Page 12 of False Start, Real Passion

It was a mistake, I tell myself firmly, even as my body trembles with the memory of his nearness. A moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.

But even as the thought forms, I know it’s a lie.

I burst out of the stadium into the blinding sunlight, gulping in fresh air. It does little to cool the fever under my skin, the ache his almost-kiss awakened.

Somehow, I make it to my car, collapsing into the driver’s seat like a marionette with cut strings. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

Get it together, Michaels. But it’s easier said than done when I can still feel the ghost of his breath on my lips, the phantom heat of his body pressed against mine.

I rest my forehead against the wheel, squeezing my eyes shut. This was supposed to be fake, I remind myself. A business arrangement. Nothing more.

So why did it feel so real? Why did I let myself get carried away, let the lines blur until I couldn’t see where the pretense ended and the truth began?

Because you wanted it to be real,a traitorous voice whispers.Because under all the snark and the eye-rolls, you’re falling for him.

“No,” I say aloud, my voice cracking. “No, I’m not. I can’t be.”

But even as the words leave my lips, I know they’re just another lie in a long line of self-deception.

Because the truth is, Jaxon Reid is getting under my skin, into my head... and maybe even into my heart.

And that scares me more than anything.

The air is stifling. I crank the window, hoping the cool breeze will take some of my crazed thoughts with it, but they linger, clingy and relentless. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jaxon’s face, that damn self-assured smile, and the heat of his body so close to mine.

My plan to keep things professional is unraveling, one skipped heartbeat at a time. He can’t get to you like this, I insist, but my body remembers the opposite, remembers the warmth and the way my hands refused to push him away until it was almost too late.

I clutch the steering wheel tighter, the texture rough against my palms, grounding me in the physicality of the moment. This is work. It’s just work. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, I’ll start to believe it.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder, startling me, making my heart leap into my throat. It’s just a text from the network, an update about the new campaign. I let out a shaky laugh at how ridiculous I am, flustered and panicked like a teenager. This is not who I am.

I run my fingers through my hair, pulling myself together, pulling at anything that might keep me from falling further into this insanity. My mind is a tangled mess, my body still tingling with the ghost of Jaxon’s almost-touch.

Hours later, I’m in my apartment, curled up on the couch and nursing a glass of wine while trying to focus on the mindless reality show playing on my TV.

My phone sits ominously on the coffee table, a reminder that I’m just one buzz away from caving, from crossing lines that were supposed to remain clear. It taunts me with its silence, and I wonder how long I’ll last before I’m pulled back into the gravitational field of his charm, his heat.

When it finally vibrates, it’s like a jolt of electricity, a live wire in my hand. Jaxon’s name on the screen. His message concise, cocky, and devastatingly effective:

You can’t run forever, sweetheart.

I stare at the words, reading and re-reading them until they blur before my eyes. He’s right. I can’t keep running from this, from him. But what other choice do I have?

I set my wine glass down, my fingers trembling slightly. I know I should delete the text, ignore it like I’ve been ignoring the growing attraction between us. But some masochistic part of me needs to respond, needs to engage in this dangerous dance we’ve started.

My response: Watch me.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. I’m supposed to be fixing his image, not fall for his charm. But the other part of me, the part that’s been awakened by Jaxon’s touch and his teasing words, whispers a different truth.

My phone buzzes again, and I know without looking that it’s him. I shouldn’t look. I should power down my phone, pour another glass of wine, and forget all about Jaxon Reid and his infuriatingly sexy smirk.

But I’ve never been good at resisting temptation.

I snatch up my phone, my heart pounding as I read his response.

Challenge accepted, sweetheart. But we both know you don’t really want to run from this.

I can almost hear his deep, honey-smooth voice saying the words, can almost feel the heat of his breath against my ear. I shiver, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the warmth of the room.

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