Lottie: Yes, but remember what I said—if there’s any inkling that you might be starting something with JP, don’t go on the date with Derek. I don’t want you hurting him.
Kelsey: I know. I promise, nothing is happening between me and JP. It was a momentary lapse of judgment. I’m glad I talked it out. Now I can move on. I feel better now.
Lottie: Are you sure?
Kelsey: Positive.
Chapter Twelve
JP
Standing at the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in hand, I lean against the cabinets, wearing only a pair of sweats as Kelsey comes strolling in. Her makeup’s done, her hair expertly styled and hanging over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a pair of high-waisted black business pants and a white blouse with a white camisole underneath. And to really fucking kick me in the goddamn dick, she swiped on a dark red lipstick I know matches her panties.
She looks fucking delicious, and even though she claims she’s not tempting me, that red lipstick says differently after the conversation we had last night.
Hell . . . I lost control. I keep telling myself I need to avoid her. That was the plan when I first showed up at this penthouse, but she’s gotten under my skin. When she apologized, it actually meant something to me. It’s why I asked her to lunch. I reasoned that if I start showing her a gentler side of me, she might actually think differently about me. And, fuck, it was working, but last night, when she said she was still going on that date, all hell froze over.
It might have been stupid of me, but I kind of thought that if I opened up—got her to enjoy my company—she wouldn’t go on that date. I thought she’d go to the ball with me instead. One lunch out isn’t going to change her mind, though.
And then she went and sat on my goddamn lap. All control flew right out the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was just grasping on to anything that would keep me from stripping her down and burying my head between her legs.
It was downhill from there. How I ended up pushing her against the wall and digging my fingers into her velvety skin, I have no idea, but watching her cool, well-put-together fa?ade combust was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever experienced.
I left her in the hallway, the taste of her on my tongue, and retreated to my bedroom. I then released the pent-up energy in the shower. Fuck, she tasted magnificent, and I have no clue how I walked away from her after having her on my tongue like that. I wanted more. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship her.
And now, this morning, seeing her dressed up for work, everything that happened last night is at the forefront of my mind.
“Morning,” I say as she steps into the kitchen.
She looks up from the bracelet she’s attempting to fix on her wrist.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
I set my coffee down on the counter and reach out to help her. “Let me,” I say softly, taking the small clasp in my hand.
“Oh . . . thank you,” she says, clearly stunned by my gesture. Don’t blame her. When she said I had mood swings like Tarzan—I think that’s how she put it—she wasn’t wrong. I’ve been up and down. I blame it on my inability to control my daily simmering anger. Anger over losing my father—my best friend—anger over my job, and anger over the fact that I like this girl, I really fucking do, and I can’t get her to look at me the way I want her to.
I take my time fastening the clasp, and once it’s on her wrist, I pause for a second, letting my fingers drag over her skin, and then I go back to my coffee.
Her eyes flash to mine and she slowly takes a step back. I nod toward the oven. “Your breakfast is warming in there.”
“My breakfast?” she asks, confused. “Did you order in?”
“No.” I reach for my protein bar. “Woke up early, couldn’t sleep, so I cooked your breakfast that you like, beans and all.”
“Why . . . why would you do that?”
Because I want you to think I’m a good guy despite how I act.
I want you to see that I like you, but am afraid to tell you because there’s a great possibility you will laugh in my face.
I want you to give me a chance.
To date me . . .
“You know, Kelsey, a simple thank you would be just fine.” With protein bar in hand, I consider going back to my room to eat but, hell, she smells good, and I’m a glutton for punishment. So I take a seat at the dining room table where I’ve already set up a place setting for her.
I hear her move around the kitchen, grab her breakfast, and when she turns to sit at the table with me, she notices the placemat. Once again, those hazel eyes of hers flash to mine.