Page 17 of Most Likely to Deny Love

His mouth quirked into something almost resembling a smile. He always did that. Just a little half smile. It made me wonder what the full deal would look like. “Already.”

We made quick work of packing up and I’d barely put my laptop on top of the box before Jack grabbed it to carry back to my office. I didn’t fight him this time. I was tired, and the sight of his muscled forearms flexing under the weight was enough to soothe my bruised pride.

After stowing the box under my desk, we walked out to the deserted parking lot, to his sleek black Audi gleaming under the security lights.

Jack opened the passenger door of his car.

“Oh, um, you don’t have to?—”

“just get in the car, Mia.”

He waited for me to slide into the buttery soft leather with a mumbled thanks, then closed the door behind me.

I’d never, in my life, had a guy open a door for me like this. Or close it with a little snap of impatience at my hesitation. Itwas kinda cute, so of course, I watched through the windshield as he walked around the front of the car. His confident stride and broad shoulders made for a great view.

When he slipped into the driver’s seat, he gave me another one of those slight smiles that had heat pooling in my belly. Then he punched my address into the navigation system and eased out of the lot.

The short drive from the business park to my home passed in comfortable silence. I’d expected it to be awkward, this forced intimacy of being alone in his car, but somehow it wasn’t. The interior smelled faintly of cedar and something spicier. His cologne, I realized, taking a deeper breath than necessary. It was subtle but unmistakably masculine, like everything else about him.

I flicked him a glance. The soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his profile: the strong jaw, the straight nose, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated on the road. Being that gorgeous should be a crime, honestly.

As we turned onto my street, I wondered what he thought of my modest neighborhood with its small bungalows and overgrown gardens. Did Jack Sullivan, with his designer suits and luxury car, silently judge the plastic flamingo Mrs. Mulvany insisted on displaying in her front yard? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

When he pulled into my driveway, I’d barely reached for my purse when Jack was out of the car and opening my door for me. The man was stubborn, that was for sure. Biting back a smile, I climbed out, suddenly very aware of how close we were standing, our bodies just inches apart in the dim moonlight. My breath caught in my throat as his eyes met mine.

His eyes held mine for a moment too long to be purely professional, something flickering in those hazel depths thatmade my heart stutter. Time seemed to stretch between us like warm honey, thick and sweet.

In that moment, all I could think about was what it would be like to kiss him. My gaze dropped to his lips and heat flooded my cheeks. I imagined closing that small distance between us, feeling his mouth on mine, his hands pulling me closer. The intensity of the thought made me dizzy, and I swayed slightly on my feet. Fuck, what a psycho.

Jack cleared his throat and stepped back, breaking the moment. “Great work tonight, Mia.”

“Thank you.” My voice squeaked embarrassingly, another great moment for me. Not.

“Goodnight.” His voice was low, almost rough around the edges, sending a shiver through me.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

I headed up the walkway, feeling his eyes on my back the entire way. At the door, I glanced over my shoulder to find him still standing by the car, waiting to make sure I got inside safely. I offered a small wave before slipping my key into the lock.

Once inside, I closed the door and leaned back against it, my eyes falling shut as I replayed the evening in my mind. The sound of his car pulling away drifted through the window. I imagined him driving through the dark streets, wondered where he lived. What his house was like. Did he live alone? Fuck, did he have a wife, a girlfriend?

I let my head fall back against the door, huffing out a breath. What the hell was happening to me?

JACK

Iincreased the weight on the barbell and positioned myself under it, the cold metal pressing against my palms. The heavy bass thumping through my earbuds drowned out everything else, creating a bubble where nothing existed but the next rep, the next breath, the next moment of controlled strain.

One. Two. Three.

My muscles burned as I pushed through the fourth rep, focusing on the precise mechanics of the movement. My breathing was deep and even. The tight sensation in my chest that had woken me at 3am had faded to background noise. Not gone, but manageable. The way it always was after a good workout.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

I racked the weights and sat up, sweat beading on my forehead as I rolled my shoulders and reached for my water bottle, scanning the moderately busy gym as I took a long drink. The steady rhythm of treadmills, the metallic clang of weights, the hum of the ventilation system. Predictable. Controllable. Even during the midday rush.

A quick glance at my watch let me know I had twenty-seven minutes before I needed to shower and head back to the office. Just enough time for a few sets with the hand weights.

I positioned myself in front of the mirror, focusing on the weight, the resistance, the pure physical challenge that demanded all my attention. This was the only time my mind truly quieted, when there was no room for anything but the present moment. I closed my eyes briefly, centered myself, opened my eyes, and began.

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