I lean up slightly, scooting to the edge of the cushion, uncertain whether I can sit through another girl throwing herself at Jet. Unwittingly, I draw his eyes. In them, I see the battle that’s waging.
And that’s why I act.
At least that’s the reason I give myself.
I tell myself that I want to help, but that I just don’t know how. And that that is why, without second-guessing it, I turn my body and stretch across him, pressing my chest to his, and I kiss him.
At first Jet doesn’t move. I think he’s as surprised as I am. But it only takes a fraction of a second for him to recover. And I know the moment that he does. I know because that’s the very instant that I’m as lost to his allure as everyone else in this place.
His lips soften first. I feel the change and it startles me, shaking me from my insanity. I start to pull away, but Jet’s big hands come to either side of my neck, his fingers sliding into the hair at my nape to hold me still.
He tilts his head, drawing me further into the kiss. I feel his lips part and, as though they move independently of thought, mine part as well. When his tongue slips between them, I sigh into his mouth, reveling in the taste of him—the tang of beer, a dash of mint, and a dark sweetness that’s as dangerous as the man himself.
His tongue licks at mine, tasting me in long, leisurely strokes then moving to explore the inside of my mouth. I melt into him, enjoying the way he moans against my lips. I swallow it, taking in some part of him that makes me feel dangerous and exhilarated.
I don’t know when he turns and pulls me into his lap; I just become aware of the hardness against my hip and the warm hand that’s roaming my back and side.
Jet sucks my lower lip into his mouth, taking it gently between his teeth. When he releases it, I open my eyes to look at him, feeling dazed and heavy of limb. He’s watching me, his eyes a deeper, warmer blue.
Everything around me is muted. I don’t hear the music or the voices. I don’t pay attention to the people. There is only me and Jet, and the heat that’s raging between us.
Quietly, he watches me. Quietly, I watch him right back.
Without his mouth pressed to mine, my lips feel dry. I wet them with my tongue, drawing Jet’s gaze.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t show me your tongue. It’s all I can do not to stand up with you in my arms and carry you to a dark corner and taste everything that you’re hiding from me.”
At his words, an uncharacteristic heat pours through me, flooding my core. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make it harder on you.”
Suddenly, I feel silly. What was I thinking? Why would I imagine this could be helpful to him, to someone who struggles with an addiction to sex?
“I know you’re not. You’re trying to help me. And I’m grateful. Truly. You’re different than these girls,” he says earnestly.
“Yes, I’m different. I’m not dangerous to you. They are,” I reply.
Jet’s voice drops into a low rumble. “What if I told you that you might be more dangerous?”
“I’d tell you that you were wrong.”
“I’m not so sure,” he muses, his eyes roving my face. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say nothing. He continues. “I’d be a liar if I told you that I’m not attracted to you. If I told you that I didn’t want you.”
I shouldn’t want to hear those words. They shouldn’t give me any pleasure at all. But they do. Oh, how they do!
“But you know we can’t do this,” I state, quashing the excitement that his words brings.
His smile is small and wry. “Exactly. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy this, or that I don’t still enjoy your company.” He pauses, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the skin of my arm as his eyes search mine. “I’m glad you came.”
I don’t want to admit that I am, too, so I deflect. “I’m glad I could help.”
Before Jet can respond, a meaty arm wraps around his neck from behind. A few seconds later, a broad, ruddy face topped with a clump of thick strawberry hair appears beside Jet’s head.
“Caught you another one, did ya?” comes the gruff voice that perfectly matches the bear likeness of its owner.
“Shut it, Harley. This is Violet.”
Harley looks duly unimpressed. “And who is Violet?” he asks, directing his question to me.
Jet turns his head and glares at Harley. “We met at a . . . meeting.” The way he says “meeting” so meaningfully makes me think Harley might know about Jet’s problem.
As if to confirm my suspicion, Harley slowly starts to nod, returning Jet’s look. “Ohhh, I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Violet. I’m Harley, Jet’s manager.”
I reach forward to grab the calloused hand the big man extends toward me. “It’s nice to meet you, Harley.”
“Oooh, that voice,” he says, closing his eyes like he’s in ecstasy.
“Don’t even think about it, old man.”
Harley tries to look offended, and I smile at his theatrics. “Old man? I’m hardly old, pup,” he says, giving Jet a tighter squeeze. When Jet makes a strangling sound, Harley returns his attention to me. “Don’t believe a word he says, Violet,” Harley warns. “This boy could charm the panties off a nun.”
Jet reaches back to playfully wrap Harley’s head in the curve of his bent arm, locking it down with a tug of his hand. “She didn’t ask for your bullshit take, dimwit.”
I feel the need to explain. “You should know, Harley, that contrary to how this must look, he’s not trying to get anywhere near my panties, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” I tease.
Harley’s expression sobers the tiniest bit, giving me a chill. “Oh, you should worry, sweetheart.”
Before I can respond, Jet easily pushes Harley back and stands with me in his arms, slowly letting my legs slide down his until my feet are firmly on the ground. I’m torn between wondering at his reaction to Harley’s last comment and swooning at the contact with his tall, hard frame.
“Don’t pay him any attention, Violet. He lost his mind years ago,” Jet says.
I glance behind him to see Harley studying Jet’s back. He meets my eyes over Jet’s shoulder, and I see some genuine concern.
Yes, it seems he does know about Jet’s problem.