Marie Hantz turns out to be a woman who is a dead ringer for a supermodel but with the personality of a bubbly southern belle, if that southern belle was born in London.
“Aren't you darling,” she says when Jax introduces us. She kisses me on both cheeks, gives Jax a sidelong look, and flits back off into the crowd.
Marie's beachside mansion is the largest house I've ever been in, but the party is so well-attended that there's hardly any room, which has made it very convenient to get closer and closer to Jax with every minute that goes by…and harder and harder to remind myself that he’s not looking for a relationship. He’s a man who has whatever he wants, and what he wants right now is me—for a reason I can’t fathom—but he was clear. It won’t last.
“Do you have any siblings?” he says into my ear as he grabs me another glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.
“One,” I say, my chest feeling warm and light from the drinks he's been handing me all afternoon. “Her name is Abigail, but everyone calls her Bee.”
“It must have been hard, having a sister that was so jealous of you.”
“What?” I say, confused. “She wasn't jealous…”
“Of course she was,” he answers, his voice husky. "You're the most beautiful women on the planet. She couldn't help herself."
I give him a playful slap on the arm but I can't stop myself from blushing a deep shade of red.
As the evening wears on, Jax stops introducing me to people and starts finding little pockets of seclusion—the corner of Marie's library, a cocktail table that's only big enough for the two of us—and he takes his game to another level, whispering softly into my ear, bringing me tiny plates of delicacies, making excuses to brush his hands over my skin any chance he gets.
It seems like only minutes have passed before the sun has set completely and pinpricks of starlight dot the navy sky.
I can't resist it.
Neither can he.
When the fireworks explode over the bay, lighting up all the beautiful people in glittering reds and yellows, Jax slips his arm around my waist and pulls me in. When I'm firmly pressed up against his side, his hardness against my curves, something inside me breaks.
The night is almost over.
This is my one chance to act on the wild desire I felt in the office yesterday.
I snake one arm around his neck and pull his face down to mine, kissing him with every ounce of pent-up sexual frustration I've been feeling for the past year. He doesn't resist. Instead, Jax tightens his grip on my waist and kisses me back hard and rough. He's so possessive, even in sight of all of these people—some of them his friends, I assume—that it takes my breath away.
Echoes from the fireworks booming in my ears, it takes me a second to realize we're moving. Jax pulls away, breaking the kiss, and with one strong arm pulls both of us through the crowd and inside the house.
Most of the lights inside are off to enhance the fireworks experience, and when we get back to the library, it's bathed in a sexy gloom that's only broken by flashes from the fireworks. The sharp cut of Jax's jaw is illuminated every few seconds in sultry blues and greens.
We're barely inside the door before he's pressing me up against the shelves, crushing my mouth with his. His hands are cupping my face, sliding down over my shoulders, cupping my breasts...everywhere. I'm drunk on the taste of him, on the expensive champagne, on the smooth whisper of my dress against my skin.
The kiss deepens and he takes over, one of my wrists in each of his hands, spreading my arms wide, pinning them against books on either side as he drags his hot mouth down the side of my neck to my exposed collarbone. I test him a little bit, tugging just slightly on my arms, and he holds on tighter. I know he would let go if I asked him to, but the pressure of his hands against my wrists has my panties soaked underneath my dress.
He only releases my wrists to drop his hands to the hem of my dress and start shoving it up.
Jax Hunter is going to fuck me right here, up against a shelf full of first-edition books in the American equivalent of a palace.
The heavy door to the library opens with an audible click.
Jax reacts immediately, pulling me away from the shelves. I'm tipsy and still reeling from the hot attentions of his mouth, becoming aware all at once that my hair is a mess, that my dress is shoved indecently high on my thighs, that the fireworks ended a long time ago.
He reaches for my dress and pushes it down a few inches just before the intruder flicks on a small table lamp.
It's Marie. When she sees us, she lets out a cartoonish gasp.
“Jax Hunter, what are you doing in here?” Her voices rises in pitch and then she laughs, waving away her fright. I'm so mortified I can't move except to look up at Jax's face.