Dumbstruck.
Captivated.
And instead of frowning, I’m grinning. More alive than I’ve felt in four long, pity-filled months. I adjust my jeans and head straight back out there, ready to fight fire with fire.
I’m halfway, when I stop dead.
Voices carry from the entrance, one voice cutting through all else. The hairs on the back of my neck rise up and my blood runs cold.
Eliza?
She rounds the corner, all confident and at home, her smooth blonde ponytail flicking over one shoulder as she surveys the room. My cock shrivels back as my gut rolls and my eyes flit from her to Cait and back again.
This can’t be happening. Cait and Eliza in the same room. No fucking way.
My legs are like lead as I force them to move, but it’s not Cait I need to deal with now; it’s the unwanted arrival. And the sooner I get her out of here, the better.
She turns to face me, her crystal-blue eyes narrowing as she smiles. The gesture is small, confident, cold. Very Eliza.
‘Jackson, darling, it’s so good to see you again.’
I’m on autopilot as her hands clasp around my arms and she touches her lips to both of my cheeks.
‘Eliza.’ I’m in no mood for platitudes as I step back and grip her by the elbow. ‘Shall we take this to the office?’
But she’s not ready to leave. She’s too busy watching Cait join Coco back at the bar.
Her lips quirk as she takes them both in and cocks one brow. ‘How...fun.’
Her dry remark carries across the room, snagging the festive duo’s attention, and Cait averts her gaze, but not before I glimpse her sudden insecurity, her fire all but snuffed out.
‘Office,’ I say between gritted teeth. ‘Now.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
I CAN’T STOP my gaze from going back to Jackson and his guest as they walk off into his back office and I hate how inadequate I suddenly feel.
I’ve gone from feeling empowered, with vengeance and a whole lot more beating hot in my veins, to a very different kind of burn: humiliation. And I know my cheeks flame with it too.
The blonde is stunning. Older than me—twice my age even—but she’s a classic beauty. Polished, sophisticated, like an older version of Coco, only colder. It doesn’t stop her drawing every eye in the room though. And the way she surveyed the joint and locked onto Jackson, the way her cat-like eyes narrowed, her perfectly glossed mouth lifting into the smallest of smiles...it was so predatory I shudder.
And I don’t want to think about the way he let her air kiss both his cheeks, how she leaned into him to make the most of every point of contact.
Or the sardonic lift to her brow and her mocking tone, which only leaves me feeling foolish now.
Compared to her sophisticated black number, her tasteful black stilettos and haughty air...argh. My plan for fun is turning into a great big epic flop.
‘I’ve not seen her in a long time,’ Coco murmurs into her drink.
I stiffen. ‘You know her?’
‘Don’t you remember? She used to come in here when we were new. With that guy, the tall, blond chap. Think Daniel Craig with glasses and slightly less muscle.’
Coco’s right. I do remember.
My brain is already trawling through memories and scenes are coming back to me. Scenes within the club, shaded by the drink and the debauched fun. It doesn’t help. Because now all I can imagine is Jackson in those scenes, acting them out with her and, to rub salt in the wound, he’s now behind closed doors with the woman. After I drove him to a sexual high and left him hanging.
‘Yeah, now you mention it,’ I mutter as I stare daggers at the closed door, ‘I do remember.’