Tied to the Tycoon

By: Chloe Cox

Goddamn it.

He’d just been too self-absorbed, too concerned with his own bullshit. She’d been too good at hiding. And they’d both been too enamored at that connection they’d felt to do much more than enjoy it. And he’d let her slip through his fingers because of it.

There was, of course, the one night he remembered in crystal clear detail, one night he’d carried with him since then, and would until the day he died. The night she had given him the two most precious gifts he’d ever gotten.

You owe her.

That was all that was important. He couldn’t just wait around, hoping she’d come to her senses. He’d waited ten years to become a man who was good enough for her, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up by waiting around any longer. He wasn’t going to give either of them a shot at ruining their second chance.

Jackson jumped up, possessed with purpose. He was going to go out there and find her; there was just one thing he needed to hide first. No point in scaring her when he did finally bring her back here.

He barely had time to find a hiding place before the doorbell rang.

chapter 5

As soon as Ava’s finger touched the stupid bell—which, this was the only door in New York with an actual bell on it, wasn’t it? Of course it was—as soon as she did the one thing that was completely irrevocable, she was beset by doubt. Not when she’d given the cab driver the wrong address, twice, in her nervousness; not when she’d stumbled into Jackson’s swanky lobby, all ready to give the doorman some crazy story, and had simply been waved through because he assumed she must have gotten locked out while feeding a meter or something; not when she realized in the elevator, Oh, hey, I’m wearing pajamas, a winter coat, and running shoes, and it’s two in the morning, what the hell am I doing. Only when she’d actually rung the bell in the middle of the night, surely waking up the man she’d come to see, had she remembered to doubt herself.

Well, not just any man. Jackson freaking Reed.

She was about to turn around and slink away when the door opened wide to reveal Jackson, shirtless, sweaty, in low slung pajama bottoms.

Oh God.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Come in,” he said. It didn’t sound like an invitation. It sounded like an order. Ava was grateful for the direction. The sight of him had just leveled her.

She obeyed.

His apartment was dark, except for one area right by a couch in a corner, where there were a few dumbbells and other exercise-looking things strewn about in a pool of lamplight. She couldn’t see much else, but she could see that while he might not have been asleep, she had definitely interrupted something. She was just turning around to apologize and explain when Jackson grabbed her by the waist and kissed her.

He did more than that. He pressed her whole helpless body against his, wrapped his arm around her like a vice, grabbed her hair, and took her mouth with his. He was hard against her. His cock pushed into her belly as he sucked on her lower lip, and every muscle in Ava’s body gave out. The tension and doubt rippled and left her, as though he had sucked it right out of her, and now she only craved more contact. Her chest rose, her breasts trying to reach his chest, and her hands ran up and down his shoulders and back, feeling the muscles and the sweat that was already starting to cool. In one stroke, he smoothed his hand down her neck, to her breast, her belly, her hip, her ass, and then he pulled away, leaving her gasping.

There was a hint of a smile in his grey eyes.

“That said it better than whatever you were going to say would’ve done, didn’t it?” he said.

She nodded and looked down. She couldn’t help herself. He looked huge, bulging through his pajama bottoms. She remembered him as big, but…damn.

He said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“If you hadn’t shown up, I was going to have to come out and find you.” He pulled her peacoat down over her shoulders. His hands brushed her bare arms, and she jumped. Now she had on only a tank top and her own pajama bottoms.

Ava was feeling woozy, being around him, and she fought it. She desperately wanted to keep the conversation in the realm of the sane. Somehow, every interaction between them threatened to veer into crazytown almost immediately, and Ava was suddenly feeling like she needed to keep her wits about her. This was more troubling than she’d thought. She wasn’t just feeling lust; she was feeling…she was feeling.

Top Books