One Time Only Read online

  Do I want to read into that?

  Hell yeah.

  Will I?

  No way.

  And that means I should go someplace else. I should get far away from him. Because I don’t tango with people who aren’t interested in me.

  I run through the options. “Maybe I want to go to Rapture because I heard that club is dope,” I say, gesturing in the general direction of this hotel’s sweetest nightclub.

  “That’s a possibility,” he says, with the same enthusiasm one would muster for a dental exam.

  Ah, this is easier. Riling him up. So much simpler than deconstructing whether he meant anything at all by how he said one little thing. I throw out another option, as if I’m serious. “Or maybe I’ll go to a diner. Someplace on the Strip. Get a burger and fries, maybe even a milkshake.”

  He scoffs. “You’re a health guru. You eat kale salad and carrots. You’re a vegetarian, man. And everyone knows that.”

  I give him a grin. “Ah, you do pay attention.”

  His eyes lock with mine. “We’ve established that all I do is pay attention. That’s my job.”

  “And you, my man, are tops at it.” I heave a sigh, stretching out my neck. That gives me an idea. “I hear great things about the spa at this hotel. I’m pretty sure it’s open late. What do you think, J-man? What are the chances that I could slip in there and get a massage tonight?”

  His jaw is set hard, but his tone stays deadpan. “I’m sure they’d make an exception for you.”

  I wiggle my brows, messing with him some more. “You want to go with me? Hey, how about we do that? Just like a couple of bros. We’ll get massages. Get our nails done.”

  Jackson shakes his head. “Things that will never happen.”

  “I don’t know. I could use a massage to work out the kinks.”

  “Yeah, work out the kinks. That’s what you did tonight,” Jackson mutters.

  I latch onto the way he said kinks. That last word seemed to rankle him. I sit up straighter, deconstructing once more. Replaying his words, how he talks. There’s something in his tone. It’s got a hint of . . . jealousy?

  Is that it? Is that what I hear in Jackson’s voice?

  Suddenly, I’m holding a few key puzzle pieces—first, the “Don’t you need to return to your private party?” one, and now the “That’s what you did tonight” piece.

  And they might fit together, if I can turn them just so.

  But I’m not sure, so I keep up the razzing. “You know, I think I am ready to get reacquainted with thousand-thread-count sheets and my big-ass bed overlooking the Strip.”

  “Let’s get you back, then.” And his tone now is calm, centered. It’s the one I’m used to. He likes my answer, as if he’s glad I’m choosing shut-eye over partying.

  We leave Speakeasy, traveling through the casino. Along the way, some fans spot me and shout their hellos. I say hi back as Jackson stays right by my side, but mostly we avoid the spotlight.

  Once we’re inside the elevator, we’re quiet.

  That’s unlike me, but my brain is buzzing.

  It’s turning over all those words he said.

  What they might mean.

  They’re a song I can’t stop hearing, a chorus that won’t quit playing.

  It’s a drumbeat inside me, loud, insistent.

  I can’t ignore it.

  I have to face it.

  Have to know where it’s coming from.

  When we reach the top floor, I stop a few feet outside my room. I swivel around, meet his eyes, and cut to the chase. “Why did you ask it like that—if I was going back to my private party?”

  He swallows a little roughly. His gaze flickers with a hint of irritation, but he erases it quickly. Then he answers me in a toneless voice. “Because that’s where you were.”

  “Yeah, that’s where I was, but . . .” There’s something else to his words.

  I flash back on the last hour at Speakeasy, the way we talked, the things he said. Was there something in his eyes all along? Was he looking at me in a way that I damn well understand?

  My skin sizzles at the possibility. My dick twitches in my jeans.

  I don’t want to let myself think anything this tantalizing, this tempting.

  But you don’t feel jealous unless you want something you can’t have.

  Was Jackson jealous of Callum? Over me?

  My skin tingles from that possibility.

  That alluring, enticing possibility.

  Curiosity grips me, wraps its arms around me. My gaze stays locked on his. “Let me ask again, Jackson. Why did you say it the way you did? Like it bothered you?”

  There’s a challenge to my words. Some desperation in my tone. I feel wildly desperate right now.

  I’m dying to know if I’m reading him right.

  If I’ve been wrong about him all along.

  He shrugs, his gorgeous face giving nothing away. “No reason. Just a normal question.”

  But see, I’m the dog with a rope toy, the kid with a lollipop. I can’t let this go, because my Spidey senses are tingling. Straight guys don’t ask questions like that with a hint of jealousy in them. Straight guys ask with a wink and a nudge, like it’s bro banter.

  Jackson’s question didn’t sound like locker-room talk. Nor did it sound like a professional interest in my agenda.

  I’ve got a feeling, a tantalizing feeling, that his question was born of envy. It was bred from longing.

  I know those sentiments. Hell, I know emotions inside and out. Mining them, exploring them, excavating them from the depths of the soul is my damn job.

  I’m not a man who’s afraid of speaking his mind. “I don’t think that’s why you were asking. I think it bothered you, the idea of me going back to the private party.”

  Once I say that—bothered—I’m dead sure I’ve read him right. As sure as I’ve ever been of anything.

  It’s intense, this certainty, the way it shifts possibilities around. Reorders thoughts. Opens up options.

  The way fantasies start to feel tangible.

  He breathes hard through his nostrils. Licks his lips. Stares at me like he’s weighing this, like he’s debating whether to answer me, whether to reveal something.

  I rub my thumb over my forefinger. I am definitely hoping, most fervently wishing for a particular answer.

  Absolutely wanting a particular answer.

  I push for it one more time. “Why did it bother you, Jackson?”

  I hold my breath. I’m hoping so damn hard for him to upend all the assumptions I’ve made about him, knock them upside down and inside out.

  My bodyguard stares at me, unflinching. A thousand debates seem to rage in his eyes.

  And in one move, he settles them. He steps closer and lowers his voice to a rasp. “You want to know, Stone?”

  I nod savagely. “I do.” I want to know so damn badly, more than I’ve wanted anything in ages.

  “You sure?” The question is hot, full of fiery intent.

  “I absolutely want to know.”

  “Then I’ll tell you,” he hisses.

  In a second, or maybe less—it all happens so damn quickly I can barely process it—he shoves me against the wall, slams his arm across my pecs, and pins me.

  My breath catches. Shock radiates through me, but it’s a good kind of shock. A filthy kind of shock. This is the answer I was longing for.

  Lusting for.

  His forearm bands tighter against my chest, sending sparks over my skin, making my dick throb.

  His possession, his intensity is such a turn-on. He’s in my space, up against me. He’s so close, and his voice is low, a mere whisper in my ear as he finishes the thought, giving me the white-hot answer to my question. “Because you didn’t need a different bodyguard for your fantasies.”

  I burn up like a spaceship reentering earth’s atmosphere, searing across the sky, rocketing to supernova temperature.

  My throat is parched, and I can barely speak as I absor
b the enormity of his admission. “You’re . . .?”

  I don’t even have to finish asking. He knows what I’m saying. Because I don’t fuck around with dudes who dig women, and only women.

  Jackson nods and whispers in that deep, reedy voice that makes my spine sizzle, “Yes.”

  But my questions don’t end there. They’re only beginning. There’s more I need to know. Just like I don’t mess with straight guys, I don’t party in the closet.

  “Are you out?”

  His answer is swift and tantalizing. “I am.”

  I blink, frazzled, or maybe still shocked. “Like, one hundred percent out? This is common knowledge? I’m not, like, the first guy you’ve come out to?”

  He laughs, and it turns into a scoff. “I’ve been out since I was a teenager. And you simply didn’t know.”

  “How did I not know?” Because I can’t believe this gorgeous, smoking-hot beast of a man who I love to mess with, who I love to tease, who I have a motherfucking blast with likes dick.

  He gives a shrug. “Because this is work. And because you never asked. And for the record, I don’t sleep with women. I only sleep with men.”

  Those words alone are fanning the flames in me. Sleep with men. Yes, hell yes. That’s all I want with him right now.

  For him to sleep with me.

  But I can’t go there.

  I truly can’t.

  I stare down at his arm locking me in place, but I don’t want him to let go of me. I want him to cage me in, toss me on the bed, pin me under him.

  My bones hum with need. My skin prickles with lust.

  Still, there are more things I need to say. Things I need to tell him. “What bothered you so much? Were you bothered because you think I touched my friend in there earlier? Callum?”

  He gives me a dismissive sneer. “I don’t know what you did.”

  I need him to know. Need him to understand that I didn’t touch Callum. It feels vital that he’s aware I didn’t sleep with another man tonight.

  I don’t know why I need to reassure him so badly. Maybe because sleeping with Jackson is literally the only thing on my mind right now.

  That wild, dangerous thought has me in its clutches, and I can’t let him think I’d want him the way I do if I had been with another guy tonight.

  Women are different.

  He can’t compete with women.

  He can absolutely compete with guys, and that’s why I need him to know there’s no competition.

  That is, if he wants to compete.

  Does he?

  I scramble to give him the bare truth, words toppling out at Mach speed. “I didn’t touch him. He didn’t touch me. I was there for her. I was helping out a friend.”

  But that doesn’t seem to sit well with Jackson. His brow knits, and his eyes narrow. “You were just helping? How noble of you. How generous.”

  What. The. Hell?

  With a surge of annoyance, I push his arm off me and snap, “Yeah, asshole. I was helping.”

  Jackson’s eyes flash with apology. He straightens his spine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That was out of line.”

  “No shit it was out of line. You’ve got it all wrong. Callum is straight, and I didn’t set a hand on him, nor did I want to.”

  I hate that Jackson thinks so little of me. Fuming in righteous anger, I shove a hand against his shoulder to make my point.

  News flash. He doesn’t move. The man is built like a brick wall, as he should be, given his line of work.

  “I was helping him.” I spit the words like bullets. “He needed a kick in the pants to see that he was in love with Ivy, and guess what? It worked. Callum is with her now. He’s my best friend in the whole damn world, and I’d do anything for him, and some men need to have things shaken up to see what’s in front of them.”

  Jackson eyes me up and down for a long moment, then huffs. His tone is still laced with envy, but he’s tamped it down some. But only some. “And is that what you did? You shook things up for them?”

  “Yes. That’s what I did when I touched her and only her.” I stare at him again, trying to slide the final puzzle pieces together to figure out what’s happening. The man was jealous. The man said I didn’t need a different bodyguard for my fantasies. Is he offering himself? And am I actually thinking about taking him up on it?

  He works for me. That would be all kinds of wrong.

  And yet it feels so enticingly right.

  I drag a hand through my hair, trying to sort out my dirty thoughts, to untangle them from the professional ones. “Why are you getting in my head like this?”

  He scoffs, takes a long breath, then moves in closer once again. When he’s inches from me, his eyes roam over my body, possessive and hot.

  They give away everything. They answer all my lingering questions.

  Every last one.

  Then he answers them some more as he pushes his body against mine, the full length of his arousal against my hip making me shudder.

  Making me moan.

  He dips his face, his mouth near my neck, so close he could brush those lips over me. He lets out a lusty breath then speaks, his words low and dirty as he gives me a filthy confession. “Your head isn’t where I’d most like to be, Stone.”

  He turns away, walks down the hall, and moves toward the elevator, leaving my bones humming, my dick throbbing, and my desires cracked wide open.

  4

  Stone

  For a few uncertain seconds, I don’t move.

  I’m processing the world anew. Down is up, off is on, and the sun sets in the morning and rises in the evening.

  As I reorient myself to this new world order, to this monumental shift, my eyes drift down the hallway to the sight of the man walking away.

  The man who’s been in my employ for the last four months.

  The man who’s been by my side through so many shows, through so many meetings, on so many flights, on so many nights.

  The man I know—the man I evidently barely know.

  And I can’t stop looking at him.

  I’m gazing at Jackson in a whole new way. Freely.

  Shamelessly.

  Without an ounce of guilt.

  I look at him with abandon, his broad frame, his big shoulders, those muscular thighs.

  The way he fits in his clothes. Those lucky fucking clothes.

  And his firm, tight, perfect ass.

  My mouth waters.

  My dick thumps.

  My chest tingles.

  And holy hell.

  Everything I’ve resisted unlocks.

  I’m an indulger. It’s just what I do. Permission granted.

  I can either go inside my suite and spend the rest of the night in my head, fantasizing . . .

  Or I can follow him.

  There is only one choice.

  I pick up the pace, racewalking down the hallway, reaching him at the elevator right before he hits the button, and setting a hand on his arm.

  Jackson turns around. His eyes are blazing. His jaw is tight.

  “You are so fucking sexy,” I whisper. It feels fantastic to say it, to speak this immutable truth.

  He glances away, lets out a shuddery breath, then turns back to me. It’s as if he’s fighting against words, fighting to keep everything inside.

  I don’t have that problem.

  Yes, I know I shouldn’t be here.

  With my employee.

  With the guy who protects me better than anyone ever has.

  But just like when whiskey kicks in, when the music thrums low and strong, I’m warm and hazy.

  Liquid gold flows through me, and I’m turned all the way on, everywhere. Every damn molecule is tingling.

  This man is . . . perfection. His soulful hazel eyes are edged with angst and desire, the twin combination potent and alluring.

  His lips part the slightest bit. His breath seems to ghost across them, and he doesn’t move. He stares at me like an animal hunting for pr
ey. Spotting it. Finding it.

  I don’t move either.

  We stand in the hall by the elevator.

  And I want.

  So, I take.

  I close the distance, grabbing Jackson’s face, holding his chiseled jaw, and I crush my mouth to his. I taste his lips and inhale his scent. Like cedar and falling snow, like night and hushed moments in front of a crackling fire.

  My head is a symphony of lust and sensation, light and noise, as I devour his mouth, savoring every second of a moment I’ve barely allowed myself to dream about. All that checked lust, all that restraint lets loose as I kiss him hard.

  He kisses me just as fiercely, like he meant everything he said and a whole lot more.

  But in a heartbeat, in a sliver of a second, I’m no longer leading the kiss. He breaks the contact and pushes me up against the wall, facing him, his hands on either side of my shoulders.

  He doesn’t even touch me, but I’m locked in by those arms of steel.

  His stare is dark, filthy.

  It’s something else too. Something I’ve never seen before from a man or a woman. Something that sends sparks across my skin, that makes me sizzle.

  Something . . .

  Dominating.

  At six foot one, I’m not a short man. I work out like a fiend at the gym. My arms are toned, my legs are strong, my stomach is flat. But he’s taller and he’s bigger—that’s the point. He’d better be bigger.

  When he stares at me like a predator, that advantage lights me on fire.

  “Let’s make one thing crystal clear,” he rasps out.

  My throat is dry. “Tell me.”

  With his arms on either side of my face and his lips inches from mine, he says, “I’m a top. And I’m a top in every way. Including this.”

  His hands slide to my face, groping my hair, tugging on it, jerking my head back.

  He seals his mouth to mine.

  And Jackson Pearce takes over.

  5

  Jackson

  I shouldn’t do this. I need to stop. I will stop.

  I swear, I will. I promise. But . . .

  Not. Quite. Yet.

  Because when you’re wildly attracted to the person you can’t be attracted to, to your goddamn boss, and you get your lips on him at last . . . well, stopping isn’t in the cards.