Page 54 of Enticing the Enforcer
“There’s nothing to talk about, Jake.” My arms fold across my chest before I can stop them. Defensive. Guarded.
“You’re really still mad,” he accuses, his grin twisting into an incredulous smirk.
I take a deep breath, fighting the familiar pull of his orbit. He’s baiting me–he always baits me. Makes me feel small, guilty, like I’ve overreacted. That’s how he’s reeled me back in, over and over. But before I can snap back, movement at the corner of my vision cuts through the tension.
Jefferson.
He’s crossing the room with that loose, easy stride, all six-foot-five of him, those broad shoulders and long legs filling the space. He doesn’t look rushed, doesn’t look threatened–just calm, casual. But when his hand settles warm and steady at the small of my back, the message is clear.
Mine.
Jake’s eyes flick to the gesture, narrowing just enough to betray the hit to his ego.
The two men couldn’t be more different. Physically, they might as well belong to separate worlds–Jefferson with his athletic body made of thick muscle and an imposing frame that commands every room he enters. But the contrast runs deeper than appearance. Jefferson carries an ease, a steady confidence that Jake could only dream of. One he’d kill to possess.
Jefferson leans down, brushing his lips near my temple, his voice pitched low enough for me but not so low Jake can’t hear. “Everything okay here, Angel?”
The word–Angel–lands like a sparkler in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting my chin, heat crawling into my cheeks. “Everything’s fine.”
The room feels suddenly smaller, the air dense with different energies colliding. Madison is pretending to scroll on her phone, but there’s no doubt she’s eating up every single second of this. Marv hovers in the corner, alert as always, while the hum of voices from crew members moving equipment filters in faintly from the hall. All of it blurs behind the pulse pounding in my ears.
I step closer to Jefferson, like my body knows where it belongs before my mind does. “Jefferson, this is Jake. Jake, Jefferson.”
The men shake hands. Jefferson doesn’t overplay it–no flexing, no posturing–just a firm, steady grip that makes Jake shift on his feet. I lean into Jefferson’s side, his presence a solid wall at my back, grounding me.
“Did I hear someone mention dinner?” Jefferson asks, voice casual, as though this isn’t a standoff between past and present. His hand settles at my waist, heat radiating through the sequined fabric of my costume.
“That was me.” Jake grins easily. “I thought Ingrid and I could catch up while we’re both in town. You’re welcome to join us.”
A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat, a touch of hysteria and disbelief. Thankfully Jefferson maintains his wits and looks down at me, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “I know you’re starving, but you probably need to get off your feet and recover.” Then, with a glance at Jake, he adds, “Maybe another time?”
The silence stretches just long enough for me to savor the way Jake blinks, caught off guard by the consideration of this man touching me–withme. Thinking of my needs over his own. His confidence falters, brown eyes flickering with calculation. “You know, I’ve got an early call time tomorrow and shouldprobably head back, anyway. There are a few pages of lines I need to memorize too.”
Of course. A subtle reminder that he’s an actor now, important enough to brush off dinner with his ex. Whatever keeps him from losing more ground.
“That makes sense,” I say, keeping my tone polite, neutral. Inside, though, I feel lighter, as if I’ve just dodged a trap I didn’t realize was waiting to spring shut.
“Nice to meet you,” Jefferson says. He means it in that smooth, civil way that’s somehow still edged with finality, like a handshake closing a door.
“Right. You too.” Jake tries for one last connection, his gaze flicking toward me, searching for any crack in my resolve. But before I can react, Jefferson’s hand slides under my chin, tilting my face up until all I see is the intensity in his eyes and the promise inside them.
Then his mouth is on mine. Firm. Sure. Unapologetic.
The dressing room vanishes–the racks of costumes, the whir of curling irons, Madison’s muffled words as she escorts Jake quietly out the door. The only thing that exists is the man kissing me, his lips parting mine, the taste of him banishing every ghost Jake might have stirred up.
It might have started as a show, a deliberate claim in front of my past, but the second my body melts into his, the kiss shifts into something else–something real. Something that makes my chest ache and my knees weak.
And when he finally pulls back, my breath shaky against his cheek, I know the only hunger left in me has nothing to do with dinner. It’s for him. Always him.
18
Jefferson
The sceneafter the concert isn’t mentioned on the way back to the hotel, and once we’re up in her suite, Ingrid falls into her post-show routine. I’m learning quickly that it’s non-negotiable. Ice bath first–her teeth chattering as the timer runs down. Then massage, every knot in her shoulders and back worked out by a pair of hands that aren’t mine, and it kills me to sit there watching her melt under someone else’s touch. After that, it’s blister checks, bruise assessment, all the little repairs that come from performing a three-hour, high-intensity set on stage.
While the physical therapists poke and prod, I eat. It feels strange at first–me stuffing down steak and potatoes while she’s being tended to like a prize fighter–but she insisted.
