One Wicked Week

Great, now she’d have to reveal the most inconsequential thing she remembered about him and he’d know exactly how tragic she was.

‘You had a few playlists on your phone during uni days.’ She kept her answer deliberately vague, hoping he wouldn’t call her on it. ‘Anyway, there’s a new jazz club recently opened in this hotel. Want to check it out?’

Her invitation floored him, if his wide eyes and slightly parted lips were any indication, but he recovered quickly to stare at her with blatant speculation.

‘You’re full of surprises, Jayda York.’

Good, because as long as she held the upper hand she could keep her doubts at bay and prove how much she’d changed from their last encounter together.

‘Is that a yes, Brock Olsen?’

He nodded, his delectable mouth easing into a smile. ‘That’s a hell yes. Let’s go.’

He stood and held out his hand to her, and, swallowing every reservation she had that she’d done the dumbest thing ever, she placed her hand in his.

CHAPTER THREE (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11)

‘THE HIPSTER CAT? Seriously?’ Brock placed a hand in the small of Jayda’s back and guided her into the dimly lit club, knowing this was a dumbass idea but powerless to do anything about it now.

He should’ve said no the moment she’d invited him to accompany her here but he couldn’t leave, not when she looked so morose. He couldn’t believe she’d never told him about her sister. Then again, he’d meant nothing to her and the only reason she’d reached out to him on grad night was because that dickhead Deon had done a number on her. She’d been vulnerable and he’d been convenient. That was why she’d bolted in the middle of the night, embarrassment at revealing too much of herself to a stranger.

He’d been glad. Her flit had relieved him of giving her the polite brush-off the morning after. It had suited them both. But what had happened tonight...he wasn’t wrong about the sadness. It emanated off her like a goddamn aura and he didn’t like it. Her asshole parents had hurt her, she still grieved for her sister, and he hated seeing the vibrant, bubbly woman appear so fragile.

So he’d manned up and done the right thing, agreeing to her invitation to this jazz club. Not that it was a hardship. She had him at jazz. He played the greats on repeat while he worked: he couldn’t get enough. What surprised him was her remembering his passion.

Which begged the question: what else did she remember from back then? Did she remember him going down on her, twice? Did she remember the multiple orgasms? Did she remember taking him so deep into her mouth that he almost passed out?

He was an idiot for dredging up those memories when she currently clung to his hand as they entered a darkness made for sin.

‘Can’t see a thing in here,’ he muttered, sounding like a grouch.

Her soft laughter washed over him. ‘I think the candles are a nice touch.’

He bit back his first response, ‘too bloody romantic.’ Doing this was about getting her to lighten up after he’d dragged her down with his prompts to reveal what was bugging her. He’d spend thirty minutes with her max, then he was out of here.

‘There are two seats over there.’ She pointed to a secluded alcove in the darkest corner of the club. Frigging great.

He quickly scanned the place for other seats and came up lacking. ‘Okay.’

Sensing his reluctance, she squeezed his hand and he slouched along beside her, his foreboding increasing when they reached the alcove and he realised exactly how sheltered they were. If this were a date, he’d love it. But sitting in the semi-darkness in a cosy booth with the woman who he’d never been able to forget wasn’t good.

She released his hand and slid into the booth, then patted the space beside her. When he hesitated she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in the dimness. ‘I promise not to bite.’

Once again he ignored his first response, something along the lines of ‘I wish you would,’ and slid in next to her. ‘Drink?’

‘I’m good for now. Maybe later.’

Great. So much for his grand plan to make an escape for the bar they’d passed on the way in. A four-piece combo strode onto the stage at that moment: double bass, trumpet, keyboard, drums. He hoped they played loud to drown out his thoughts, focussed on how badly he still wanted her after all this time.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jayda touched his thigh and he jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘Jazz not doing it for you any more?’

He scooted back a fraction, dislodging her hand deliberately, before he swivelled to face her. ‘Do you really want to know what does it for me?’

He threw it out there, a blatant innuendo she couldn’t ignore. He had no idea if she’d been toying with him with her question but he couldn’t sit here in the dark with the boner to end all boners and pretend that he hadn’t once been inside this luscious woman and wouldn’t like to do it all over again.

The band’s spotlight dimmed, thrusting her face into semi-darkness, but he saw her tongue dart out to moisten her bottom lip as her gaze focussed on his mouth.

‘Tell me,’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘I want to know what does it for you.’

Her eyes glowed like polished sapphires in the low lighting, the candlelight highlighting her glossed lips.

That mouth. Carnal. Made for sin. Made for him.

As he studied it her lips parted and the urge to kiss her pounded through him in time with his pulse. He couldn’t bullshit, not now. He wanted her too damn badly.

‘You.’ Before he could second-guess the wisdom of his impulsiveness he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his rigid cock. ‘You do it for me.’

She gasped, her eyes widening, her excitement reflecting his in the flickering candlelight.

‘Too much?’ he asked, with a sardonic grin, but not letting go of her hand. Her touch after all this time made him imagine all the naughty things he’d like to do to her in this alcove.

‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured, a second before she surged towards him and claimed his mouth.

Her kiss took him by surprise and she took advantage of that, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, demanding he match her. He didn’t have to be asked twice, sliding his free hand behind her head so he could change the angle, deepening the kiss to the point where he couldn’t breathe.

She made the same soft moaning sounds in the back of her throat that she had six years earlier and it made him hornier, if that were possible. He released her hand but she maintained the pressure over his cock, palming him through his chinos, teasing him to the point he could easily ravish her without thought of fellow patrons.

A blast of trumpet made them jump and he tore his mouth away from hers, dragging in breaths to calm his addled mind. What the hell was he doing? He had to work with her for the next couple of weeks and this would only complicate matters.

But did it have to? They’d had sensational sex for one unforgettable night and that hadn’t stopped her approaching him to help her business. Would taking an erotic trip down memory lane really complicate things? She’d invited him here. She’d kissed him. And by the way she practically clambered all over him, she wanted more.

‘Brock?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah?’

A flush stained her cheeks and moved down her neck, disappearing into that ridiculously high collar of her dress, shielding what he longed to see: the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top of her bra, the deep cleavage created by her sizeable breasts.

As if she sensed the direction of his licentious thoughts, her hand hovered over her breastbone, drawing attention to her rigid nipples. Fuck, he wanted her.

‘I’m guessing you have some great jazz playlists at your place?’ Her voice turned husky, possibly from nerves or desire, as she squared her shoulders, bold and daring and delectable. ‘As good as anything these guys can produce?’

Yeah, she wanted this as badly as he did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was using him as an emotional crutch again, a guy to help her lose herself in a few hours of sex to obliterate whatever was really bothering her.

Why do you care?

The kicker was, he did care. Even after all this time, because of how he’d felt about her all through uni, he cared. She didn’t know it, but he’d never take advantage of her.

No matter how brazen her actions, no matter how seductive her words, he had to wonder: did she want this for the right reasons? Did she really want a night of raunchy sex then to face him tomorrow without a qualm when they had to work together?