Page 35 of Love Under the Microscope
“Zelda,” he presses, and I have a feeling he won’t let this drop.
“What other reason?” I ask.
Jack gives me a wry smile that’s much too charming for my own good. “I’m fully aware of how attractive you are. You’re beautiful, but Carrington is a handsome guy. The kind of handsome who probably thinks any woman should be grateful he looked their way.”
Another woman might be offended, but I’m not because Jack is one hundred percent correct about Nigel and about me. I’m good-looking and draw male attention. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise, but I don’t belong on a fashion runway. That’s not me at all. Nigel, however, could be a model or an actor—he’s gorgeous. He was and still is out of my league in the looks department. Hell, Nate’s the same. I have a thing for handsome men. But their looks never intimidated me. If anything, I felt more empowered by them wanting to be with me, and even though I called Jack shabby, he’s as handsome as the men from my past. “Yes, anything else?”
“I’m surprised Nigel hasn’t moved on and told you that it’s your loss.”
I also understand this, and somehow, I manage not to laugh. Not at me but at Nigel. Most men would have moved on. But he isn’t like that. God, what did I ever see in the prick?
My frustration level spirals the same way it does when Nate dumps a new project on my desk that’ll take me days when he wants it completed in hours.
I take a breath to calm myself. “I hurt his pride. I don’t think he’s had a woman dump him before.”
Jack’s mouth opens, but no words come out.
I raise my glass. “Surprised?”
“Yes.” He takes a drink and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a move that fits this drinking establishment but not his designer tux. “I wouldn’t expect a guy like Nigel to act that way.”
I take a sip. “Me either. He’s one of my biggest mistakes.”
He leans toward me in the booth. “Do you make many mistakes?”
His eyes are sincere, and I wonder if he could ever be anything but honest with how expressive they are. That phrase windows to the soul describes his.
“Well, do you?” he asks again, reminding me he’s a journalist through and through and only out to get a story.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, trying to focus on our discussion. “Not usually, no. Unless I’m stressed or frustrated, which this situation has made me. Under normal circumstances, I consider each decision I make carefully. With Nigel, I didn’t. I followed my heart or maybe my hormones. Now I hope that doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
Jack licks his lips and then swallows, and I sense what’s coming. I’ve dated enough over the years to know he wants to kiss me. He moves his head closer to me, proving I’m right. His lips are now mere inches from mine.
His warm breath caresses my skin. “I like you, Zelda.”
My heart pounds like a timpani drum. I can still taste him from our earlier kiss. “Do you?”
“I do.” He nods. “You’re strong and smart. It makes me want to do something a little reckless. Are you up for that, Zelda?”
Not wanting to stop him, I nod ever so slightly. He brought up the Me Too movement when we were at the gala. I figure giving consent will get me what I want.
His lips are soft against mine, yet the kiss is harder and more demanding than our first one. His hands go to my hair, and fingers thread through it, and I struggle not to moan. The kiss at the gala had been good, but this one is epic. He knows when to go in hard and when to pull back. As he nips at my bottom lip, I’m already wet. I wonder if anyone will say something if I crawl onto his lap and ride him. To get ready, I lift my leg, but then Jack pulls away.
The entire bar bursts into cheer. As I look around the room and see all the eyes directed our way, my face heats. I didn’t know everyone was watching us.
“Sorry,” he says, smiling against my mouth, and the last thing he sounds is apologetic. If anything, he sounds pleased.
I’m not. He’s left me hanging once again and embarrassed.
I exhale a heavy breath. “No problem.”
Jack raises a hand to our audience. “Thanks, folks. Now fuck off.”
His words break the tension. I drop my head and giggle, suddenly feeling all girly for the first time in years—girly and free.
“Let’s go,” he says quietly.
I don’t know whether he’s warning me that things are moving too quick or promising more to come. I’m not sure which I want it to be. I like Jack. I’m attracted to him, but I won’t make a Nigel-sized mistake ever again. Despite how Jack kisses me and how damp my panties are, he’s been upfront about being a journalist who wants a story, but that doesn’t mean he won’t use nefarious means to get it. Means that might include sharing hot kisses in a shady pool bar.
