The minute we’d finished, I’d started craving it again with an ever-increasing need. Even sitting next to him in the auditorium, feeling the heat of his arm near mine…hell, even his smell was torture. I wanted to climb into his strong, hard lap for a cuddle—maybe some other things too.
What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I letting him affect me like this—every touch, every reminder of his presence was an instant flashback to the electricity generated by our sweaty, naked bodies moving against each other.
Jordan didn’t eat much for lunch and retreated to the green room shortly after a few bites and another cup of coffee. I told myself that his cool behavior was because he was nervous. I tried not to feel hurt. I tried not to care so much.
But damn it, warning or not, it did hurt. And I was already starting to care too much—about the demons that haunted him so much he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep, about who he was underneath the delicious, perfect exterior.
Yeah, he was a cocky jerk on the surface. An insufferable, cocky jerk. But underneath? Underneath that arrogant exterior was something elusive, golden, rare. Something he kept hidden except in moments when he couldn’t, like when I was staring straight into his soul during sex.
Oh shit. This situation got stickier the more time we spent together.
I stood backstage in a separate room, watching his speech on a monitor while he delivered it to a darkened auditorium filled with people. Though I knew he was nervous, very little of that showed in his presentation. He looked sufficiently scholarly yet also hip, the scruff and blazer lending some credence to his youth. And he was both articulate and intelligent. To me, that only made his physical beauty all the sexier.
Not long into his introduction, I became aware of a presence standing at my shoulder. Glancing over, I saw that it was Cynthia, her eyes glued to the screen. She wore a long-sleeved blouse today, the incriminating tattoo that linked her to Jordan now hidden.
She glanced at me with a smile and nodded to the screen. “He’s brilliant. I knew he would be a great match for TED. That’s what I told the committee when I suggested him as a speaker.”
I looked at her, wondering if Jordan knew that she was the one responsible for his invitation to speak. “Would you…” I began.
She looked around and then stepped a little closer to me, indicating for me to lower my voice. “Would you like the chance to speak to him? Alone?”
She drew back a little, a frown creasing her brow. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and hedged, “I don’t really think he’d want that.”
“But if he did…would you want that?”
She pressed her lips together and then shook her head. “He wouldn’t want that,” she repeated. “Jordan believes in his own form of karma.”
I’m sure she meant that cryptically, but I understood nevertheless. She knew about Jordan’s payback for her cheating. I wondered if Jordan knew that.
We stared at the monitor for the rest of his allotted eighteen minutes. He smoothly wrapped up his subject with a charismatic, self-deprecating smile and a gleam in his eyes that could make panties melt. Mine were definitely feeling warmer than normal.
Cynthia turned to go just as I saw Jordan exit the stage to widespread applause. I stopped her, asking her about the meeting with the journalists who wanted to speak with him in a few hours. By the time she answered me, Jordan had walked into the room, confident and grinning. He opened his mouth to say something to me before catching sight of Cynthia, who had frozen at my shoulder. The smile slid off his face.
I walked up to him. “Hey there,” I said. “You have an appointment in an hour with the USA Home Weekly journalist. Until then, you’re, uh…on your own,” I said with a pointed glance at Cynthia.
His eyes narrowed and he swallowed but didn’t say anything as I walked out of the room. He’d probably be pissed at me, but when else would he have a chance to clear the air with her, if not now?
I could tell it had been bugging him since last night when he’d seen her. Likely it had been bugging him a lot longer than that. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of him staring pensively into that glass of whiskey. I was convinced I’d done a good deed and that he’d understand and probably thank me for it. Hopefully. Eventually.
But when I heard from him a few hours later…yeah, not so much.
He was pissed. His face looked like a thundercloud when he made it back to the penthouse. He said nothing before hitting the stairs, and I knew enough from what I saw that I immediately hightailed it into my little butler’s pantry. I’d put on my pajamas and cuddle under a blanket with one of my favorite books. Maybe he’d wander out again. Since avoidance was my method of coping, I was good at it.