Page 11 of Heartbreaker

Jade nods. “What about your family?”

“Both my parents are gone too.”

Her smile is small but filled with empathy. “Then you get it.”

What it’s like to lose my parents? Yes.

But what it’s like to speak of them with the love Jade has in her voice? No. That wasn’t my life.

“I’m sorry you lost them.”

Her fingers find my hand—the wrong hand—and she squeezes lightly.

Wrong and right.

Dulled and sharp.

I slip my fingers free, motion to her to turn around again so I can unzip her. “How long are you in town?”

She doesn’t comment on my obvious change in subject, just faces toward the windows again. “Just a few days,” she says. “But I’m back and forth between L.A. and elsewhere often.” One delicate shoulder lifts as I find the tab of the zipper and start drawing it down.

It parts effortlessly, the twin halves of material revealing creamy skin and a faint smattering of freckles, and…

“You weren’t kidding about the shapewear.”

She freezes then giggles, holding the front of her dress as I draw the zipper down, down, down. “I told you,” she said. “It’s all magic tricks and Spandex.”

I grin. “Do you have some doves hiding in there?” I tease. “A scarf that changes color?”

Another giggle. “No.”

I release the metal tag and slide back into the other seat, barely resisting the urge to slip my hands into the parted material, to peel away the fabric, to get her naked and see how pink and slick I can make her.

She tosses a glance over her shoulder, and I make a show of turning away. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I won’t look.”

Her mouth hitches up. “A good man in Hollywood?”

“I wouldn’t admit to being good,” I say to the sound of rustling, of the garment bag being unzipped. “In fact, I’d say I’m far from it.”

Mostly because I’m watching her in the reflection of the window.

Watching as she releases her arms, allows the gown to drop away from her body, to fall to the floor of the car.

My dick does more than twitch when I catch a glimpse of those delicate curves, the ass that screams for a spanking as she squirms out of the shapewear.

And then she’s reaching forward, slipping another dress from its hanger in the garment bag, tugging it up her body, covering the temptation of her in pale blue fabric.

“Okay,” she says softly.

I turn around. “Want me to do that one up?” I ask gruffly.

Her head tilts to the side, curls fanning out behind her. “What’d you say about not being good again?” A quiet question, but no less pointed. “Because I think there’s a nice guy hidden in there.”

“You don’t know me.”

Now her chin comes up.

“Then show me.”

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