Page 61 of Worth the Wait

Her expression hardens,the pleasant facade cracking to reveal the cold calculation beneath. "You're making a mistake, Jackson. I was offering you a professional courtesy."

"No,you were attempting blackmail and doing so rather clumsily." I move toward the door, opening it in clear dismissal. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have actual client work to complete."

She pauses at the threshold,voice dropped to ensure only I can hear. "She'll be collateral damage, you know. When personal matters become professional issues, women always suffer more severe consequences than men. Always."

The threat,specifically targeted toward Tarryn rather than me, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth long after Christine departs. I sink into my chair, Christine's words spinning through my mind like toxin. The desire to shelter Tarryn from this storm wars with my respect for her formidable capabilities. If Christine is truly making a play for Miguel's position while simultaneously threatening Tarryn's career, we're facing a more dangerous adversary than I realized.

Tarryn's apartmentdoor opens to reveal her in silk pajama shorts and an oversized Northwestern t-shirt—a glimpse of the private woman beneath the tailored suits and careful professionalism. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and the scent of something delicious wafts from the kitchen behind her.

"You're early," she says, stepping back to let me in. "I was just about to put dinner in the oven."

I drop my jacket and briefcase by the door, exhaustion from the day suddenly hitting me full force. "Sorry. Should I come back later?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She closes the door, then studies my face with the perceptive gaze that's always seen through my careful masks. "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, I pull her against me, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Warm notes of vanilla hit my nose, mingling with the scene that’s just unmistakably…Tarryn. Her arms wrap around my waist, body melting against mine in perfect alignment, offering wordless comfort.

"Bad day?" she murmurs against my chest, hands tracing soothing patterns on my back.

"Christine threatened me," I say, the words muffled by her hair. "Or more specifically, threatened you through me."

She stiffens, pulling back enough to see my face. "What did she say?"

Once seated, I explain my encounter with Christine—her thinly veiled blackmail attempt, her implied knowledge of our relationship, her specific threat regarding the disproportionate consequences Tarryn might face.

"She said women always suffer more severe repercussions than men when office relationships become public," I finish, the bitter truth of the statement making my jaw clench. "And she's leveraging that reality for her own advancement."

Tarryn sits still, absorbing the information, her legal mind visibly processing implications and potential strategies. "She has no proof," she says finally. "Just suspicion and circumstantial evidence."

"That might be enough if presented the right way to the right people." I take her hand, needing the physical connection. "Weshould consider going to Miguel first, controlling the narrative before she can shape it."

"Absolutely not." Her reaction is immediate, body tensing beside me. "That would confirm her suspicions and potentially jeopardize both our positions, especially with the junior counsel decision pending."

"Then what do you suggest?" I ask, frustration edging my voice. "Wait for her to make the first move? Let her dictate the terms of engagement?"

"I suggest we be more careful," she counters, pulling her hand from mine. "Maintain stricter boundaries. Give her nothing concrete to work with."

The suggestion—more distance, more caution, more denial of what's growing between us—sends a surge of possessive heat through me. "Is that what you want? More careful separation? More pretending this isn't happening?"

"I'm not giving you up," I tell her, the declaration emerging with raw certainty. "Not for Christine, not for the promotion, not for anything."

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at my vehemence. "Jackson?—"

I silence her with a kiss, pouring years of restrained emotion into it. She freezes for a heartbeat, then melts against me, mouth opening beneath mine with a surrender that ignites my blood.

My hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her across my lap until she's straddling me, her thin pajama shorts and my suit pants doing little to disguise how quickly my body responds to her proximity. When she rocks against me, the friction draws a groan from deep in my chest.

"I need you," I murmur against her mouth, hands slipping beneath her t-shirt to find warm skin. "Now."

She nods, already working at my tie with practiced efficiency, then attacking the buttons of my shirt. When her hands reachmy bare chest, her nails scrape lightly across my skin, the slight sting sending pleasure spiraling through me.

I pull her shirt over her head, momentarily breaking our kiss, then recapture her mouth as my hands cup her breasts. She's not wearing a bra, her nipples already hard against my palms. The realization that she's been like this since I arrived—soft and accessible beneath thin cotton—makes my cock throb with urgent need.

"Bedroom," she gasps as my mouth moves to her neck, finding the spot just below her ear that always makes her shiver.

"Too far," I growl, lifting her slightly to push her shorts down her hips. "Here. Now."

Her breath catches at the command, eyes darkening with desire. "Yes."

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