“You might not care, but I do. You’re better than this.”
This time when she smiled, it was a genuine-real-Nikki smile. And damn if his breath
didn’t hitch.
“The problem with that, Jett, is you’re the only one who’s ever thought so.”
The words went straight to his heart, but he couldn’t deny it. No matter what a pain
in the ass she was, she had a way of being brutally honest even when the truth didn’t
paint the prettiest picture.
There was something different about Jett tonight. Nikki had known him for the whole
twenty-three years of her life. He’d been Cole’s best friend, well, his only friend.
But Jett had been her friend also. Just about every good memory in her life was somehow,
some way connected with Jett—building the fort in the tree out back, riding up to
the corner store on their bikes, getting sick on cherry slushies and Jolly Ranchers.
Jett had been the one to teach her how to drive, since by then her father had died,
her mom was sick, and Cole had been working two jobs just to keep the lights on.
The Logans had grown up hard. That was just the way of things. But when she was with
Jett, life seemed different. Good things had always come easy to Jett, and the craziness
was he expected life to continue to provide him with lemonade instead of lemons. It
was strange being around someone so optimistic, and in a weird way his outlook gave
her hope, not that she’d ever let Jett know. He was too full of himself as it was.
Yeah, but tonight Jett was definitely different. Was it in the way he gripped the
steering wheel, took a corner a bit too fast? The rigid hunch of his shoulders or
the charged silence in the air? There was an edge to him that Nikki rarely saw. An
edge and a . . . carelessness? No, she must’ve misread the signs. Jett was never careless.
He was a charmer and rarely left things to chance. From his clothes, to his truck,
to his house, he was meticulous in everything he did.
Maybe his mood had something to do with her interrupting his party tonight? Had he
been with a girl? Probably. He was always with one girl or another. Nikki shrugged
and snuggled deeper into Jett’s suit jacket. She turned her nose into the collar.
The fabric smelled like him. He was the only man she knew who wore aftershave. Most
men smelled like sweat, road, and horse. Not Jett. He smelled like spice, like the
night. He smelled of confidence and power—that’s what a person had when he was rich.
There was more to being wealthy than buying fancy clothes and expensive cars. There
was a scent of pride, the aroma of prerogative. Or maybe it was the lack of something.
Maybe there was just no stench of desperation.
Nikki would’ve bet that a house in the Hamptons and a stack of a million dollar bills
smelled exactly the same—like an Avery.
Nikki and Jett drove in silence until they finally pulled into Jett’s driveway. For
the life of her, Nikki would never understand why Jett chose to live in Grove Oaks.
Sometime during Jett’s high school years his daddy’s investments had paid off, and
the whole family had moved to a town where the front yards turned into estates and
the houses into mansions. Yet, when Jett had gotten his own home, he’d bought a modest
ranch house in Grove Oaks. Nikki didn’t get it. She’d asked him once why he hadn’t
left, but he’d just shaken his head and said that this was where his family was.
Not to Nikki. She might’ve grown up here, but this would not be the place where she’d
be buried. The desperate need to leave this town kept her up at night. Kept her practicing
her trick shots for hours a day. Kept her driving to pool halls towns away looking
for that easy mark. And yet, Jett never wanted to leave. He had the means to travel
the world, but had made Grove Oaks his home. She’d never understand the wealthy.
She was surprised when Jett got out of the truck and then came around and opened her
door. “You’re not taking me home?”
“I’m not in the mood to be driving all that way. Call Cole and let him know you’ll
be crashing on my couch until morning.”
But she knew she wouldn’t have to. Cole was preoccupied with Mr. Harris. When Cole
had called her and told her what had happened, she’d felt terrible. But not even for
Mr. Harris could she make herself enter a hospital.
Nikki walked toward Jett’s house still snuggled in his jacket. She needed to get the
old Jett back. The one who teased her, laughed at her jokes, made her feel safe enough
to relax. She needed to catch him off guard. “And I thought when a lady stayed over
she always got the bed?”
Jett had started opening the front door, but then slammed it shut. His one hand braced
against the wall behind her, his bitter gaze doing its best to stare her down. “I
don’t bring women home, and the only way you’re getting into my bed is if I’m in it.”
Usually she would laugh. Charming Jett loved to throw innuendos around as a way to
tease her. But this time there was no humor in his eyes. Nikki broke first, not at
all sure where she stood with this harder Jett.
He opened the door again, and she quickly brushed by him, getting more and more uncomfortable
with how this night was going.
Jett reached behind her and flipped on the switch. The man must’ve spent a fortune
in lighting alone. Maybe from the outside Jett’s real estate wasn’t much, but the
inside showed his taste ran toward the expensive. Dark wood floors had been laid throughout
the house, showing off modern cream and white furnishings with crisp lines and simple
silhouettes. A gray steel paint colored the walls, a perfect backdrop for the large
pieces of modern black-and-white art. Each picture displayed perfectly with its own
separate lighting. A huge flat-screen television hung opposite the couch, a column
of electronic black boxes below. Expensive. Anal retentive. Bachelor.
Jett’s display of wealth didn’t intimidate . . . or impress her at all. She wasn’t
one of his dates looking for a rich husband or, better yet, a baby with the Avery
DNA and eighteen years of child support. She plopped down on the butter-soft leather
couch, kicked off her boots, and propped her feet on the glass table. She rearranged
the small decorative pillows behind her head and sighed. She liked Jett’s house. Sure,
it was a bit over the top, but when one considered his family, a person had to cut
him some slack.
Jett picked up her discarded boots and righted them in a neat row beside the couch.
She watched as he made his way into the kitchen, and hearing cupboards open and close,
she smiled quietly to herself. “Hey, make mine with milk, please. Oh, and sugar.”
He simply had the best Earl Grey tea. He had it imported from England by the case,
and nothing at the Sac and Save came even close. She grabbed the remote and started
turning on the neat row of black boxes below the television. “You feel up to playing
a little Mortal Kombat before bed? I gotta warn you I’ve been doing some hand stretches,
and I’m ready to crush you.”
The clinking of glasses was her only answer.
She sighed. Jett didn’t usually give her the silent treatment, that was Cole’s specialty,
but maybe she’d pushed him a bit much tonight. She’d have to apologize, not her forte,
but lately she seemed to be getting a lot of practice.
She gently palpated her swollen cheek. There hadn’t been any opportunity to apply
ice, so she was sure her cheek was twice its normal size by now. After she’d thrown
her drink and made a run for it, bandanna guy had somehow caught up from behind. He’d
turned her around, and pow—right across the face. She’d gone flying. Bandanna guy
had been a little quicker than she’d expected from one so old, but then, thank goodness,
so had Mike. He had “Billy” out and was nose to barrel with the biker before she’d
even picked herself up off the floor.
That’s when the biker’s friends started trashing the place, and Mike finally called
the cops.
The scary part was . . . she hadn’t been scared at all. Sure, she’d felt guilty over
making trouble at the Pitt, but as she lay there on the floor she’d remembered thinking
that if death was coming for her, then she’d accept it with nothing more than a nod
and a sigh.
She wasn’t sure what that made her—brave for being able to look death in the eye or
a coward because at twenty-two she was ready to give up on life.
She closed her eyes, suddenly tired, and was mid-yawn when something cold and plasticky
fell into her lap. But it wasn’t the surprise of the bag of frozen peas that had her
sitting straight up, all tiredness suddenly gone.
It was Jett. Damn, the man was hot tonight. It really wasn’t fair . . . not to any
woman walking the earth. And it sure wasn’t fair to her to have to compare every other
man to him. Nikki didn’t know much about designer clothes, could’ve cared less actually.
But on Jett the clothes looked as if they were made to fit the man, not off the rack
or worse . . . in shrink-wrapped packages. His crisp white shirt was undone partway,
showing a glimpse of tanned skin and smooth chest. His cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled
up, displaying strong forearms corded with muscle. She’d never given much thought
as to what Jett did to maintain his sexy bod, but now, noticing how he filled out
his shirt, she was wondering what exactly his workouts were.
In each hand he held a shot glass, one with a saltshaker in it and the other filled
with cut-up lime pieces. A bottle of tequila was tucked under his arm. Nikki’s gaze
rose to his face. This couldn’t be good.
Jett sat down next to her and unloaded his offerings onto the coffee table.
“I don’t drink,” Nikki said. Jett should know that. He knew her family history almost
as well as she did.
He opened the tequila and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into each glass.
She smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Especially not tequila. It doesn’t sit right
with me.” Not that she’d actually tried tequila, but she’d never tried jumping off
a bridge either. Some things were just instinctual.
His eyes were hooded and darkened with purple smudges underneath. A light dusting
of blond shadowed his cheeks. Nikki didn’t think she’d ever seen Jett not clean-shaven.
“I need a drink tonight. And I’m not drinking alone.” He picked up a glass and handed
it to her.
Maybe it was his damn jacket. She must be allergic to his aftershave since her head
was foggy and her throat a tad tight. She shrugged out of the jacket and placed the
bag of peas against her face, glad for the excuse to cover her warming cheeks.
He waited, his hand outstretched, shot glass full.
Not sure what to do, she took it. “Jett, what’s going on?”
There was a look of resignation in his eyes that scared the crap out of her. “Have
you ever done this before?”
She felt like she was watching a movie underwater and upside down. This wasn’t the
Jett she knew. Not the guy who was part best friend/part safety crush. Not sure how
to answer, but pretty sure her answer should be no regardless, she shook her head.
He nodded. Then taking her free hand he brought it to his mouth and licked the small
webbing between her finger and thumb.
A jolt sparked from the tiniest patch of her skin to a warming pool deep in her gut.
Not prepared, she startled. As it was, she spilled half her shot down her shirt. No,
this wasn’t good.
She tried to disengage her hand.
He held on tighter.
He got the salt, and with a few shakes sprinkled some on her hand. His gaze locked
onto hers. “You ready?”
No. No she wasn’t ready, but the allergic reaction was getting worse, and she didn’t
seem to be capable of speech. Instead, she just watched as her hand was raised back
up to his mouth.
Monday through Friday
, she cursed. There it was again! But this time, through the power of her own super
coolness, she was able to hold on to her drink. Who knew that exact spot on her hand
was directly connected to . . . well . . . to every other part of her anatomy. She
watched as he downed his shot in one smooth glide of his throat. Then was mesmerized
again as white teeth bit into the fleshy part of the lime and sucked the fruit dry.
Shut the front door!
When had it gotten so warm? Was this what all the other women were subjected to?
Nikki had heard that some women credited Jett with “bedroom eyes.” The talk around
town was that looking into Jett’s warm brown gaze was the quickest way to go from
an upright position in the community to a fall from grace into his bed. Nikki had
scoffed when she’d heard, but now . . . He’d barely touched her, and she was ready
to complete her fall from grace and go headlong straight to hell. The full force of
the Avery charm was frightening. No man should wield that much power.
At least her hand was free. The spot where his tongue had dipped and tasted her skin
tingled. She wiped her hand on her leg. It didn’t help. She wiped her leg.
“Your turn.” His expression mocked her nerves, as if bored with the mundane process
of getting a woman drunk, in the middle of the night, alone in his house.
Mundane to him maybe, but not her. “What’s this about, Jett?” Her voice was shaky,
but she didn’t think she showed how rattled she was.