Page 56 of Miss Understood

“You don’t even really know me—or like me?” I argue.

He shakes his head. “I know I enjoy spending time with you. I know I like watching you in the morning, before you put your makeup on, hair in a messy bun and feet on the coffee table as you read your books. I know I can’t imagine my bathroom without all your crap everywhere. I know I like how you argue with me about everything, even when you know I’m right, like about this. You’re stubborn and difficult. But I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Jesse’s thumb traces the line of my jaw, and I try not to fall apart in front of him. But the steel expression I’ve perfected fails me in this moment.

“What are you saying?”

“I want to date you. For real.” There’s no pause.

“For real. You and me?” I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. They sound foreign. In the back of my mind, I’m screaming. Because as much as I want to fall down this rabbit hole with Jesse, I know too well what lies at the other end. Suits across the table, dividing possessions and assets. Feelings and emotions and—worst of all—tears.

Except right now, I can’t seem to care about any of that.

“What are the terms?” I ask, waiting for another shoe to drop or the rug to slide out—or whatever it is that happens at this point in relationships, because God knows I suck at this.

He laughs under his breath. “You need terms?”

I nod my head. What else does he expect? I wouldn’t say yes to a job without an ironclad contract. I’m not dating him without a clear understanding of what he expects.

“Okay, then. Terms,” he says. “For the next few weeks, while we finish the case, date me for real. Let’s see where this goes. Let me take my wife to dinner. If it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul. It was temporary anyway.”

There it is: the veiled shield of distance that protects him. The opportunity to bail at the end of this when he loses interest in the chase.

If only his hand on mine wasn’t cracking my facade.

I take a measured breath. “Let’s say I agree to this. I’m still your wife in this real relationship proposal?”

“So says the paperwork.” Jesse grins.

I try to hold back my smile, but it slips, and he catches it with a quick kiss that tears away my last line of defense. Those lips melt me on contact.

“Okay,” I say between breaths. “Let’s do this.”

Somewhere in the distance, thunder echoes, warning me a storm is on its way. And I stand with a lightning rod in hand, willing it to strike.

21

Jesse

I’vedated—alot.I’vetaken women to dinner, to the movies, for a walk on the pier. I’ve had one-night stands and business-trip flings. And while I’ve had a lot of fucking fun with my fair share of women, I’ve never done any of it with the end goal of a relationship.

Working as a divorce attorney this long has left me a little jaded. It’s hard to see the bright side of love when you’re constantly watching two people rip out each other’s arteries over it.

But one look at Luce, and I just can’t help myself.

When she stormed into my office earlier today, I knew she was slipping away. Well, more like kicking and screaming trying to escape whatever was going on in her head. And while I should have been relieved by the fact that she wanted out, all it made me want to do was hold tighter.

This is either the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.

“You look beautiful,” I say when Luce finally steps out into the living room.

She’s a vision in a short black strapless dress that sparkles, gems trickling down her body like falling stars. The soft hemline brushes her thighs, and I’m not sure what the look on my face is, but it makes her blush.

“Thank you.” She smiles as I lift the back of her hand to my lips.

“We should go,” I say, knowing if we don’t, I’ll drag her to my bed and rip that dress from her body with my teeth.

I’ve never been drawn to a woman like I am to Luce. Gravity pulls me to her. A star caving in on itself. Untouchable perfection that draws you close enough to destroy you. And, fuck, I want more of it.

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