Page 26 of Hot Nights in Morocco
The banquet hall is filling up all around us and most of the chairs are occupied. I smile tightly at my mother as she and David take their places at the adjacent table. There’s the most exquisite arrangement of white roses in front of me, but all I want to do is hurl it in Jake’s face. No job in the world could pay me enough to put up with this. Screw it, I’ll fly home and find another. He doesn’t own me.No onedoes. I’ve done a pretty good job of taking care of myself since the age of six.
Rising to my feet, I snatch my hand away as he tries to grab it, and stalk with purpose toward the exit. There are sounds of a polite scuffle behind me, and I know he’s trying to follow. By some miracle I make it all the way to the lobby unchallenged. I march straight up to the concierge desk and request a taxi.
“Cancel that order,” says Jake, arriving at my side and barely out of breath. One look at his expression has the concierge replacing the phone receiver and beating a hasty retreat. “You’re not leaving. They’ve just started bringing out theamuse-bouche.” He goes to take my arm again.
“I’d prefer to see something else flying at your mouth,” I mutter, yanking it out of reach. “Go back and cop another feel of the Britney twins. They don’t strike me as caviar kinds of girls, though. Bit highbrow for them. Not to worry, I saw a Pizza Hut on the way in.”
I’m never this bitchy, but this man is making me think and say things that are so far out in left field they’re in another country.
“What are you talking about?” He drives his hands into the pockets of his dress pants so violently I’m surprised he doesn’t split the seams. “Fine, I’ll take you home.”
“I’d rather leave with Mr. Texas.”
“Who?”
“Your aspiration, thirty years from now. Six marriages down, and a bimbo named Courtney warming your bed.”
“You’re a fucking fantasist, Books,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Never has a nickname been so appropriate.”
We stand there glaring at each other in the hotel lobby. We’re moving in ever-decreasing circles in opposite directions, and any minute now we’re going to collide in the worst possible way.
“Christ, ever since I met you you’ve been a pain in my ass.” His handsome face looks drawn and pale in the harsh light.
“I thought that’s what you wanted. You said you hated people fawning all over you.”
“Not to this extreme, I don’t.”
“Fine. I’ll do us both a favor and go back to London, shall I?”
But even as I say it, I know it’s not what I want. Not really. Not deep down in my soul. In the last week, I’ve become as much a part of the movie industry as it’s become a part of me, and Jake Dalton is the catalyst for all of it.
Exhaling loudly, he takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets again. As for me, I’m losing momentum. Jet lag hasn’t helped. I haven’t slept properly in over twenty-four hours.
“Why do you have to be such a miserable megalomaniac?” I ask him. “Why do you feel the need to trample all over me?”
“Charlie.” He looks wary all of a sudden. “Don’t.”
“There’s that word again.Don’tflirt with Max.Don’tspeak to Brad. You can’t keep telling people what to do, Jake. You can’t dictate my life to me.”
“I can, and I make no apology for it. We’re going back to my place to talk about this.” He gives a curt nod to the hovering valet. “Tell my driver to bring the car around.”
“I’m not going back to yours, Jake. I’ll find a hotel.”
“Like hell you are. We’re going back to my place, and that’s final.”
The journey back to Bel Air is every shade of torture. My emotions keep switching between mutiny and panic. Jake is sitting as far away from me as possible, and gazing out of the window. It feels like we’re hovering on the edge of a giant precipice, a yawning black abyss of uncertainty. Once again, the air between us is charged with something thick and indefinable.
We make it all the way home without uttering a single word to one another. Exiting the limo, I stand silently behind him as he taps keys to unlock the front door. Shoulders rigid, free hand clenched into a fist. I hear him curse softly before he stops and turns, and then, without warning, he’s pulling me into his arms and burying his face into my neck.
What the…?
“Why the fuck can’t you behave yourself?” he growls, his hot breath rippling vibrations across my skin.
“Why the hell should I?” I gasp out, my body responding like we’re fuel and flame, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to have this beautiful man wrapped around me.
He presses his mouth to my jaw, studding it with urgent kisses, stinging me with his stubble. Now his lips are crushing mine and holding me spellbound, his tongue demanding entry, thrusting between my teeth with the kind of authority that makes me whimper into his mouth. I throw my arms around his shoulders before I collapse on the steps of his zillion-dollar mansion, with his scent hemorrhaging into my senses.
Then, just like that, he’s pushing me away again.
