up the old man’s ass for shits and giggles? Because if so, I totally support you, and please don’t let me miss out on any of it.”
I stare blindly at my computer screen. No, I’m not with Jordan just to piss off our dad. Although, if she does, I’ll take the added benefit.
Twenty-One
Alexander
Every morning before I leave for the office, I wake Jordan to say goodbye—sometimes with my fingers, this morning with my mouth.
I kiss up her belly, between her breasts, and then her lazy smile. “I’m going into the office, but I’ll be back early tonight.”
Her hair is a mess around her face, and she blinks open orgasm-heavy lids. She runs a hand over my shoulder to hold my nape. “Are you in a hurry? I’d like to return the favor.”
“Save it for tonight.” I nuzzle her throat as thoughts of unfinished designs force me from her warm, soft body.
She gathers the comforter in her arms and rolls to her side. “What’s tonight?”
I look over my shoulder and catch her staring at my naked ass. “Do you have short-term memory issues?”
Another one of her lazy smiles and I contemplate blowing off my entire day to crawl back into bed with her. “No, I remember that part. You said you’d be home early.”
The reminder of tonight’s plans kills my arousal. “Dinner with my family.”
She sits up, suddenly awake and alert. “Your whole family?”
“Yes. If you’d rather not go—”
“I’ll go. It’s just, meeting the family is a big step.” She picks at the hem of the comforter.
“You’ve already met most of them.”
“True.” She chews her lip. “Hudson and Kingston will be there?”
I nod.
She seems to relax a little.
I check the time. The urgency to get moving pushes me out of bed. “Be ready to leave at six o’clock.”
“Yeah, okay.”
At a few minutes after six, I head to the kitchen and find Jordan waiting for me there. She’s leaning over the island, her chin in her hand, while she flips through a magazine.
Her hand freezes mid page-turn, and her gaze rises to mine. “He lives.”
I study her camel-colored slacks and the tight, black turtleneck that hugs her feminine curves. Her long hair falls around her face, and her eyes are a brighter gray with the addition of makeup.
“You look good.” The compliment doesn’t do justice to how she looks because she looks fantastic—but then, she always does. Dressed up or dirty, just looking at her does things to me.
“Well, I feel great.” Her high heels click on the floor as she comes closer to me.
Impatient, I grab for her before she’s close enough to me and send her stumbling into my chest. I kiss her lips, annoyed by the barrier of gloss that changes her taste.
She hums softly into the kiss, and her hands slip up my chest, over my shoulders, and down my biceps. “What is it about a man in a sweater?” Her eyes drop to the open collar of my oxford. “May I?”
I lift my chin by way of an answer.
Delicate fingertips brush against my throat and slip between my skin and the fabric as she makes an adjustment. My neck warms at the contact, and I only hope that the heat doesn’t show up on my cheeks.
With a final tap, she backs away. “Perfection.”
I was thinking the same about her. “You ready to go?”
She snags a small clutch off the counter and black peacoat from the back of a chair. “Let’s do this.”
I lead us out to the elevator, and I feel her eyes on me from the opposite side of the carriage as we descend.
“You have a question. Ask it already.”
“I’m just wondering, how are we playing this? Does your family know we’re living together?”
“Not all of them.”
“Are they going to be surprised to see me with you tonight?”
“Probably.” The elevator pings, and the doors slide open, getting my attention, so I’m caught by surprise when she slips her hand against my bicep and holds on.
I stare at where her sage green polished nails lay against my sweater and settle into the feeling of being with her like this publicly. A woman who’s choosing to be with me, not paid to. She keeps pace with me as we move through the lobby, and the doorman smiles warmly at her.
“What did I tell you about that Cardinals game, Aaron?” she says.
“They got lucky, Ms. Jordan.”
“We’ll see,” she calls out over her shoulder.
“Mr. North. Ms. Wilder.” James greets us with an open door into the back of a black