you, or want to fuck you. Why do you think Peyton and her minions were so aggressive with you right off the bat?”
“Uh, because they’re stuck-up bitches?”
I shake my head. “It’s because they’re insanely jealous. They consider you a threat—probably more than any person they've met before. You're smart, beautiful, kind, confident, and give zero fucks what they think of you. You're real—what you see is what you get. That’s sexy as hell, Jazz, and what’s more, refreshing as fuck in our world. They could never be as authentic as you are, no matter how hard they tried.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s the truth.” I clear my throat. “In the interest of transparency, there’s uh...one more thing you need to know.”
Jazz’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What?”
Fuck. This isn’t going to go over well.
“About playing that role...both Charles and my dad may be under the impression I’m spending time with you to help get you under your father’s control.”
“What?!” she shouts. If Jazz wasn’t still healing, I have no doubt she’d be launching herself at me right now. “Why would they think that?”
I stretch my neck from side to side. “It was before I got to know you. I can’t say I wouldn’t have made the same deal if I had known you better, but there’s a good reason.”
“Explain,” she demands through gritted teeth.
"It was the first day we met—right before dinner at your house. I was in your dad's cigar room listening to them blather on about whatever. Then, at one point, my dad asked how things were going with you, and your dad bitched about how rough around the edges you were." I hold my hands up when her eyes flash with rage. "His words, not mine.
“Anyway...my dad suggested I could teach you how things worked in our world, put you in your place, so to speak. Teach you to heel like a woman should.” Jazz eyeballs the lamp beside her like she’s considering clocking me over the head with it. When she makes no move to do so, I continue. “So...I told them I’d be happy to help. Peyton was continually testing my last nerve—I saw an opportunity to get what I needed without her, and I grabbed it. Charles and my dad said if I was successful with you, they’d bring me into the fold. Reforming you would prove I was ready to take on other projects.”
Jazz sits there for a moment, shooting daggers at me with her eyes. Finally, she takes a deep breath and speaks. “Let me get this straight. You promised our fathers you could turn me into one of their little Stepford wives?”
“Essentially, yes.”
She cocks a brow. “And how, exactly, did you plan on doing that?”
“I hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.”
“So, after dinner, when you showed up in my room—what happened in my closet—that was because you were playing a role?”
“Fuck, no.”
Now, I’m seething right along with her. The one thing Jazz should never question is how much I want her.
“What was the purpose then?”
I shoot up from the couch and throw my hands out. “I didn’t plan any of that! After dinner, I was supposed to be with our dads smoking Cubans. I don’t even remember walking upstairs, now that I think about it. But when you came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, the last thread of control I had inside of me snapped.
“I was pissed I couldn’t keep myself in check around you. I was planning to say fuck it to the whole plan because if I couldn’t control myself, how in the hell would I control you? I tried warning you to stay away, but you wouldn’t fucking listen. You just had to keep pushing my buttons, like you always do, and I reacted.”
“By putting your hands on me? By finger fucking me against the wall? Are you seriously trying to blame me for this shit?!”
I stare her directly in the eye. “Don’t pretend you didn’t love every fucking moment, that night, or any other time I touched you afterward."
She stands up, fists clenching at her side. “Fuck. You.”
“Gladly. Name the time and place, sweetheart.”
Jazz raises her arm, but she’s broadcasting her intention from a mile away.
I grab the arm mid-swing. “Nice try.”
“Let. Go. Of. Me.” She struggles under my grip, eyes wide.
What the fuck am I doing?
Restraining Jazz is probably giving her some kind of flashback. I immediately release my grip and take a step back. Damn it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut up.” She