Page 15 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
But I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman. And every cell in my body is screaming at me to pull her closer, to eliminate what little space remains between us.
I remain perfectly still, suspended between desire and restraint, while my mind races through scenarios. If I wake her, she’ll be embarrassed, defensive. If I don’t wake her, and she wakes naturally to find herself wrapped around me, she might accuse me of taking advantage.
There’s no winning move here.
She murmurs something unintelligible and shifts again. Her face tilts up, lips parted, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to lower my head those few inches to capture her mouth with mine.
I bring my free hand up to brush a plait that’s escaped her scarf. The gesture feels more intimate than any of our other exchanges. This unguarded moment where I can simply look at her without her defenses up, without her creating distance.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whisper into the darkness.
“Jaxon,” she mumbles, and for a terrifying second, I think she’s awake. But her eyes remain closed, her breathing deep and even.
She’s dreaming of me. The realization makes me happy.
Her unconscious body recognizes what her conscious mind fights. She belongs with me, against me, beneath me and on top of me. Her surrender in sleep is just a preview of what’s coming. I’ve built an empire with less promising foundations than this.
I adjust the blankets around us, cocooning us against the cold. My thumb traces small circles on her hip.
JJ shifts, her leg sliding higher between mine. I grit my teeth against the surge of desire. This is torture of the sweetest kind.
“Mmm, warm,” she murmurs, face pressed against my neck, words slurred with sleep.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, allowing my arm to wrap more securely around her.
In the morning, she’ll be mortified to find herself tangled with me. She’ll retreat behind antagonism. But right now, there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than in this modest bed, in this powerless apartment, with this woman who has unknowingly held power over me for most of my life.
Jessa
Something’s wrong.
I’m enveloped in warmth and my body relaxed in a way it hasn’t been in years. I snuggle deeper into the source of this unnatural comfort, then freeze as realization slams into me.
My eyes snap open.
I’m draped across Jaxon’s chest like it’s my personal mattress. My leg is thrown over his, my arm wrapped around his torso, my head tucked neatly under his chin. His arm holds me securely against him, his hand resting on my hip.
Oh my god.
My heart launches into panic mode, thundering against my ribs, but I force my body to remain still. Maybe I can extract myself without waking him. I’ll slip away, pretend this never happened, and we can avoid the mortification of acknowledging that I apparently decided to use him as a body pillow in the middle of the night.
Carefully, I lift my head to gauge if he’s in a deep sleep. His breathing seems steady, his face relaxed. Good.
Operation Extricate Myself From Embarrassment is a go.
I start by sliding my leg off his with slow, careful movements. Millimeter by millimeter. I’m practically holding my breath.
“Morning.”
The word vibrates against my cheek, like he’s still half-asleep.
I go rigid, pulse hammering. Abort mission. Abort mission.
My eyes travel up to meet his, and the impact is immediate. His hazel eyes are still heavy-lidded, his hair adorably mussed, his morning stubble giving him a rugged look that should be illegal before coffee.
Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. We just stare at each other.
His hand on my hip feels like it’s burning through my pajamas. I’m suddenly acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect. The solid plane of his chest beneath my palm. The way his thigh feels between mine. The gentle pressure of his fingers on my skin.
