Rogue - Michele Mannon Page 0,31

second. “There’s no cause to be jealous.”

I bite my lip in indecision. Grabbing his face like Francis had done and surprising him flashes through my mind.

Too easy. Too obvious. It’s what they all expect, right? No way am I going for easy peasy. I might need a few throat lozenges after this, but if I can get him to bend to my will, want me bad enough he’ll kiss me, it’ll win this ridiculous exercise. And if he doesn’t return my kiss . . . at least I’ll know the past two weeks has been nothing but fun and games to him.

Balls to the wall, girlfriend.

Shifting forward, I wind an arm around his shoulder and fan my fingers through his hair. His eyes flash but he doesn’t resist. He leans down, narrowing the distance between us. I lift myself up onto my toes and tug his head forward. I brush my lips against his, testing the waters.

Sabrina screeches as I move in for the kill. Pressing my lips against his, I lick and thrust, hoping, just hoping he gargled with an antiseptic like Listerine. Or even better, that he lied.

I feel his lips lift against mine. Then he parts them and in a sudden, breath-stealing moment, he’s kissing the bejesus out of me. His tongue entwines with mine, probing, searching, arousing me to the point I’m sure both my panties and my running shorts are drenched. I’m pulled flush up against him, my head cradled in the crook of his arm as his tongue plunges deep inside me. French-kissing—man-whore style.

And I love every lick, every plunge, every arousing minute of it.

“Enough,” I hear Hayden say. But either Jaxson intentionally ignores him or the roar of my pounding pulse causes him momentary deafness because he continues his assault. And hey, who am I to resist. Bollocks to the rules, it is.

I lean in and enjoy every blessed inch of him. Pent-up energy that’s been slowly building inside of me releases in one small exhalation after another as I pant against his mouth. Sensation takes over. Me feeling him against me, his tongue inside of me, my happy place zinging to life as my girls sing a blissful tune as he pulls me in tighter against him. My fantasies about kissing him dull in comparison to the blissful reality of him.

“Come on, stud. Show us how it’s done,” one of them shouts, ruining the moment.

God, I’ve lost my bleeding mind. I pull away.

“I can see we’re going to have to have a lecture on obedience,” Sabrina says, calmly, though there’s no doubt she’s absolutely, positively livid.

I flash her my sweetest faux smile.

“Five-minute break,” she tells the group before gyrating her way across the great room and out a door.

I can’t help but smile. Let’s face it, there’s nothing worse than a woman scorned.

“I’m outta here. Finish this thing later.”

My attention shifts back to Jaxson but it’s too late. He’s moving at a fast clip as he crosses the room. I watch him throw an arm around Declan’s shoulder and almost laugh when Declan tries to pull away as they head out of the great room.

Abrupt? You bet, especially after that kiss. I bring my hand up to touch my lip, then freeze as my eyes lock with Hayden’s and a sense of unease sweeps over me.

I do my damnedest not to show it. Instead, I give him my best what’s-a-girl-to-do shrug, which only seems to annoy him more.

Turning away, I follow Jaxson’s lead, beating a fast exit out of Dodge and dodging our boss all together.

Thinking how no good can come from pissing Hayden off.

Thinking about how damn fast Jaxson is—not simply in his movements but in taking control of a situation. Manipulating Sabrina. Kissing me. Thumbing his nose at Hayden.

I pride myself on my smarts yet I’ve been nothing but foolish around the man. Going forward, I promise myself something.

After this morning’s showstopping event, no matter what Jaxson comes at me with, I’ll never underestimate him again.

9

Paris

They say Hemingway raised a glass or two in the cafes along the Boulevard du Montparnasse.

And me? All I’m planning on raising is hell.

Sweet lord, I can’t believe it. That misguided jerk shot at me. Twice. How could he? I bared my soul to him. Allowed him to slip inside my body and my heart. Believed in him . . . us. That we’d find a way to be together. Settle into a quaint little house with a white picket fence and daisies and butterflies