CHAPTER80
The rear view of Jake’s body towers in front of me, and I can almost taste the tension emanating from him. I guess this is a hint of angry Jake coming out to play. He’s always quicker to anger when he’s drunk, or so Daniel implied when regaling me with drunken tales last time he stayed over. His body stiffens and I can almost see the electric sparks crackling in the air, even from back here. Angry Jake is not much fun. Whatever Sleazy is saying to him, he doesn’t seem to like it at all. I can’t hear their mumbled conversation over the music so I look Jake up and down instead, enjoying the waves of drunkenness calming me and pulling me into dreamy euphoria.
I like his back; it’s strong and sexy, especially in black tailored shirts and those ass-hugging black jeans he wears. He has the nicest ass. He has the swooniest male body, if I’m being honest, no matter what he wears. He’s still so cool and in control, regardless of his stance.
Sleazy displays defeat, says something quietly and moves off with a frown. I can tell, even from behind, that Jake is glowering at him. I see his ears move. I have to suppress the giggle it pulls out of me, some vague drunken memory about his ears. I don’t know why that’s funny. I can only blame the copious amount of alcohol that Jake has kept throwing at me since our arrival.
“Jake?” I’m already tipsy and a bit unsteady on four-inch heels.
Damn Donna and her love of high heels, and my weakness at seeing them. Damn me for not keeping track of how much I’ve drunk and letting him fuel me up with cocktails this way.
I notice how much things are swaying around me, or maybe it’s me that’s swaying? He turns to me with a look on his face that’s unfamiliar and scary, but in an attractive way. Possessive. Dangerous. But then it’s gone, and he’s all Mr. Smooth again, smiling and asking me what’s wrong with a look of concern.
I love his looks of concern; they make me all warm and gooey inside. Sexiness personified when he looks that way. I just love all of Jake’s looks; heck, I love Jake’s face. I just love Jake.
“I think I’m too drunk,” I giggle, sloshing my drink over the glass, barely missing both of our shoes. He frowns down at where it went before a smile breaks across that charming face.
How the hell did that happen?
“I think you’re right, lightweight; I forgot how intolerant you are to liquor.” He takes the glass from me carefully and places it on the bar as I sway. I can’t help but watch the way his upper arm bulges when he bends it.
Why does he have to be so muscly and hunky?
He always buys fitted clothes, which only adds to the effect, and it’s really soul-destroying. He should wear sacks from now on, maybe that would help. I can picture him in a sack; it’s still a turn on and that alarms me. Life isn’t fair in any way.
“Dance with me, Jake,” I slur, my flirty, female voice sounding so bold.
Who said that? I think that was my voice, wasn’t it? Damn, maybe.
I guess by the way he smiles at me in response, it was. I feel merry. I like being merry; it’s kind of light and warm. I’m completely aware that my internal dialog is that of a very drunk person with no filter. He says nothing, just puts his beer down, pulls me toward him with a firm hand, and guides me toward the dance floor with ease.
He’s smooth. Why would I expect any less from Casanova Carrero?
He manhandles women effortlessly on a daily basis, lots of practice at it. Well, not so much lately as he seems to be cooling his jets on the women front. There hasn’t been a girl on the scene for a couple of weeks at least, maybe longer, but I hadn’t noticed at first.
A slow song is playing, and he moves in close to me as we join the throng of dancers. It’s hard to dance when you’re this drunk and in very high heels on jelly legs. I’m swaying but I don’t think it’s in time to the music. I trip and stumble into Jake’s nice strong arms, glad he knows just how to catch me, and I gasp in fright. He’s good at pulling my body into his in a hurry mid-catastrophe, saving me from myself.
God, he smells good! My hero! Who would have thought slinky boss Carrero was my sexy savior? Cute and hot, yes! Hero. Most definitely!
“Maybe we should go, tiny?” He seems uneasy and puts me back on my own feet, at arm’s length, startling me with what seems like nervous tension.
Except that can’t be right, because my boss is never nervous. He’s always Mr. Confident.
“I want to stay and … let my hair down,” I giggle and fall into him again as I lose my footing for the second time, my shoe moving into a right angle that would have broken my ankle ordinarily. He catches me and my nose grazes his collar bone, giving me a lungful of Carrero scent. It’s pretty heady; his aftershave and his personal smell are an intoxicating mixture. I could breathe it in, over and over, enjoying how unique it is. I’m enamored with it, and how he’s so good, strong, powerful and safe …
Crap, what am I doing?
If I keep this up, I know I’m going to do something stupid, like the kiss in bed when he was sleeping. I’ve snaked my hands around his neck and I’m nuzzling my face into his chest without even being aware of my own body’s actions. I’m too drunk; this is a bad idea. I’m almost as brazen as the night I kissed him in his sleep.
“Okay. Time to go, tootsie.” He unravels my arms from his neck, leans down and lifts me up in a fireman’s hold so my face is behind him. One easy swoop. His firm hands around my thighs, holding them tight against his muscular chest. I wonder if this is a safety precaution, so I can’t attempt to seduce him. I’m too drunk to react, and I’m kind of glad to be off those shoes; my ankle is tingling. I’m dizzy and I don’t think I should stay and explore what I was attempting to do.
Good save, Mr. Carrero. I can’t trust myself, but I can trust you to look after me.
I hang down his back limply, sliding my arms around his sides so they come around his waist at the front. I can trace out his taut stomach muscles under my flattened palms, and I have to quell the urge to slide my hand inside his shirt for a better feel. I lay my cheek against his back, closing my eyes at the familiarity of him instead, inhaling that citrusy goodness. I give in to the motion of his walk as he takes me out of the heaving club. There are a lot of glances our way but Jake doesn’t seem to care. I guess a Neanderthal carrying a drunk woman out of a club in Vegas is a normal occurrence."
