Page 64 of Jett

“And bad for me,” I say, trying to make light of the conversation which suddenly seems heavy.

“I was never going to let you drown.” Whiskey glass in hand, his gaze smoldering, he says, “I can't lose you, Cari.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. My pulse races, my head spins, and I'm unsure of where this conversation is going.

His eyes trail down from my eyes, lingering on my bare shoulder, before dipping lower … and lower still, taking all of me in. I feel naked, as if he’s undressing me. He’s never looked at me like this before. His eyes meet mine. “Want some?”

“What are you offering?” I tease, though I already know the answer.

He raises a brow. “Whatever you want.”

My insides hollow out. What exactly are we talking about here? It feels intimate, secluded, as if this moment exists in a world all its own. Before I can answer, he says, “Whiskey, but I’ve got tequila, rum … whatever you like.”

Drinks. He was only talking about drinks. I take a moment to compose myself. “It’s a bit late for me to be drinking.” But my gaze still flits across the array of bottles behind him.

“The night is young, Cari. You drank with yourboy-man, surely you can have a drink with me?” I blush as he looks down at me.

Boy-man? Ouch. He really doesn’t like Jacques.

“You’re on vacation,” he continues. “We’re not back in the office, and you’re not my assistant here.”

I’m not? Then what am I? I try to loosen the knot that’s stuck in my throat, as I struggle to make sense of his sinister and sexy words. Words that are almost an invite.

Have some fun, my sweet girl. It's been a tough year for you.My aunt's words spin around in my head.

“I've never had whiskey before.”

Jett slides his glass across to me. I take it, inhaling a deep breath, steadying myself as I maintain eye contact with him. I turn the glass around, putting my lips on the same spot where his lips have been. His mouth parts slightly and I sense that he may not be as calm as he appears.

I know, as surely as I feel it myself, this is turning him on.

I take a sip. It burns like liquid fire at first, and I almost gag. But I force myself not to, under Jett’s watchful gaze. Then the smoky warmth rolls over my tongue with an unexpected sweetness, like burnt sugar.

“It’s … strong.” I wrinkle my face at the sharp, bitter edge that lingers.

“Like it?” Heat flares in Jett’s eyes and his gaze dips as he watches me take another sip.

“I could get used to it.”

This feels like a dangerous game we’re playing. I lick my lips provocatively, feeling the dynamics between us shift. My actions are affecting him and it feels good.

“Do I get that back? Or should I pour you a fresh one?”

I cup his glass with both hands, hear the thudding of my heart and pray he can’t hear it. “I'll stick with this, thanks.”

Reaching for a new glass, he pours himself another whiskey, then lifts his glass to me. “What shall we toast to?”

“To ... a … a farewell,” I scramble to say the first thing that comes to mind.

There it is again, the telltale flexing of his jaw. “Why a farewell?”

“Because I'm leaving.”

“So you keep reminding me.” Anger darts across his face, lightning fast, but in an instant it's gone. “I don't want to talk about you leaving.” He's a master at hiding emotion. I've witnessed this firsthand, seeing him with his father. He’s trying to hide it with me now. “To a great adventure in Bermuda,” he says.

“An adventure?”

“It can be. It can be anything you want it to be.”

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