Jax (Titan #9)(41)
"His hand is on your private part," Nolan reported as he jumped off the couch.
"What?" Seven tried to do a quick summary of her private parts. All were dressed and accounted for, but sleeping-Jax quickly moved his hand off her butt cheek. "Rooms. Now."
Both scampered quickly away, and she dropped her head against his chest. "Feel free to rescind any and all mentions of good mother references." She knocked her head on his hard-muscled chest before pushing up.
Jax opened one eye, trying to suffocate a laugh—or maybe that was what she wanted to do. "Don't play possum with me, Buster."
"There's that Buster again."
She dislodged herself from the warm embraced that had held her all night long, and Jax kicked his jeans-covered legs alongside as he stretched to sit up.
"Don't be too hard on yourself." He hooked an arm over her shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you it's not a big deal if you think it is or that it could've been worse. It wasn't what we planned."
A wave of awareness ran down her spine. He had said, "we planned." Did he have any idea what a huge deal it was for someone to take them into account? "Nope. It wasn't."
Jax pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "But it was the best sleep I've had in a while."
"Same." She rested her chin on his shoulder, falling for him faster than she could recall tumbling into an effortless sleep. "Can you stay for breakfast?"
"Yeah, then I have to head back to prep for Vegas." His body slouched as though reality had interrupted his thoughts. "You'll be there?"
Seven groaned at reality's buzzkill. "Wherever Hawke wants me, yup."
"Can we come back now?" Bianca called from the corner.
"Pwease?" Nolan sang.
"Forget I mentioned Vegas, and when I see you there tomorrow, we'll be at work like it's any other day." He lumbered off the couch, a yawning statute of muscles accented with morning scruff and sexy hair. "Okay, troops. Tell your mama to go back to sleep. Let's find food." Two sets of little feet ran toward the kitchen with excited screams. "You might get Pop-Tarts in bed, but we won't burn the place down." Jax winked then followed the thunder of feet and cabinet doors opening and closing. "Who knows where the coffee is hidden?"
If she had a rock, she would give it to him again and again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Checking into the hotel was everything Seven had guessed it would be. Same with the airport. From the smoky second she'd walked through the grand tinted doors, she could see why Mayhem liked to do company business in Vegas. The loud, electronic ring of casino games greeted her before the bellhop did. People from all walks of life grouped in every direction, surrounded by gambling and parties. Even the line for checkin had access to the nearby tables.
"They certainly get you as soon as you walk in," Ethan's cigarette-scratched voice said.
Seven turned, moving her suitcase, and repositioning her purse to the other shoulder. "When'd you get in?"
"I was on your flight."
"Really?" She'd had too much on her mind to pay attention to her surroundings. "I thought Mayhem arrived earlier."
Other than responding to the few texts from Hawke about where she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to do when she landed, Seven had replayed her time with Jax and how he'd turned into a near-stranger as it was time to leave. His distance had been almost chilling, but she tried to hang on to the fact that he operated much like Ryder, and Seven had seen Ryder go into work mode. Not pleasant, yet knowing vaguely what his job was, she couldn't blame him for compartmentalizing.
"Was on your shuttle too," he added.
"Oh." Mayhem was already there, but she wasn't, and her lips rounded as it made sense. She'd insisted on coming late because of Nolan and Bianca. It wasn't as if Mayhem was going to let her fly into Vegas unescorted. No telling who else was on her plane that she might not have recognized. Their concern wouldn't be the dozens of gang kings coming into town to meet with Mayhem leadership. None would dare hurt her. But unaware criminals of the world might not know who and what she was—untouchable and Cullen Blackburn's daughter, protected by many decades of favors and history, across many clubs and organizations.
"My own security detail?"
Ethan winked. He might've been the club's treasurer, but he was the roughest financial bean counter she'd ever crossed. "At your service—you're doing okay?"
His eyes dropped to her purse, and she followed his gaze. Inside, there were an obscene amount of origami figurines. It wasn't as if she could do much blanket folding while she was on a plane and, knowing that Jax and Mayhem were heavy on her mind, Seven had grabbed a stack of crisp stock paper on her way out the door. Creasing each piece had given her a small cathartic release even if she'd had to meditate through a moment when the curious woman in the seat beside her had picked one up, asked to keep it, and crushed it when she'd shoved it into her seatback compartment in front of them. Seven had nearly sprouted hives and sweats simultaneously. "I'm fine. Just ready to get started."
With a quick glance around the clamorous lobby, he nodded. "Going to rest until later?"