Fuck. Jax did some more shifting in his chair. She was pushing him again, like she had the day before. But he couldn’t give in again. Passion was too dangerous and if the fallout of their one-night stand hadn’t been enough, then those red marks on her butt should have been.
“Not tonight,” he said curtly.
“Oh,” she said. “Why not tonight?”
He hated the disappointment in her voice. It hurt in unexpected places. “Because Van’s organized us an intimate dinner for two somewhere nice.” She always liked it when they went out together, so maybe that would help.
Sure enough, when she spoke, her voice was brighter. “Well, that’s cool. Where?”
“The 2nd Circle. I hope you’ve got something suitable to wear.”
“Wow. Alex St. James’s club? Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve got something.”
She sounded excited now, and shit, that made him feel pleased. Pleased that he’d made her happy. Jesus, he should not be feeling this.
“Good,” he said, keeping his tone brusque. “Be downstairs by seven. I’ll have a car ready.”
There was a pause. “You’re not coming back to the apartment first?”
He wanted to. Wanted to take those scarves and tie her hands, drive himself inside her, relieve this goddamn ache. But he couldn’t. He had to maintain his detachment. Keep pulling back. Because wherever these feelings were coming from, they had to stop.
“No. I have work to do.”
Another pause.
“More work, huh?” Pandora said, a curious flatness to her tone. “I guess I’ll see you downstairs then.” And she ended the call.
Jax cursed again, tossing the phone back down on his desk.
He should not be feeling so guilty about disappointing her. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for her at all. But he did. Which meant he had to take some rational, logical steps toward managing the situation. Pull back and regroup.
Like stop sleeping with her for a start. That was, after all, the whole reason they were in this mess in the first place. And sex with her was the point where his control was weakest, as that spanking episode had highlighted.
Jax swallowed, ignoring the painful ache in his cock and the even more painful twist behind his breastbone.
She wouldn’t be happy but it was the best answer. The most logical answer.
Tonight. He’d tell her tonight.
*
Jax’s hand rested on the small of Pandora’s back as he ushered her from the limo to the massive black doors of the 2nd Circle, New York’s most exclusive private members club.
She shot him a glance as they approached the doors, ignoring the camera flashes from the paparazzi who’d been hanging around since the limo pulled up.
The car journey hadn’t exactly been a lot of fun. From the moment he’d come out of the elevator to meet her in the foyer, he’d been on his phone, issuing orders and discussing various business matters in a cold, calm voice. And apart from the one, searing glance he’d given her as he’d stepped out of the elevator, he’d barely even looked at her. Not that it was anything new. He’d been doing the same since he’d turned her over his knee and spanked her the day before. Both of which had hurt.
She’d thought that afternoon she’d broken through his walls, busted down his detachment, but she hadn’t. It seemed she’d only entrenched it further.
A pity when she’d put in a special effort with the dress she was wearing—going for red because it was kind of “their” color now—plus she had a special naughty surprise for him on underneath. Or rather, not on underneath. But it was like he hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared.
Why are you even bothering? He’s made it pretty clear what he expects and it’s not like you have any special feelings for him, either.
Pandora swallowed and tore her gaze away from Jax’s face. No, she didn’t have any special feelings for him. God, he was the first man she’d had sex with and what a typical virgin she’d be if she fell for her first lover. A really stupid virgin since her life of freedom had only just begun. The last thing in the world she wanted, after all, was to be trapped in yet another cage because that was pretty much where love left you, wasn’t it? Her father’s love had kept her trapped and suffocated and goddamn, heartbreakingly lonely.
The doorman smiled at them as he opened the door, his manner deferent without descending into obsequiousness.
Inside, a club manager greeted them in the reception area, ushering them into the club’s restaurant where the maître d’ showed him to their table—a round affair circled by a bench seat covered in the club’s signature deep red velvet. The table had a good view of the rest of the restaurant and yet had red velvet curtains that could be drawn around it for privacy.