Fine. Jo was used to rejection. She knew better than to expect that a man like Derek would have any interest in distracting her from her avalanche of bad decisions. Men didn’t want to sleep with women who whined about their problems. They wanted the fantasy. The stiletto-wearing, red-lipsticked blonde they met at The Bay Breeze, not whatever raw nerve in too-small pajama shorts had shown up in her place. Her mistake.
Derek swept their wine glasses away to the kitchen, putting space between them, and she curled in on herself on the loveseat. His eyes softened when he caught the movement, but he didn’t leave his post by the sink.
Maybe she was a sucker for punishment, but she couldn’t help herself. “Can I ask you something?” He leaned against the far counter and nodded. “You said you don’t date much since your divorce.” Another nod, this one tighter. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”
He looked away, lips parting in a silent sigh. “Lonely is better than hurting Annie.”
“How can you be so sure you’d—”
“Because I already did.” Jo’s heart clenched in her chest at the pain slashed across his face. “A few years ago I met a woman. A choreographer.” She waited as he searched for the words, avoiding eye contact with her. “Things got serious. Faster than I expected. I introduced her to Annie. We were making plans. And then...” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It fell apart. It took six months for Annie to stop asking when she was goingto come back.” He curled his fingers around the edge of the counter and, when he met her gaze, his eyes blazed. “Lonely is better.”
Jo considered him, the coiled strength and regret tensing every muscle as he warred with himself. “I’m not sure you really believe that,” she said softly.
“I have to.” Silence settled between them, the air growing thick and heavy with it, until at last, he tilted his chin down the hall. “Why don’t you go to bed so you can get up for your masochistically early yoga class?”
“I—” She glanced towards the bedroom, then back to the handsome man gripping the counter behind him so hard his knuckles had turned white. “I’m not taking your bedroom. I’m fine out here.”
“Jo, take the bedroom.”
“You are already paying me a small fortune to hang with your cool as shit kid. I can sleep on the sofa bed. Besides, this thing is more comfortable than my bed at home. See?” She launched herself at the sofa bed, landing on her knees and bouncing on the high-end mattress. His eyes darkened further, jaw clenching, as her bouncing slowed. She’d forgotten she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Take the bedroom, Joelle,” he growled—and good Lord, her full name in that gravelly tone was a thing of beauty.
“Why?”
He shoved off from the counter behind him, landing with his hands flat against the island, the only thing standing between them. “Because I can see your nipples through yourtop, little menace. I need doors between us, locked doors. I spent half the day watching other men flirt with you and the last few hours doing my damnedest to keep my hands off of you, and if you don’t go to bed right now and lock that door behind you, then I can’t promise I won’t tear off your flimsy little shorts and vent all this frustration on your perfect pussy.” He slapped his hands against the counter again. “And that cannot happen.”
It wasn’t often that Jo found herself speechless, but her mind was too busy conjuring the scenario he’d described to think of anything even remotely eloquent to say in response. Need pulsed between her legs, that coil in her belly now directly connected to her core and tugging. She squeezed her thighs together and shivered as her nipples furled into unbearably tight peaks. His eyes focused on the sharp points through her camisole, a low sound rumbling in his chest. She felt that sound like the scratch of his beard on her most sensitive parts, and she wanted more.
“Bed. Now, Jo.”
Her legs were unsteady beneath her as she got to her feet, determined not to give in to the instinct to run down the hall, to see if he’d chase her. Christ, since when did she want a man tochaseher? But she did. She wanted him to chase her, to catch her, to make her pay for running from him in the first place. When she reached the bedroom door, she looked back at him over her shoulder, gratified to find his eyes glued to her ass.
“Whatever you say, daddy fox.”
He rounded the island like a man on a mission and shescurried into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Flipping the lock as she’d been instructed, she leaned back against the door, her heart pounding in her chest. The sound of his pacing at the end of the hall sent tendrils of heat curling around her thighs. She wished he’d come pound on the door.
But she needed this job.
She could hold out for a few more days. Even if Derek looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive and the memory of how good he was at doing exactly that was still fresh in her mind. Even if they had spent the last hour cracking themselves open for each other in ways she’d never done with a man, and he’d just admitted how much he wanted her too.
He also said it can’t happen.
A few more days to play by his silly rules and keep her hands to herself, and then he’d go on tour with the band and she’d go back to her life in Aster Bay. She needed to remember that no matter how much they shared or how much he looked at her like he wanted to swallow her whole, it was all coming to an end in three days.
The footsteps at the end of the hall drew closer.
Maybe she couldn’t touch him, but he’d never said anything about touching herself…
She slapped her hand against the door, listening for the pause in his footsteps and slid her other hand inside her shorts. Her fingertips rasped over her clit and she moaned, just loud enough for him to hear. She pictured him on the other side of the door, listening. Would his cock get hard if he knew she was playing with herself? That all that stood between them was aflimsy hotel door?
She slid two fingers inside herself, whimpering as she drove herself closer and closer to release. Would he jerk off to the sounds she made? Would he picture the way she looked with her hands down her pants and her head tipped back as she raced towards her climax? Would he punish her for teasing him, for getting him hard and making him think about fucking her, when he’d sworn not to touch her?
Her orgasm took her by surprise, her thighs quivering and knees buckling as her hips drove up into her hand, and she imagined it was him—his hand between her legs, his mouth on her neck, his weight pressing against her as he whispered the filthiest things. When her climax receded, she slumped against the door, her head falling back with a soft thunk.
She could have sworn she heard his ragged exhale on the other side of the door.
Chapter 8