Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(45)

“And yet I find you more interesting than I’ve found anyone in a very long time.”

I have no idea what possesses me, but I reach up and touch the light brown stubble on his jaw, and then realize what I’ve done. “Sorry,” I say, trying to pull back, but he catches my hand.

“You can touch me, baby.”

“We’re in public and it just . . . it happened.”

“I hope it happens again.”

“I’m very confused,” I say, voicing what I would normally only think.

“About what?”

“How we went from where we were to here.”

“This was in the air from the night we met at the storage unit. At least for me. And it pissed me off at the time.”

A male voice curses nearby, and Jason pushes off the wall and turns to stand next to me, which brings the good-looking man in jeans with longish dark hair into view. He curses again and ends his conversation. “Abel,” Jason calls out.

The man looks in our direction, allowing me to note his high cheekbones and chiseled features as he heads our way. “I lost my f*cking table,” he says, joining us. “And I got a low-as-hell offer for a client’s contract, which is probably why I lost my table.” He looks at me, looking reasonably appalled at himself. “Sorry. I’m Abel. My daddy brought me up better than that. My job sometimes filths up my mouth.”

“I grew up around filthy mouths,” I say. “I’m not delicate. And I’m Skye, by the way.”

Surprise lights his eyes. Everyone assesses me as sweet at first, except maybe Jason, who assessed me as capable of blackmail. “Is that right?” he asks.

“It is,” Jason assures him, leaning a hand on the wall behind me, his body leaning into mine. “Abel’s from San Fran like us,” he explains to me. “He’s now living here in Vegas. He and I have been friends for years and we play the poker rooms in Cali together. He’s also a damn successful sports agent.”

“And thank God for it,” Abel says. “Because no matter how Jason has tried to make me Red Bull number two, he’s failed. I damn sure won’t be making a living at this, but then, most of us can’t.”

It’s then that Daniel exits the event room and immediately looks in our direction. “Fuck,” Jason murmurs softly.

Abel turns to look behind him, and then back at Jason. “Since when does Daniel make these trips with you?”

“He doesn’t, and he wasn’t supposed to this time,” Jason says. “Since he’s still here, despite my telling him to get the hell out of here, I need to go have a heart-to-heart with him.”

Abel arches a brow at Jason. “Should I ask why, or leave it alone?”

“Apparently he now assumes I think with my pants down,” Jason replies dryly.

Abel looks at me and then at Jason, disbelief in his expression. “Wait. He’s losing his shit over Skye because somehow she’s connected to a crazy-ass bitch who’s stalking you? What drug is he smoking?”

I have two thoughts. Abel has to be a very close friend of Jason’s to know about the crazy-ass bitch, and I sort of do have an attachment to said crazy-ass bitch. And then additionally, Daniel might be an ass, but if he weren’t worried, I’d think he sucked at his job.

Abel looks over his shoulder again to where Daniel is hovering and then back at Jason. “You want me to get Skye out of here?”

“She’ll meet you at the door,” Jason says, giving both men his back to face me, his hands on my waist. “It’s your call, but if you hang with Abel, he’ll keep the gossipmongers and Daniel at a distance.”

“Jason—”

“Don’t say what you’re going to say if it’s an offer to leave. It’s not what I want, and it damn sure better not be what you want.”

“It’s not. I want to see you win.”

He reaches up and slides a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers caressing my cheek and sending a wave of heat through my body. And he knows. I see it in his eyes, no doubt after all I know about his play now, because he lets me see it. “I’ll see you after I claim the next table.” He starts to turn and I grab his wrist. “Wait.” And then I wait as he refocuses on me to begrudgingly offer my thoughts on Daniel. “Your manager’s an *, Jason, but if he wasn’t worried, he’d be a bigger *. I do have the storage unit of the woman making your life hell. Maybe it’s not a bad thing he showed up here.”

His eyes narrow and darken. “You’re defending him?”

“Yeah,” I reluctantly agree. “I guess I am.”

“Starbucks has arrived,” the waitress says, appearing by our side.

Jason stares at me for several unreadable seconds that leave me uncertain about how he’s feeling, before he turns to the woman and takes my coffee. “Put this and a fifty-dollar tip on my tab.”

I’d scoff at such an obscene amount of money for a cup of coffee, but the woman is already gone, no doubt hurrying away before he can change his mind, and he’s already pressing the cup into my hand, his hand over mine. And suddenly he has leaned in close, his lips near my ear, and the air has shifted around us, charging and simmering. “Damn, I want to pull you off somewhere and kiss you.” His voice is gravelly, sexy, and when he leans back to look at me, his eyes simmering with heat, I can barely breathe as he promises, “You’ll be my reward for winning this tournament.” And with that, he walks away, leaving me to face Abel, whose lips quirk.