avoiding his gaze. “Why is this so tough for you to accept, Rissa?”
She closed her eyes, then moved forward, pressing her forehead against his. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine sleeping with Jett at all. But when she tried to play the scene out beyond their time on Eden, when she tried to imagine a life with Jett back home, she struggled to find the happy ending.
Carissa would never have thought she’d set much stock by society’s class structure, but the fact remained she was a bartender, a girl who’d barely squeaked by in high school. She was only ever described as intelligent in relation to having street smarts. She didn’t have two pennies to rub together and before this week, she’d never ventured out of New Orleans. Hell, she’d never really wanted to travel. Her dreams were small because she’d learned a long time ago that they were a waste of time. Her feet were firmly set in reality and her world wasn’t much bigger than the four walls of the Royal Lunch.
Jett lived on an entirely different plane. He never stopped reading, his nose forever buried in a book. He’d been away from New Orleans more than he’d been home the past few years. People sought his opinion on the judicial system, the government, military practices. He’d been asked to speak at countless engagements. Sometimes she’d overhear him talking about things she didn’t even know existed. And if she was being honest, she hadn’t bothered to learn more because it sort of bored her. Jett was handsome, successful, and worldly. She was simple.
And while she’d never suffered much in terms of self-esteem, she knew that the differences between them, such as their lack of common interests, were bound to become an issue somewhere down the line.
“Jett, you have a wonderful imagination, but the fact is you’re a bit of a dreamer. You’d have to be in order to write such incredible stories. But you’re going to have to understand that I can’t think that way. I’m too practical. Which means I see something you can’t.”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“Not every story has a happily ever after.”
Jett didn’t respond immediately. Instead he released her hair, picked up his beer and took a long swig. She watched his face clear, his expression unconcerned, as they finished their drinks in silence.
Jett signed for the drinks, then reached over for her hand. She let him take it, confused by his easy acquiescence to her proclamation that things wouldn’t work out between them.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Our room.”
Carissa’s pussy fluttered at the way he said our and the wicked gleam in his eye. She should have known better than to think Jett would give up without a fight.
“I might hang out here for a little while. Why don’t you go on up without me?”
Jett chuckled, then tugged on her hand until she was forced to stand. “You can walk on your own or I can carry you. Preference?”
She scowled. “I’m happy here, Jett. There’s nothing I want to do in the room.”
He bent closer, taking her earlobe between his teeth and nipping sharply. “Liar.”
Her nipples went on red alert, budding beneath her too-thin bikini top. Jett—the observant bastard—noticed immediately. “You don’t play fair.”
She was about to throw caution to the wind and follow Jett to the room—common sense be damned—when a man dressed in a lightweight white shirt emblazoned with the Eden crest approached them.
“Mr. Lewis. Ms. Pierre.”
Jett took a step forward, slightly blocking Carissa from the stranger. She was touched by his protectiveness. He’d been shielding her in little ways all day—clearly not forgetting there was a killer on the island. Carissa felt the same tingle she’d experienced last night when Jett had bent her over the spanking bench in the dungeon. After a lifetime of taking care of herself, it was thrilling to have someone else claiming control.
“Yes?”
“I’m Mr.
She closed her eyes, then moved forward, pressing her forehead against his. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine sleeping with Jett at all. But when she tried to play the scene out beyond their time on Eden, when she tried to imagine a life with Jett back home, she struggled to find the happy ending.
Carissa would never have thought she’d set much stock by society’s class structure, but the fact remained she was a bartender, a girl who’d barely squeaked by in high school. She was only ever described as intelligent in relation to having street smarts. She didn’t have two pennies to rub together and before this week, she’d never ventured out of New Orleans. Hell, she’d never really wanted to travel. Her dreams were small because she’d learned a long time ago that they were a waste of time. Her feet were firmly set in reality and her world wasn’t much bigger than the four walls of the Royal Lunch.
Jett lived on an entirely different plane. He never stopped reading, his nose forever buried in a book. He’d been away from New Orleans more than he’d been home the past few years. People sought his opinion on the judicial system, the government, military practices. He’d been asked to speak at countless engagements. Sometimes she’d overhear him talking about things she didn’t even know existed. And if she was being honest, she hadn’t bothered to learn more because it sort of bored her. Jett was handsome, successful, and worldly. She was simple.
And while she’d never suffered much in terms of self-esteem, she knew that the differences between them, such as their lack of common interests, were bound to become an issue somewhere down the line.
“Jett, you have a wonderful imagination, but the fact is you’re a bit of a dreamer. You’d have to be in order to write such incredible stories. But you’re going to have to understand that I can’t think that way. I’m too practical. Which means I see something you can’t.”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“Not every story has a happily ever after.”
Jett didn’t respond immediately. Instead he released her hair, picked up his beer and took a long swig. She watched his face clear, his expression unconcerned, as they finished their drinks in silence.
Jett signed for the drinks, then reached over for her hand. She let him take it, confused by his easy acquiescence to her proclamation that things wouldn’t work out between them.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Our room.”
Carissa’s pussy fluttered at the way he said our and the wicked gleam in his eye. She should have known better than to think Jett would give up without a fight.
“I might hang out here for a little while. Why don’t you go on up without me?”
Jett chuckled, then tugged on her hand until she was forced to stand. “You can walk on your own or I can carry you. Preference?”
She scowled. “I’m happy here, Jett. There’s nothing I want to do in the room.”
He bent closer, taking her earlobe between his teeth and nipping sharply. “Liar.”
Her nipples went on red alert, budding beneath her too-thin bikini top. Jett—the observant bastard—noticed immediately. “You don’t play fair.”
She was about to throw caution to the wind and follow Jett to the room—common sense be damned—when a man dressed in a lightweight white shirt emblazoned with the Eden crest approached them.
“Mr. Lewis. Ms. Pierre.”
Jett took a step forward, slightly blocking Carissa from the stranger. She was touched by his protectiveness. He’d been shielding her in little ways all day—clearly not forgetting there was a killer on the island. Carissa felt the same tingle she’d experienced last night when Jett had bent her over the spanking bench in the dungeon. After a lifetime of taking care of herself, it was thrilling to have someone else claiming control.
“Yes?”
“I’m Mr.
Similar Books
