between his legs as he touches himself, he sheaths himself with his fist a couple of times, my eyes go wide and he smirks. Holy guacamole.

  It’s then I realize I’ve taken leave of my senses and without further ado, I quickly dash for the connecting door like I’ve suddenly stepped on hot lava.

  What the hell is the matter with me?

  When I’m safely back in my own room, I shut the door with force and lean back and sag against it. I’m hot and out of breath like I’ve just run a marathon.

  Holy mother of God.

  I’ve never, and I mean never, seen a body that looks like that and I’ve never in my life seen a man so well endowed. What the hell does he do with that huge thing? I sink down against the door as I berate myself for even going in there. You idiot!

  I was looking forward to running a hot bath and taking a long, leisurely soak with a bath bomb, but now I’m going to have to go and have a long, freezing cold shower instead, and the only bomb going off is the one in my head telling me my libido is fully alive and well.

  And why did I just stand there staring? I literally face-palm myself. Of course I know why, he’s fucking hot. And that smirk? He didn’t even look embarrassed or anything, in fact, he was almost taunting me with that smirk, egging me on. He’s very confident in his body and he knows he’s all that, and why wouldn’t he? He’s worked hard to look that way.

  The way his hand gripped his… oh, Lord no. It’s so deliciously wrong.

  Now all I’m going to be able to picture is him looking at me while in the shower holding his appendage all soaped up while smirking his annoying smile. And those tattoos… Lord have mercy.

  What have I done?

  How am I ever going to recover from this and show my face again?

  I bang my head a few times against the door and close my eyes.

  Interconnecting doors, my ass. I need to just stay in my lane, you got that, Morgan?

  STAY IN YOUR LANE!

  I recite that mantra over and over as I pick my flushed-self off the ground and stumble to the bathroom to run that decidedly cold shower.

  I know without a doubt it’s going to be a really long weekend.

  I don’t see Jaxon until we’re in the private dining room for suite guests at breakfast time. Ryan was the one waiting outside my room and we rode down in the elevator together.

  I wonder if Jaxon is ignoring me? Maybe he feels embarrassed about it in the light of day, and who could blame him? I should not have continued to stand and stare at him while having a private shower, but then again, he shouldn’t have deliberately grabbed hold of his junk like that and stroked himself knowing full well I was watching.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  There’s a huge buffet and everything smells amazing, not that I can concentrate.

  God. I’m such a mess. I couldn’t sleep last night, go figure.

  Ryan takes a seat where Jaxon is sitting at a table in the back with coffee and croissants. So, he eats croissants? I wonder what else he likes to eat… my mind flicks to an image of him between my legs and I clench my toes to stop the thought.

  For God’s sake, get a grip.

  My inner turmoil does nothing for my nerves. I jump about five feet in the air when Jolie comes up next to me waiting for the self-serve cappuccino machine.

  “Jesus, Jolie,” I say, holding my hand over m
y heart.

  “Sorry, Morgs, didn’t mean to startle you. This place is amazing.”

  “I know,” I agree. “Well done you.”

  “I know right.” She giggles, quite proud of herself.

  I haven’t even made eye contact with him yet but in my periphery, I see him stand and walk over towards us.

  Oh shit, here we go.

  I start to sweat.

  I look back at my slow-as-can-be coffee percolating like it has all the time in the world.

  “Morning, Jaxon!” Jolie says with enthusiasm, clearly someone got a good night’s sleep last night, unlike me. I have enough bags under my eyes to go to Europe.

  “Good morning, Jolie, you look lovely today.”

  I glance at her t-shirt with a big set of pink lips and the words ‘Francais embrasse moi’

  tucked into her pencil skirt with knee-high boots. She’s got rocker chic fashion down pat.

  “French kiss me?” he says with a smirk, I feel him look at me and my cheeks heat. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?”

  Jolie laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. “You speak French?”

  “Oui, madam, croissant?”

  I roll my eyes as he passes her a chocolate pastry and she takes it eagerly. “God, I’ve put on five pounds just looking at this,” she complains.

  “Morgan?” He holds the plate to me.

  “No, thanks,” I reply, waving a hand in his direction.

  Hurry up, fucking coffee.

  “You want a cappuccino?” she asks Jaxon. Why do they have to hang around here for heavens sakes, it’s too early for this. I wish they’d go away.

  “Shit!” I say, suddenly realizing my mistake. “I pushed decaf.”

  “It’s alright,” Jolie sings all chirpy. “I’ll have it; I’ve had enough caffeine this morning already.”

  Before I can refuse, she takes the cup out of the holder then dumps two heaped teaspoons of sugar in it and bounces back to the table. “Bonsoir, Jaxon!” she calls over her shoulder.

  He grins after her holding his croissant plate up in the air in a salute, for what I don’t know. “Bonsoir, Cherie,” he replies.

  I grab another cup and begin the whole slow process again.

  I can smell his aftershave as I try to concentrate and it is very distracting.

  “Good morning, MJ,” he says. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s enjoying my uncomfortableness.

  “Morning, Jaxon.”

  It’s childish I know, but goddamn, I can’t look at him and not picture him naked.

  “You aren’t avoiding me, are you?”

  I tap my nails on the coffee machine like that will help make it faster, the urge to bang on it is tempting but I won’t lower myself to that.

  I look at him sharply, sure enough; he’s smirking like the cat who got the cream.

  “Why would I do that?” I wonder, acting baffled.

  He gives me a pointed look. “I think you know why.”

  I take a long hard breath, may as well get this over with now.

  “Listen, I don’t really want to talk about it, but I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  “You didn’t mean to what?” He tilts his head, his eyes dance with mischief. “Violate my privacy?”

  Yeah, he’s enjoying this just a little bit.

  “Stare,” I say honestly, because that’s all there is to it.

  I’m a big fat starer head and I could drink his beautiful body in all day long and not get tired of it.

  “It’s alright,” he says, his voice is way too low and seductive, it almost sends a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t mind you looking.”

  I swallow hard, my eyes on the dripper machine which is taking a murderously long time to expel the liquid. I feel my nipples harden and that is not good. He’s awoken something in me that’s been dormant for a long time. In any case, he shouldn’t be saying that, he should not be encouraging me.

  “You shouldn’t admit that,” I whisper. “It’s not only morally wrong but wrong in general, remember?”

  He should know since he’s the King of all things holy.

  “Whatever you say, MJ, maybe next time knock?”

  I gulp; I can feel my cheeks flush. “I did knock,” I retort, trying to keep my voice low. “You didn’t hear me, you were singing in the shower.”

  God, just the thought of it…

  He leans closer. “Why are we whispering?”

  I look up at him, he’s clearly laughing at me and does not have any hang-ups at all about what I saw. Why would he? He’s got a perfect body. I look around but nobody is paying us any attention. “Because I saw you… you know…”

  “Say it,” he goads quietly. “Just once, it’ll be our little secret.”

  My words flung back at me from the night I tried to drunkenly seduce him do not escape me.

  I let out a long, noisy breath. “Naked,” I whisper angrily. “I saw you naked, okay! And I didn’t mean to, they left your case in my room and I was returning it and it wouldn’t wheel on the stupid carpet so I didn’t want to just like leave it so I wheeled it in and…”

  Why am I babbling?

  My mind is a cluster fuck and I do not like it. “And then… I… well… yeah.”

  “Make a habit of spying on all your bodyguards in the shower or just me?”

  I gape at him; of course, I know he’s kidding.

  I do not want to admit that I liked what I saw, very much. His body is that of a God, built for sin, of course he knows this, which is why he’s all smug instead of embarrassed. If he’d seen me like that in the shower, I’d die a million deaths and would never be able to face him again.

  God, now I’m picturing us both in the shower. So heaven help me.

  “It was an accident,” I reply, finally the frothy stuff stops churning out. Hoorah.

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “Let’s just never talk about this again,” I say, taking the cup out of the holder. “Deal?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Good.”

  He takes the cup from me. “Thanks, I appreciate you making my coffee, after all, it’s the least you could do considering what we’ve been through.” He gives me a wink. “I do have one last question though.”

  Oh, God no.

  “What?” I spit, hoping this will make him disappear.

  He leans in. “Did you enjoy it?”

  I gape at him. “Jaxon!”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. I watch as he walks off with my coffee in hand and I shake my fist at him behind his back. I reach for another cup and try again for the third time to make my coffee without it getting stolen or wanting to hurl it at Jaxon’s head.

  Goddamn asshole.

  19

  Jaxon

  I can’t help but milk the fact Morgan saw me naked for just a little bit longer than necessary. Seeing her embarrassment at being caught watching me and now my continued ribbing is probably enough punishment for her, but I’m an asshole through and through, what can I say?

  Of course, I didn’t stop my hand working me over after she’d left. God, it was so wrong her watching me but oh so right. I smile, remembering her eyes widen at the size of my cock, her shock at me openly touching myself, all of it, I should have grabbed a towel and covered up, sent her out, yelled at her even, but that would be untruthful of me, I did like it. I liked her watching. Plus, it was my shower, in my private room. So, I jacked off and finished the job after she left, imagining she was in there with me, down on her knees while I ramrodded down her throat.

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to quit.

  If I quit then maybe I could pursue her? Shit. Would I really want to do that?

  Yes. My nob answers for me, of course that head is working just fine even if my actual brain isn’t.

  This is what happens when I deprive myself, this is what happens when you go weeks without sex. I mean, what am I trying to prove? But it’s her I want and n
obody else will do.

  In truth, Morgan James still has my balls in a vice and there ain’t a damn thing I can do while I work for her.

  Work. Yes. I’m here to work and not fantasize about her; if only she’d not barged her way into my room last night, maybe I could have resisted. Maybe if she wasn’t so goddamned sexy then I could, in theory, do that.

  But really, who am I trying to kid?

  I just have to keep my mind on the job.

  The first day is as boring as bat shit as we hang around outside a big conference room waiting for the brainstorming session with other developers to finish. I leave Ryan there while I take a look around the pool and the grounds. It’s a nice hotel, everything is lavish, which is typical fashion of Morgan James, nothing she does is by halves. This hotel has fifteen restaurants, a huge gym, sauna, spa, and probably a marching band on stand-by if I look close enough.

  Morgan and her staff all lunch at a nearby café and while I’m downing my sub sandwich, my phone rings and I excuse myself from the table and go outside.

  It’s my man, Zane. I spoke to him yesterday at the airport. He’s digging up any and all dirt on Brandon Thomas, and so far, he hasn’t found shit.

  “Zane,” I say, hoping like hell he’s got some news for me.

  “Jax, how’s the suntan going?”

  “Shut up and tell me what you’ve got.”

  He laughs.

  Zane is one of the best people I know who gathers information, any information, and he’s also a very skilled hacker.

  “I got nothing, dude, no criminal record, no misdemeanors, he’s barely had a parking ticket, your guy’s clean.”

  Fuck. I run a hand through my hair, agitated.

  “How can he be clean? This guy is the world’s biggest sleazeball; you must have something on him?”

  This is not good news and not what I was expecting.

  “Well, there is one little thing that may be something, but it may be nothing, I’m clutching at straws here, Jax.”

  “Let’s hear it?”

  “I hacked into his mainframe at work, I got that gut feeling this guy is too clean, you know what I mean? It just doesn’t sit right.”