THIRTEEN
Corinne
The luxury of riding in Jordan’s Range Rover is one hell of an ego trip. I’ve never been an overly shallow person, but I can totally see how surrounding yourself in the finest of everything can steer a person toward a successful mindset.
He’s clearly comfortable with his lifestyle. One elbow slung out the open window, his hand casually wrapped around the steering wheel, and a relaxed stance with his legs wide as he drives us toward my apartment.
I suggested we take my car back so I could leave it there, but he insisted it would be safer at his place where it could be garaged properly. Regular car alarms in the early hours of the morning mean I can’t argue with that.
“How long have you been doing whatever it is you do?” I ask, twirling the end of a lock of my hair.
He glances across at me, before smirking as he returns his focus to the traffic we’re buried in. “You can’t get me to reveal information that easily.”
“Are you sure?” I make a point of looking at the car beside us out his window. “I did have a backup plan if you really needed convincing.”
Chase’s warning still sits in the back of my mind, flashing weakly like a beacon in the storm.
“You talk a big game, Corinne.”
“I thought you liked games?” I bite my lip, arching my back so my tits strain against his T-shirt.
He checks out the swell of my form in his periphery, and then sighs. “I like my games.”
“Have you always been an asshole?” I bet he was that kid in school who had to make up the rules or he wouldn’t play at all.
“My mother would say so.”
Ooo. Knowingly or not, he slipped. It’s the first personal thing I’ve heard him say.
“You know,” I remark casually, “I find it odd that Chase never mentioned you. Especially if you’ve kept in touch all these years.”
He wets his bottom lip before running it between his teeth. “You should ask him why that is.”
Touchy. “How long did you guys know each other before Chase’s birthday?”
“Most of school.”
“And again, I never saw you until then.”
“A lot of people elected not to see me.”
Interesting choice of words … “And yet you saw me,” I muse.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember more about that day. Like him, I’m stuck on what memories I did make. The quiet boy with the dark hair, and rough clothes. Rough clothes …
“Your family isn’t wealthy, are they?”
He flexes his fingers on the wheel as we start to move again. “They’re rich in their own way.”
“Not close then?”
“Is this what dinner’s going to be like?” he snaps, eyes hard on the car in front of us. “Because if it is, I can make sure I book somewhere with music so I can’t hear you.”
“Ever the gentleman,” I mutter, folding my arms.
So I hit a sore spot? Get over it.
“How many years did you let your uncle touch you before you found enough courage to tell your parents?”
Ice washes through my veins as I slowly turn to look at him. Jordan sits stoic, watching the cars around us as he navigates to the next lane over. “Pardon?”
“You’re not the only observant one.”
“You have no right to ask me that.”
“Did he hurt you? Or was voyeurism his thing?”
My jaw aches with the withheld tension. “Stop.”
“He watched your ass in that goddamn dress as much as I did. Wasn’t hard to figure out his intentions when he’d continually adjust his seat.”
“I said stop.”
“Not nice when somebody delves into your past without permission is it?”
I swallow back the strange mix of shame and anger. “Let me out. Your three months is off the table.”
“No.” He shifts both hands to the wheel.
“Excuse me?” I straighten in the seat, making my position prim and proper. Like hell I want this jerk to get any ideas.
“The three months, Corinne.” He slows to a stop at a red light and then rolls his hips to face me. “It’s about letting that shit go. For both of us.”
I narrow my gaze on him, not entirely trusting of his sudden shift in approach. Only narcissists swing from nasty to caring like this. He strikes me as one: sure and confident in himself, certain that he’s the best at whatever the fuck it is he does.
“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he assures with with a gentle sweep of his fingers beneath my jaw, “but not tonight. Can we just enjoy our first night without all that baggage?”
“Technically it’s not our first night,” I sass, folding my arms again.
He resumes driving the final block to my place with a grin curling his lips.
“What?” I give in and ask.
“Doesn’t take much to wake the tiger in you, does it?”
“I let myself be walked over long enough, which it seems you know already. So sue me if I’m a little defensive.”
“I don’t mind it at all.” His arms are a thing of beauty as he turns the wheel and navigates us into the narrow parking space outside my apartment building. “Come on. The sooner we eat, the sooner I can get back to distracting you from this couples bullshit.”
My jaw hits the floor as he opens his door and steps out, stretching his arm over his head to reveal his toned midsection.
I curse myself for insisting I choose what he wears tonight since he gets to pick my outfit. The dark distressed denim hangs low on his hips, the tailoring of the jeans a goddamn masterpiece when it comes to how they hug his ass. Team that with his black T-shirt, and open short-sleeve button down and goddamn … he’s GQ material.
Think with reasoning, Corinne. He’s just told me in not so many words that he wants me for the sex.
But isn’t that why I want him?
Three months.
I step out of the Range Rover and pull a deep breath.
Twelve weeks of orgasmic bliss, and I can call it a sabbatical and get serous about finding a new job.
You only live once, right?