“I like feeding you. It’s my duty to care for my sub.” He stroked her hair, loving how she leaned into his touch like a kitten.
Would she purr for him next? Jacob briefly entertained buying cat ears and even a matching tail for her. Jane always looked so put-together, aloof and indifferent to the public’s eyes. He knew that was only the armor she put on to survive the cutthroat industry she’d chosen. The real Jane Sparrow was warm and caring, shy and vulnerable at times.
“Have you heard of Azalea Swan?” she finally asked him.
“The model?”
“Yes.” Jane told him all about the interview Swan did. “I know I shouldn’t let something small like that affect me so much, but I haven’t been able to do anything productive the entire week.”
Jacob frowned. He’d been unusually busy in the kitchen, but he always kept tabs on Jane, on what the media said about her. He cursed himself for not paying more attention. Clearly, this Swan incident rattled Jane enough that it affected her creative process.
“Swan’s irrelevant,” he finally said. “You’re overthinking things. She’s one bad egg against tens of thousands of women who love every single one of your creations.”
“Hearing those words from you makes a difference,” she said softly. Jane ran her fingers up and down his denim-clad leg.
“Jane,” he said, his voice a little strangled. He thought of the spare key in his drawer. It would be easy to tell her to wait here while he retrieved it. Would presenting it to her right here and now ruin whatever they have? Was she ready to take that next step? Was he?
Jane’s phone going off broke the mounting tension in the room.
“I need to get this,” she said, rising to her feet. She answered her call in the kitchen. Jacob remained where he was, feeling like the world’s biggest coward. For fuck’s sake, he was the Dom in this relationship. Jane trusted him to lead. Jacob could very well order her to move in with him—but this decision had to be made by the two of them.
Jane returned to him, looking flustered. “I need to head back to the studio.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No,” she suddenly blurted then took a deep breath. “I appreciate the gesture, but there are photographers and media people outside. I think they want to talk to me about Swan.”
Jacob furrowed his brow, not liking this one bit. She walked up to him and gently placed her hand over his arm. Jane rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. “I can handle this. Promise.”
He felt himself nod but long after she left, he remained troubled. He brought their empty plates to the sink then let out a curse. Back at the pier, he remembered hearing a click going off and a man in a hoodie running off the opposite direction. He’d thought nothing of it because he’d been too immersed in Jane. The bad feeling brewing inside him intensified. Jacob grabbed his coat and went after Jane.
Chapter Eight
Reporters and photographers swamped Jane the moment she got out of the car. Shielding her eyes against a flashing camera, she made her way to the studio. She tried to, anyway. Jane felt like she was being swept forward and backward by a wave. Sweat trickled down her back. The press of people made it hard to draw air to her lungs. Panic crept up her spine and she gritted her teeth. She’d made a promise to Jacob before she left. She could handle the press.
If she’d known making that dress for Azalea Swan would lead to this, she wished she never agreed to work with the model. Swan might crave attention, but Jane was the exact opposite. She only wanted to continue making dresses.
“Jane, any comment about supermodel Azalea Swan’s scathing interview withLate Night Showhost Gene Reeves?” someone fired from the right of her.
“No comment.” Jane was only a few feet from her store. Both her assistants stood outside the door, trying to control the crowd to no avail. They were ignoring them.
“Clear out. Let Jane through,” she heard Gina yelling, but her voice got lost in the crowd. “We’ve already called the police.”
The police. Okay. Jane breathed a little easier. She only had to ride this wave out. The police would lend her their assistance—if they arrived at all.
“Jane, is it true you’re seeing Jacob Farr, Michelin-starred chef and the owner of Arianna’s?”
That question threw her completely off-guard. She froze up completely and her shocked expression must’ve given her away. The sharks knew it. They scented the blood in the water and started firing questions about her and Jacob.
Jane’s head spun. She remembered the click going off in the pier. The flash. All these years, she’d kept her head down, made sure the reporters couldn’t dig up any dirt on her. She’d made a mistake. She’d let her guard down, allowed herself to feel normal for a change, and look what happened. Jane clenched her fists by her side, tempted to punch the overweight, balding reporter in front of her who kept asking how far she and Jacob had gone in the bedroom.
It was none of their business. She had every right to go on a date if she wanted. None of these people could ruin the special moment Jacob and her shared.
A year ago, she’d broken down on television once and the press milked that single moment of embarrassment for months. Jane couldn’t let them get to her, and was no longer that insecure, overemotional woman. She gathered herself, straightening her spine, and wore a neutral expression on her face.
“No comment. If you’d excuse me, I need to get inside my studio,” she said, pitching her voice loud and clear.
The reporters didn’t budge. Didn’t they have anything better to do? Other more important celebrities to hound? Jane was just a small fish in a tank of bigger fish.