Dangerous Exes (Page 11)

“That you’re taking my word for it.” I eyed her mouth one last time before turning my attention back to the instructor.

I painfully ignored her the rest of the class.

And was still in such dire straits that I knew if I stood up when class ended she’d see just how much I wanted to lick her dry.

Isla didn’t move.

People walked around us.

She laid back against the mat while the instructor gave us a wink and closed the doors behind her. A clinking sound burst through the air like a bomb, a very loud, angry, sexually tormented bomb.

“Those didn’t lock, did they?” I wondered out loud as Isla made a beeline to the doors and gave them a pull.

Nothing.

They didn’t budge.

How the fuck was I supposed to stay in here without mauling her? Already my body was prepping, jumping with joy that we were alone.

“When’s the next class?” I asked in desperation.

Isla turned to me slowly. “One hour.”

“One hour,” I repeated, voice hoarse.

“Sixty minutes.” She nodded slowly.

“Thirty-six hundred seconds.” I hung my head then grabbed a nearby towel and slowly ran it down my chest.

Isla’s eyes bulged before she banged on the doors with both fists.

Chapter Eleven

ISLA

“Hello!” I slammed my fists against the doors, then rattled them hard in the vain hope they’d magically open. “We’re stuck in here!”

I was a woman crazed.

Horny.

Sweaty.

And desperate.

I could feel his testosterone pulsing to the rhythm of my estrogen, our hormones dancing around each other, flirting, lingering, toying.

No!

“Help!” I screamed again.

And then a very hard male body was pressed up against me from behind, sliding his hands over my grip on the handles. He gave a tug, and my body jerked back against his.

I sucked in a breath. Sweet. Crackers.

Did yoga normally do it for guys?

Send all the blood rushing to a giant . . .

Huge.

I gave my head a shake.

No more adjectives.

I needed out.

Otherwise I was going to crumple beneath the temptation of a six-pack, blinding white smile, and triceps.

Hot damn, those triceps.

Enemy. Enemy. Enemy.

Jessie gave the doors another shake. I was too lost in my lust to think to keep holding on to the handles, so I fell back against him.

All of him.

For a second time.

A third would probably cause a spontaneous orgasm.

That’s what men like Jessie did to a woman with a pulse. Too bad he had that nasty habit of wanting to destroy my life. I could almost get on board.

“No luck,” Jessie said, still not moving.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Great, and now I was breathless. “I guess we just wait.”

“Yup.” He still didn’t move.

The tension between our bodies was this swirling, thick, pulsing creature, and the more silent we were, the more it fed.

It fed on our inability to flee.

I was the first to move.

And he was the first to grab my wrist and stop me. Slowly, he turned me around so that we were chest to chest. Skin to skin, sweat to sweat. Something very hard and ready pressed against me.

“Isla—” He lowered his head.

I met him halfway.

And the doors magically opened with us in that exact position.

Along with enough camera phones to put the paparazzi to shame.

Chapter Twelve

ISLA

“What the hell were you thinking?” Blaire paced in front of me. “Never mind, you clearly weren’t thinking! We’ve had paparazzi outside the building since the news broke an hour ago—people are wondering if you guys were dating while we tried to prove his infidelity. You kissed! Isla, this is bad, I need you to know how bad this is!” Blaire dug into the licorice tub and pulled three ropes free, chomping each of them down before facing me again. “It hurts our credibility. He was the ex of a client!”

“I know.” I held out my hands like I was trying to protect myself. “Let me just think, I can fix this. I know I can.” Everything was spiraling out of control, and my normally calm demeanor was shattered thanks to Jessie. Nothing was helping me regain my composure, not the pacing, not even the yoga breathing.

Jessie chose that moment to stroll right into our office, freshly showered, scowl still in place. “Question, do you ruin people’s lives on purpose? Or is it just a happy accident?”

“You!” Blaire pointed at Jessie like he was getting scolded in the principal’s office. “Sit.”

Colin, her boyfriend, walked in moments later, smirked at both of us, and then kissed Blaire on the mouth. “Haven’t been so excited to watch the news in years. Hey, Jessie, maybe next time wear something other than joggers.”

“Fuck.” Jessie hung his head in his hands while I tried not to laugh from hysteria.

“And you”—Colin pointed at Isla—“with the headlights on, hell, a blind person could take a look at you two and know exactly what you were doing behind closed doors.”

“Nothing happened,” Jessie said quickly.

It stung a bit, that he’d so casually deny what was about to happen, what would have happened had the doors stayed closed ten seconds longer than they did.

“Like I said”—I sent him a seething glare—“I can fix this, the company’s rep, our reps. It’s what I do. I fix marriages—”

“Do you, though?” Jessie just had to add.

I shot him a look that would have made a lesser man cower in the corner and suck his thumb. “Every problem has a solution, give me a few minutes to come up with something—anything.”

“Fact.” Colin crossed his arms. “You girls could easily lose your company if the masses assume you were double dipping—dating the very guy you were supposed to be investigating. It doesn’t matter that it’s not true, what matters is it looks damning.”

Blaire hung her head. “It’s what we were afraid would happen last year when all of this started.” Jessie’s wife at the time (our client) threatened to go to the media with text messages between Jessie and Blaire, even though she was flirting with him as part of the job. Our fear then was, again, the public perception. And we’d never had a client turn on us like that . . . then again, we’d never dealt with Satan before.

“Idea, let’s just blame Vanessa?” Jessie joked.

Just kidding, Satan was sitting across from me.

“We need a story,” I finally said, my rusty mind working double time, mentally oiling the gears so it would work faster. “A believable story.”

Blaire’s eyes narrowed. “Isla, the only story you have is the truth, and nobody’s going to believe it, not after seeing you and Jessie in a yoga studio looking ready to sex each other up. Not after pictures of you guys kissing at The Ivy and the news of Jessie donating his time at your aunt’s retirement home. Not after you decided to rent his guesthouse.”

I stood and went back to pacing, then made myself two cups of coffee. Everyone watched me in silence while I chugged the first cup, set it down quietly, and stared into the second, waiting for an answer from the coffee gods.

“Isla?” Blaire’s soft voice returned me to the present. “Any thoughts? Ideas? Anything?”

Our phones were ringing off the hook. I could hear Abby fielding questions from the press and clients about my relationship with Jessie.