Page 14 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
“Maybe I’m tense because there’s a six-foot-three arrogant man invading my personal space and making inappropriate comments.”
“Funny how you know my exact height.”
“I—” For once, the quick-witted JJ falters. “That’s not—”
I can’t help pressing my advantage. “And which comment was inappropriate, exactly? The biting one? Because that’s more of an offer than a comment.”
“Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Of what, exactly?”
JJ gestures between us. “The bickering.”
I consider her question seriously.
“No.” I shift closer, not touching, but letting her feel my presence. “Not with you.”
“Why?” Her voice is softer now.
I could give her the easy answer, the one that maintains our comfortable antagonism. Instead, I opt for truth.
“Because you’re the only woman who doesn’t back down. Women either want something from me or are afraid to challenge me.” I watch her carefully. “You’re different.”
JJ’s quiet for a long time, her eyes reflecting the dancing flame of the candle. “That’s because I saw you cry when your toenail fell off. Hard to be intimidated by someone after that.”
The tension breaks like a fever when I laugh in response. “Fair point.”
She laughs too, and something warm unfurls in my chest. These rare glimpses of connection beneath our barbed exchanges are what I’m fighting for.
“Goodnight, Jaxon,” she says softly, turning away to blow out her candle.
“Goodnight, wife,” I reply.
I hear her huff of annoyance and smile to myself. I extinguish my own candle, plunging the room into blackness.
As my eyes adjust, I become acutely aware of her presence beside me. The soft sound of her breathing, the faint warmth radiating from her body, the whisper of the sheets when she moves. She’s less than a foot away, yet the distance feels both infinitesimal and insurmountable.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, listening to the storm outside and JJ’s rhythmic breathing beside me. Sleep eludes me, my mind too full of her scent on the pillows, her warmth just inches away, the memory of her lips against mine earlier.
The wind howls against the windows, but inside this bedroom, there’s a different kind of storm brewing.
I check the bedside clock in the darkness—12:17 AM. Great.
Beside me, JJ stirs. She’s been restless for the past hour, shifting positions, sighing softly. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably as the night progressed. I’m comfortable enough in sweatpants and t-shirt, but I notice JJ pulling the blankets tighter around herself.
A particularly strong gust rattles the window, and she shifts again. This time, her body moves toward mine.
Her leg slides over, tangling with mine. Her arm drapes across my torso. Her breath warms my neck.
I freeze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too deeply. She’s pressed against me now, the length of her body aligned with mine, soft and warm and completely unaware. The satin of her headscarf brushes my chin, and her hand rests directly over my heart, which is currently trying to punch its way out of my chest.
“JJ?” I whisper, not wanting to startle her, but knowing I should wake her before she realizes our position and accuse me of crossing her boundary.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and burrows closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. The leg draped over mine slides higher, settling between my thighs and sending blood rushing south.
Fuck.
I should wake her. I should gently disentangle our limbs and return her to her side of the bed. That’s what a gentlemanwould do. That’s what someone respecting the boundaries of this fragile truce would do.
