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Jet stares at me, his gaze so intense that my goosebumps getgoosebumps.
“Ava,” he breathes.
I force my body to move, folding my arms as I stand firm in the doorway, blocking him from entering.
“What do you want? You got a unicorn out here in a box for me now?”
“Do you want one?” His eyes darken.
Sighing, I start to close the door.
Jet’s hand flattens against it with a deep, authoritative thud.
“I’m sorry.”
I say nothing and he curses, his eyes flashing with something. “I don’t like you ignoring me.”
I arch a brow.
“Please, Ava,” he grits, his fingers clenching against the wood.
“You don’t like me ignoring you because you aren’t in control? Hmm?”
I wait for him to say something. For some give. Just a tiny bit. A smidge of a confession about what I’ve known for a while.
That he can’t do it all alone.
A muscle ticks in his jaw and his nostrils flare with his deliberately slow breath.
“I don’t like you ignoring me,” he repeats.
“Tough shit. You’d better get used to it.” I try to close the door again, but his foot joins his hand, holding it open.
“Tell me you’ll forgive me. It doesn’t have to be right away. But tell me that I haven’t lost you,” he rasps.
I stare at him, at the way his brow creases, at the wild gleam in his eyes as his pupils dilate, at the way his Adam’s apple is bobbing in his throat like he’s struggling to swallow.
“Lost me?”
My hold on the door eases, but he doesn’t push it open. He just keeps his hand planted firmly on it. Watching me from beneath dark brows.
“I don’t want to lose you, Ava,” he whispers.
“You’d have to have me in the first place to lose me.”
His eyes pinch and the vein in his temple pulses. “You’re right. Excuse my error.”
He takes his foot from the door, and my heart sinks. Is that it? He’s going to give up?
He lets out a husky curse, his blue eyes capturing mine. “I shouldn’t have taken stress over my work issues out on you… It’s no excuse, but… it’s a mess. I’ve got to make decisions I don’t want to.”
I lean against the doorframe, regarding him carefully. He looks like Jet Grant, all suited, oozing masculinity and power from every pore like a goddamn king. He sounds like Jet Grant, his deep voice thick and gravelly, ready to bark out orders to poor, unsuspecting victims.
But something about him is decidedly different.
“Keep going,” I say, contemplating how long I should make him squirm.
“And I’m an asshole.”
