“You haven’t answered my question.”
She folded and refolded the napkin in her lap, avoiding his stare as she replied. “I haven’t found anyone I connect with.”
“That’s a bullshit answer if I ever heard one.”
Jessica snapped her head up and glowered. “Oh yeah? Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than just saying no.”
“At least I was being honest.”
“You think I’m not being honest? And what do you base that judgment on, huh? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I don’t need to know you to see that you’re holding back.”
A flush kept up her neck and Jessica bit her lip as she tore her gaze away. “Maybe I am. It’s not like you’re not.” She looked up at him and batted her lashes. “You want to know why I can’t find a boyfriend? Then you spill first. What’s keeping you single?”
Tate set his plate on the coffee table and ran his hand through his hair. The muscles in his arm flexed and his shirt stretched across his chest. Damn. Focus, Jessica.
“I haven’t found a woman who shares my…interests. That’s all.”
“What, like music? Art? Bad video games? There are a million women in Miami, there have to be a few.”
“None that I’ve found.”
“Hmph.”
“Your turn. Why no boyfriends?”
She didn’t know why she wanted to spill the truth so badly. Maybe his deep blue eyes were really made of magic. Whatever the reason, she longed to confess. To let him know how dirty and wicked she could be.
An ache spread from her core and she squeezed her muscles, squirming on the couch to relieve the pressure. Setting her plate down next to Tate’s, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“I can’t find a guy who…you know…does what I want.”
“I don’t understand. You mean you want a personal assistant for a boyfriend?”
Jessica grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her stepbrother. “No, you jerk. In bed. I can’t…I haven’t…oh, god, this is so embarrassing!”
She buried her head in between her knees and silently begged him to let it go.
The couch shifted next to her and she felt his hand brush her arm. A bolt of pleasure shot through her from the contact and she pulled her head up to look at Tate. His hair had fallen across his face, but his eyes peeked through—blue and clear and bottomless.
“You can tell me, Jess. I won’t laugh. Really.”
“Right.”
“No, I mean it.” He stroked his thumb across her arm, raising gooseflesh in his wake.
She couldn’t believe she was going to say it. But he’d gotten under her skin and if he…Oh, hell. What’s the worst that could happen?
“I, um…I like it when guys are in control. You know, ties and cuffs and that sort of thing. Without it, I can’t…you know, get there.”
Tate stared at her, eyes boring into hers for what seemed like forever. Closing the gap between their bodies, his chest brushed against her legs, heat radiating through his thin cotton shirt and over her skin. His fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her still as a breath caught in her lungs.
And then it broke. Whatever spell she’d been under dissolved and Tate pulled away as if he’d been burned. He stood and grabbed their plates, walking around the couch as he made his way to the kitchen.
He dumped the food in the trash and put the dishes in the sink without saying a word. When he’d finished, he headed straight for his bedroom door.
“I’m beat. There’s a stack of sheets on the side table and an extra pillow. Enjoy your night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jessica watched him walk into his bedroom and shut the door. What the hell just happened? She hugged her legs tighter, squeezing so hard she winced. He’d been just like all the rest—one confession, one breath of the truth and men ran away. Finding women who didn’t need what she did. Women who didn’t crave someone who could own them, please them, make them beg for it.
No matter how much she tried to be average—to be the girl satisfied with sweet and plain—she wasn’t. She needed it strong and intense and full of passion. And for a moment, she thought Tate did too.
Too bad she was wrong.
2
She knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. So she fished out the spare key Tate had left on the bar and let herself in. She still couldn’t believe he’d snuck out before she woke up, leaving her a scribbled note and an extra set of keys.
Didn’t DJs work nights? She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a box of leftovers. Her stomach growled as she fished out a fork from the drawer and dug in. She didn’t even bother heating it up.