Page 80 of Off Script

In spite of her protests, Tristan saw the wheels turning in Jada’s mind. Eventually, she gave in, and led him to her room.

As the shower began to heat up, Tristan and Jada squared off, eyeing one another. Surprisingly, Jada was the one to make the first move as she reached for his wet shirt. Lifting it up over his head, she then traced his muscular arms, feeling the goose bumps on his skin.

“Wow, you’re cold.”

“I’m sure you’ll know how to warm me up,” Tristan said innocently as he reached for the buttons on Jada’s shirt. Slowly undressing her, Tristan caressed her flawless skin as he traveled across her body. From her lush breasts to her curved stomach, and eventually much lower. As he fondled her tender folds, Jada rushed to finish disrobing him.

“I think we can hop in now.” Tristan took notice of the steam flowing through the room.

Jada hesitated before stepping into the tub.

“To be honest, I’ve never done it in the shower before. What if we fall and break our asses?” she asked nervously.

Tristan held back his experienced revelation that it was all about balance, because hell, he wasn’t that stupid.

“Trust me, I’ve got you,” Tristan said instead. Placing his hands on her waist, he guided her into the embrace of the water.

For a while, they did dutifully scrub away. Jada made sure to shampoo Tristan’s hair and anoint him in lathers of lavender soap. Its scent, mixed with Jada’s intoxicating aroma and the heat, made Tristan’s temperature—and other parts of his anatomy—rise. He gave up on showering and pulled Jada into a deep kiss, pushing her back against the tiled wall. They explored each other, melding their bodies together in sensual circles.

At last, Tristan headed toward home. Lifting her with her back still pressed against the wall, he rubbed his erection against her entrance until Jada stiffened.

“Tristan, I’m going to fall if we do it like this,” she said, worried they were about to have more of a slip and slide accident rather than a shower sexcapade.

“I got you, babe.”

At Jada’s reluctant noise of uncertainty, Tristan sighed. He let go of her and eased her feet back down on the shower floor. But he didn’t give up completely. Instead, he guided her to the showerhead and got her to wrap her hands around the handle.

“Can you hold on better this way?” Tristan said suggestively.

Jada nodded and Tristan lifted her once more, gripping her hips. Enveloped in exhilarating kisses, Tristan moved inside her. Her wet heat surrounding him was only rivaled by the hot water glistening on their bodies. Jada let out an intense moan, having forgotten about the slippage factor. Tristan wasn’t far behind her, losing himself in the sensations of her, of them together as they both reached a fevered, moist ecstasy.

While they came down from the high, Tristan placed Jada’s shaky feet back on the floor. He still kept his arms around her, not wanting to leave the warm cocoon the shower had become. He wasn’t ready to get hit with frigid air the second they stepped out of their small haven. That imminent chill would end not only his and Jada’s rendezvous, but his escape from reality. His escape from the past and what might happen in the future.

So he stayed wrapped up in Jada as the wet droplets fell.

25

The next morning, Tristan left, headed back to his place to change and continue with his press junket. However, he left Jada with more than an afterglow of great sex. There was more to it; a deeper, inner glow. A warmth inside her chest that worried her. After seeing Tristan devastated last night, she knew whatever was between them was more than sex or physical attraction. She cared about him, hated to see him hurting. And when they made love, she felt closer to him than she ever had to any past lover. With his kiss good-bye this morning, that spark of warmth had ignited. The more she thought of him, the more it grew.

And why was that so frightening?

Because it felt like love.

Sipping her morning coffee, Jada mulled over what that meant, to be in love with Tristan. Their perspectives on love were entirely different. When she’d been talking about love existing and all that jazz last night, she realized she had been talking about her and Tristan. Meanwhile, Tristan was a commitmentphobe who scoffed at the idea of love’s very existence. Most likely, he didn’t feel the same way she did. To him, their arrangement was probably just business with a side of benefits.

Suddenly, her caramel latte tasted a lot like an oncoming assault of acid reflux.

“Hey, cousin!” Mikayla sauntered into the kitchen, cheerful as ever and oblivious to Jada’s dilemma.

“You better have brewed a strong pot of coffee because someone kept me up pretty late last night with some noises from her boudoir.”

“You heard us?” Jada asked, appalled.

“Yep, which means I expect details on how this happened! When did your relationship with Tristan . . . escalate? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Jada’s ringing phone saved her from answering. She shrugged helplessly and motioned to the caller ID: Avery Kane refused to be kept waiting.

“Hey, Avery,” Jada said, ignoring her cousin’s scowl.

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