Page 8 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
I move my hands as I speak, needing to physically punctuate each point, as if the gestures can somehow make him understand.
“We can annul the marriage quickly and never speak of the incident again. We can get on with our lives and marry the people we love.”
I smile at him, hoping to convey this solution as perfectly sensible. The storm intensifies outside, but it is nothing compared to the storm brewing in Jaxon’s eyes.
“You’re dating someone?” His voice is carefully controlled, but I catch the edge underneath.
“That is none of your business!”
“I disagree.” He moves closer, the leather of my sofa creaking beneath his weight. The distance between us shrinks, and my heart rate picks up in response. “You’re my wife.”
“I said my piece. I don’t plan to engage with you further.” My words sound firm, but my pulse skitters as he continues to stare.
“We need to come up with a more reasonable plan. Not an annulment.”
Outside, a violent gust of wind hurls snow against my sliding door with a sound like sand being thrown. I wish I could blame the chill running down my spine on the weather.
“Divorce?”
“No. I was thinking more along the lines of staying married.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to keep this marriage going. I’d rather staple my own hand to my desk.” My voice gains strength. “We don’t like each other.
“I like you,” he says, completely unfazed by my hostility.
My mouth slackens. My brain scrambles for logic, for footing, for something solid to hold on to, but everything tilts. Something flips in my stomach—not unpleasant, but dangerous in its intensity.
No one should have this kind of power over me. Especially not him.
This is ridiculous. I dislike Jaxon. The arrogant tech CEO who tormented me as a teenager, who’s always taken pleasure in getting under my skin. I don’t have feelings for him. I can’t. That would make me the biggest fool in the world.
Panicking at my thoughts, I unfold my legs and plant my feet firmly on the ground to put some distance between us.
“Listen, I don’t know what—”
Jaxon moves toward me like a predator cornering its prey.
I should back away. I don’t.
His masculine scent surrounds me a second before his lips capture mine, stealing my breath along with my common sense.
Jaxon groans against my mouth, his hands sliding to cup my face, thumbs stroking my jawline.
His tongue teases, tempts, tortures, and I hold out for half a second before I break.
God help me, I break.
A deep, satisfied sound rumbles from his chest as he tilts his head, taking the kiss deeper, hotter, more consuming.
My pulse is a pounding drumbeat, matching the rhythm of his deliberate assault on my senses.
My hands, which had been pressed against his chest in initial resistance, now slide upward to circle his neck.
His hands trail from my shoulders down the sides of my arms, then back up to trace the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, before finally moving to the sides of my breasts.
I gasp into his mouth when his thumbs find my hardening nipples, the sensation sending electric currents straight through me. He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with hunger.
This is a mistake. A colossal, life-ruining mistake.
