Page 34 of The Truth of Our Secrets

The point of contact is minor, but it’s as if he’s touching me everywhere.

Like I’ve entered an alternate universe where Jayce doesn’t hate me. My mind quickly wipes away the image of his hard cock in his hockey compression shorts so this doesn’t get hella awkward.

Britt raises her eyebrows, skeptical.

“If you need a rundown of events and artists, I could do it.” I shrug.

“I can do it.” Jayce sways, and before I think about it, I’ve wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“You two are cozy,” Britt comments.

Neither of us pays attention to her. He stands, planting his feet, hip width apart, and takes a deep breath. There’s no reason for my arm to be around him after he’s steady. My mind screams “let go,” but my body is slow to obey and my arm lingers longer than it should.

Instead of moving away from me, Jayce positions himself so our arms and feet touch. Since we’re behind the desk, they can’t see our feet.

“You sure?” I murmur.

He nods jerkily, but his hands aren’t shaking.

Jayce

This is insane. I’m seeking comfort in a man who can ruin my life and has a violent streak. My brain lists all the reasons to kickhim out and tell him to leave us alone. But my body seeks his calm like a heat-seeking missile.

If my body had its way, I’d be curled up into him. My body has never betrayed me so thoroughly. The thought of his hand on my throat brings a wave of calm. The idea of being at his mercy is peaceful.

I hate that I don’t hate it.

I clear my throat. “Give me a minute.” My voice still sounds rough.

“Take your time.” Britt smiles widely, but it’s an act. A PR expression to get her way.

Madyson said Britt would be here, but I didn’t realize she’d bring a cameraman. I’m sure Madyson planned on doing the talking with me standing next to her as the high-profile arm candy to bring views and maybe say a word or two.

But she’s not here. I can’t go down the rabbit hole of what would prevent her from being here. She would never purposely leave me to do this on my own.

I do the five senses technique in my head. And the touch is all about Emmet. He’s a solid wall to lean on. I forget all my senses except inhaling his scent and his arm touching mine. My brain floods with endorphins.

“Okay. Tell me what to do.” I focus on Britt, and Emmet slips the piece of paper back in my hands.

She motions to the guy to start. When the camera light goes on, she uses her on-air voice to introduce me. My hands sweat and I can’t stop scowling.

Emmet presses in from shoulder to hip. The effect is immediate.

“You got this. Fix your face,” he mutters, angling his body so they can’t see his hand on my back.

Part of me is furious that I’m in this situation. And even more furious that he makes it better. There’s no way he knows about my panic attacks or how touch calms me.

He’s instinctively doing everything right.

Once Britt finishes speaking and the camera focuses on me, my face relaxes, and my words aren’t angry. I review the month’s events and talk about our featured artist.

Emmet smoothly interjects the artists I’ve forgotten by reading the press release. Britt keeps her promise, finishing up in a couple of minutes, and happily says there’s no need for a second take.

My body starts to crash and Emmet grabs my arm. The cameraman is packing up and Emmet orders, “You’ll see yourselves out.”

He’s hauling me out of the office and down the back hall, out of their sightline.

“Where?” he asks.

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