Friction(49)

Once he and I are alone again, our shoulders nearly touching because the loveseat where we're seated is more like an oversized armchair, I twist toward him and raise my eyebrows. "Is there any woman who doesn't want to fuck you?" I demand.

He freezes halfway into taking a drink from the beer the receptionist had offered him. Why the hell does he look so shocked? There's no way he doesn't know what the mere sight of him does to females, to myself included, but he continues to look at me like I've just given him some groundbreaking news.

"Come again?” he says, emphasizing that first word and making me roll my eyes.

"Does every woman you meet want to get into your pants?"

"Oh no, love, the way you said it the first time." My heart speeds up because the look he gives me is absolutely primal. "Buttoned-up Lucy Williams is talking about fucking. During work."

"I'm not buttoned—" I start to argue, but then he lifts his hand to my throat, fingering the top button of my blouse. My breath catches, and when I swallow hard to get just an ounce of relief, his eyes darken. "I was just making an observation."

"You’re jealous,” he tells me in a low voice.

“I’m absolutely not jealous. Don’t be a cock.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me with the filthy words tonight, Williams,” he groans. “But you are jealous. I can feel your pulse racing.” He moves his hand to my throat, stroking his thumb along the hollow. “Right here.”

“What happened to not touching me?”

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to take my fucking hands off you because it’s not professional to want you. Because I’m bad for you.”

“Stop.” I whisper. But I bring my hand up, covering his and holding it in place against my body. Some masochistic part of myself loves the waves of pleasure and pain that crash through me when he touches me. I don’t realize I’m vigorously shaking my head until strands of my hair fall over his tattooed fingers. “Stop because you confuse the hell out of me, Jace.”

"I’m sorry." He releases my throat and slides the ebony locks of hair between his fingers. "I'm not supposed to touch you," he says once more, raising blue-gray irises to mine. "But when you talk about fucking, I can't help myself."

"You confuse—" I start, fully prepared to tell him the number he's doing on my head in spite of how viciously my pulse is pounding. The receptionist standing in the doorway and softly calling his name stops me from doing that.

"Mr. Exley, Allene's ready to prep you for your spot," she murmurs demurely. He drops my hair against my breast, skimming the edge of my bra with one knuckle in the process. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the sigh threatening to spill from my lips. We both stand at once. Jace says something I can barely comprehend to the receptionist—his muscles tight as he shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans—and I struggle to exude even a fraction of self-control.

When we approach the other woman, she turns to me with an apologetic frown. "I'm so sorry, but since the studio is so small, Allene only wants Mr. Exley to come back."

"Oh." Just last week, Allene had interviewed three sexperts at the same time on her show—she had called it an auditory orgy—but I already have an idea of exactly why she doesn't want me back there. “I see.”

"You'll be able to listen to the broadcast in here, though," she adds brightly, but Jace still gives her a hard smile.

"Are you sure she can't come back?" When she once again tells him that Allene is firm on this due to the studio’s tight fit, he stares at me and rubs the back of his neck. Judging by the muscle ticking in his jaw, he looks like he's seconds away from telling Allene to "sod off," but I shake my head.

"You'll do great," I assure him.

"Right, well, it's not me I'm worried about." He backs away toward the doorway, his gaze never dropping mine. "We're not finished talking, Williams. I've been avoiding it like the goddamn plague, but now it's time to get some things out in the open.”





Eighteen





Lucy





I'm irritated about being excluded from the studio during Jace's talk with Allene—and frazzled from the promise he made just before he left—but the second he comes on the air, my brain shifts gears and I focus solely on the main objective of our trip to Albany: Promoting his brand.

During my previous jobs at WLC and then working for Tom at Java-Org, I had not only scheduled more than my fair share of interviews, but I was also occasionally responsible for giving them myself, all for the sake of good marketing. Talking to reporters or radio personalities came just as awkward to me as job interviews, but I always managed to power through.

Jace doesn't have that issue.

It's hard to believe he doesn't like this sort of thing because he projects the perfect blend of the three C's—cockiness, confidence, and charm. He and Allene are only a few minutes into the broadcast before she lays her own blatant brand of charm on thick, openly flirting with him in that seductively breathy voice of hers. Listening to her giggle and tease him shoots red spots through my vision because I am jealous. It’s ridiculous—I have no right to feel this way about a man who can’t and won’t pursue me because it’s bad business—but the thought of Jace with another woman constricts my lungs.