Page 90 of Enemies Off Camera
Now all eyes are back on us.
“I love him too,” I say into the mic. “For real.”
“And…” Jaxon adds, “Keep watching us. If we’re lying, you’ll know.”
A surge of questions erupts.
“One at a time!” he calls out.
A reporter rises above the noise. “Jaxon, what do you say about today’s performance? What happened out there?”
Jaxon nods thoughtfully. “I played terribly. Then I got hurt. But…” He jerks his thumb toward me and grins. “She’s my lucky charm, and she knows it.”
He leans back and drops it in his Terminator voice: “I’ll be back.”
The room erupts with laughter.
SIXTY-FIVE
We flew back to San Diego together. With the medication kicking in, Jaxon slept through most of the flight. Tomorrow, his rehab begins at the team’s facility.
It’s just been the two of us. I carried his crutches while airport staff rolled him down the ramp and out to our waiting car. Of course, everyone had their cellphones pointed at us. I guess this is how it’ll be now—us, a “celebrity couple.”
It’s strange. We were pushed together by the spotlight, but now that we’re real—truly a couple—it feels more personal than ever, even as the world watches. But public fascination is like a flickering match—it flares, then fades. The longer we’re together, the less interesting we’ll be to them. I honestly can’t wait for that part.
When we got home, I helped Jaxon into the shower—he definitely needed it. I took mine after, planning to give him space for the night so he could rest and get comfortable. But he asked me to stay close. I wanted that too.
Earlier, we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed. I drifted off easily, my body thankful for rest. But now, I’m gently stirred awake by the warm weight of a hand at my hip. A whisper breaks through the quiet.
“Zara…”
I turn to face him, eyes still adjusting. “You need something?” I murmur.
“Yes.”
I sit up, instinctively ready to help—but he takes my hand and guides me toward the reason he’s awake.
“I need you,” he says, voice low, thick with desire.
A rush moves through me as I fully wake.
This man—this beautiful, strong, wounded man—is laid out before me, needing me. His body, usually a fortress of motion, is still. He’s nearly helpless.
“That means you’re all mine to do with as I please?” I ask, a teasing grin tugging at my lips.
The moonlight spilling in from the tall window catches his favorite dimple as he chuckles—a sound low and dangerous and sexy as hell.
He wants to play. So do I.
I lean down, brushing kisses over his cheek, letting my lips linger on the scratch of his stubble.
“Mmm,” he groans. “Don’t tease me too long.”
“Oh, I will.”
My hand finds him—hard, hot, impossibly ready. He shivers beneath my touch.
I climb on top, straddling him slowly, letting my thighs press against his still-powerful torso.
