THE NIGHT of the wrap party, Jamie’s jaw drops as I walk down the stairs.
A ping of delight hits me square in the chest, and I try to hide my grin. I know I look good. My hair is loose in long, undone waves. My dark teal velvet dress hugs my slight curves. Jamie’s eyes linger on the thin straps, the neckline dipping into my cleavage, and the embroidery running down the dress to my thighs.
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
The words are sharp and short, like he doesn’t approve, but the heat in his eyes tells me a different story. My face heats.
This isn’t a good idea, I told him after we kissed. You’re my assistant, he said.
This past week, we’ve been acting like the kiss never happened. He joined me on a few dog walks around Stanley Park and in North Van, and Donna joined us once when we hiked Seymour Mountain. It didn’t seem like she picked up on any weirdness between us. I have a feeling she’d say something or tease us if she did.
“You look great,” I tell him, taking in his charcoal suit. “You’re going to have women falling all over you.”
Good lord, he looks good. The suit must be custom, because it fits him perfectly. He isn’t wearing a tie, and instead, the top two buttons of his white dress shirt are open.
He holds my eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. I chew my lip, trying not to remember the sound I heard the night we kissed.
I can’t help it, though.
That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, but all I could think about was Jamie’s lips on mine, and his tongue stroking into my mouth like he owned me.
When Jamie went into his room, I heard it through the wall—his low groan. The same low groan I heard a few weeks ago. He was stretching, I had told myself.
He wasn’t stretching.
The second I heard it, my eyes went wide with shock, and the apex of my thighs heated. For the first time in… I don’t know how long, I slipped my hand into my panties and touched myself—quick, light strokes. I came in less than a minute. A new record. I couldn’t believe it.
Actually, looking at Jamie now, in his charcoal suit, I can believe it. I can believe it so hard.
My gaze drops to his mouth, pressed in a flat, unhappy line, and I remember how consuming his kiss was. A shiver rolls down my back.
“You’re going to be cold,” he mutters.
“I’m bringing a jacket, bossy.” I roll my eyes at him, and his jaw ticks again. I stride past him to the front door, and when I lean down to put my heels on, I stumble over Daisy’s leash.
Jamie sighs and walks over.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but he crouches at my feet and takes my shoe from me.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.” “I’m fine.”
“Pippa.”
I sigh and set my hands on his shoulders before he slips my shoe on and buckles the delicate strap.
“You’re surprisingly nimble.”
I crook a grin at him, and as he looks up at me, something hot and smug flashes through his weird mood tonight. “I’m very good with my fingers.”
My breath catches in my throat. He’s kneeling in front of me, big hand circling my ankle, telling me how good he is with his fingers, and I picture this scenario going in a very dirty direction. Sparks burst between my legs, and our eyes are locked.
If I were braver, I’d say something bold and sexy like show me or prove it, but instead, I just stay quiet, looking down at him with heat pulsing
between my legs.
He breaks eye contact first, looking down to put on my second shoe, and when he’s done, he stands and pulls my coat out of the closet, holding it for me to slip my arms into. I feel weirdly shy after having his hand brushing my ankle, but I blink it away and give him a quick smile.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods once. “Bye, Daisy,” he calls, and she opens her eyes halfway before going back to sleep.
We ride the elevator to the parking garage in silence. He opens my car door, and I thank him, but he just nods at me with a grunt. I watch him circle the car to his door. His jaw is tight again, and he’s wearing his displeased frown.
He regrets saying yes to this, I realize. He made the deal with me before we kissed. My stomach plummets. What if he thinks I think this is a date?
“This isn’t a date,” I tell him when he climbs into the car.
He stares at me like I’m a bug on the sidewalk. “I know.” His tone is pissed and resentful.
He pulls out of the parking garage and onto the street. It’s raining, and Jamie’s bad mood is making me feel like tonight is already a mistake.
“We haven’t talked about having overnight guests,” he says out of the blue.
I whirl toward him, giving him a strange look. “Huh?” I choke out a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
I can’t even imagine bringing a guy home. Where would I find one? After what happened with Zach, the idea of taking my clothes off for a guy, letting him touch me… My stomach churns. I hate that idea.
My mind flicks to the guy beside me, all broad shoulders, thick hair, sharp jaw. His delicate fingers brushing my ankle. The low, needy groan I heard through the wall.
I didn’t mind him touching me.
His nostrils flare as he shoulder-checks and changes lanes. His eyes are on the road, and the air in the car is thick with tension. “Daisy wouldn’t like it.”
I’m speechless. I don’t know whether to laugh or punch him in the face. “Daisy loves visitors,” I say without thinking.
The look he gives me could burn my skin off.
I don’t even know what to say to him right now. We drive the rest of the way to the party in a weird, tense silence, and I’m regretting this more by the second. This party is going to be so awkward. On the street in front of the restaurant where the party is, he finds a parking spot.
“Stay there,” he barks before getting out and opening the trunk.
I’m getting irritated. He agreed to come with me, and now he’s being a dick. I don’t want to do this—I just want to go home.
He opens my door, and I’m about to inform him that we’re going back, but he opens an umbrella and gestures for me to step out. He holds it high above my head, frowning at my hair.
“Don’t want your hair to get wet.”
Something in my chest lifts at the picture of him standing there, waiting for me. I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself, but between him helping me with my shoes, putting my coat on me, and now trying to keep my hair dry, I’m melting into a puddle.
I hate to keep comparing him to Zach but can’t help myself—Zach expected everyone to take care of him, and it only got worse as time went on. My throat tightens as I remember Zach asking me where his coffee was one morning, like I was his employee. I guess I was, because I worked on the tour, but that wasn’t my job.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask as rain taps on the umbrella above
us.
His throat works as he looks down at me. We’re standing close, and he
smells delicious.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes pin me, raking over my hair, my face, my collarbone. “You look beautiful.”
Something in me relaxes, and I smile up at Jamie, looking so handsome. I literally am his employee, and yet he’s the one treating me with care and attention.
He’s this way with everyone, a wry voice reminds me. Jamie Streicher takes care of everyone in his life, and I’m not special.
“Let’s go,” he says, guiding me to the front door of the restaurant with his hand on my lower back.
My stomach dips, and it’s hitting me now. Zach is inside, and I have to pretend what he did didn’t bother me at all.
I feel sick.
“Hey.” Jamie looks down at me, studying my face. “Don’t let them see you scared, songbird.”
My throat tightens as I gaze up at him. Whatever weirdness there was back in the car falls away, and the look he’s giving me is just like when he encouraged me to get on stage in the bar. Like he believes in me.
I nod at him. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I’m your goalie,” he says. “I’ll block all your shots tonight.”
A chuckle escapes me, and I smile at him. The corner of his mouth ticks up, and his eyes fill with affection.
For a split second, I wish he’d kiss me again.
