“Will do. Thanks, Alex.”
My dad nods, satisfied by James’s response. I’m reeling. In stark clarity, right in front of my face, I realize something: I’ll never be my father. Maybe Dad did see something in James at the interview, and he is truly the right one to take over the company one day. For all I know, Dad could retire sooner than later. He always talks about spending more time with Mom now that he’s getting older. If he pulls back on the reins, or in essence hands them over to someone, it could very well be someone he trusts and who is like him—so not me. James is the son my father never had.
A lump the size of a cantaloupe forms in my throat. As I desperately try to swallow down that ginormous lump with all the saliva I can manage, I realize it’s a fruitless effort, so I guzzle down my wine greedily—I was only going to sip at it to be polite, but that plan flew out the door.
My mind is working overtime, thinking all kinds of things. I can’t get ahead of myself, though, because surely Dad wouldn’t want James to be in charge. In other respects, James isn’t like my father; my dad is no womanizer!
My conscious has to ask, is James really like that, or have you built him up to be this awful person? Better yet, are you the monster and not James in this scenario?
“…Elly!” my mother’s childhood nickname for me breaks through the fog of the internal path of self-destruction I was walking along and was momentarily trapped in.
Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I look around the table. “What?”
“Are you okay, sweetheart? I was asking how school’s going?” A worried expression mars her lovely face.
“Yeah, Mom, sorry. I’m fine. Uh, school’s good. My one professor demands perfection, so let’s just say planning my thesis has been an arduous task.”
James eyes me suspiciously, and I know he’s not buying the act I’m trying to sell to my parents. He can tell I’m not okay—and I hate that he can tell. It’s unnerving that he knows me better than I think he does. That’s why this is such a rollercoaster ride. One minute I think he’s got me all wrong, and the next, it’s as if he sees through to the heart of me. I don’t know which end is up when I’m with him, and that’s the scariest part of the ride—it’s that eerie drop into freefall, and then you do the loop, and your stomach bottoms out completely.
“This mac n’ cheese is phenomenal, Susan. No wonder why it’s El’s favorite dish,” James comments and smiles sweetly at my mother.
Don’t fall for his charm, Mom. But he’s got her eating right out of his hand. He’s good. He’s so freaking good at what he does. Men and women are dazzled by him. It’s not Mom’s fault she’s succumbed to his power.
Not being able to take my eyes off him any longer, I push back from the table, and my chair makes a horrible scraping noise across the hardwood floor. My linen napkin falls to my feet, and I bend down to pick it up in embarrassment as all three heads turn my way at the commotion.
“Sorry, I need to excuse myself for a moment,” I rush to say.
“El…” my mother’s voice trails off at my state of panic.
Throwing my napkin on my plate, I scurry out of there, retreating to the powder room to lock myself in. I sag against the closed door and finally feel like I can breathe. It’s like I’m seventeen all over again with a panic attack. Bracing my hands upon my knees and leaning forward, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. After a few minutes, my heart finally settles to a normal rhythm, and I’m myself again.
A light rap of knuckles sounds at the door, and my ears perk up. Assuming it’s my mom, I open it for her. But standing on the other side is James. His imposing form makes the powder room feel even smaller, and a gasp escapes from my lips when he moves inside, and the lock clicks in place.
My eyes go wide. He gently pulls off my glasses, folds the arms behind the lenses, and places them on the sink counter. He cups my face and runs soothing circles on my cheeks with his thumbs. I dare not move, breathe, or speak—rendered breathless for an entirely different reason than before.
“What happened out there?” he asks. The tone in his voice is filled with concern but also dips low with heat.
I can’t formulate a response for two reasons. One: articulation escapes me because he has me twisted in knots. Two: revealing why I bolted from the table is not something I’m ready to do. He wouldn’t understand, and I don’t want him to understand because that’s not the type of relationship we have.
So, I just stare into the depths of his irises and lose myself in his touch, warmth, and nearness. He’s a beautiful person, and I never thought of guys being beautiful. Earlier I should have comforted him somehow when he talked about his parents, but my ineptness to show compassion came through loud and clear. Yet, here he is trying to soothe me. My head and heart can’t keep up with the constant struggle of being pushed and pulled in different directions.
Jamison complicates my life. He’s a fox. He quite literally is a Fox, and even though they’re known to be sly creatures, he’s proving himself to be anything but. I ran away from the table like a rabbit, and he chased after me not to find his prey, but to offer it salvation. It’s a revelation of sorts admitting these things to myself.
We’re supposed to be sworn enemies, not friends, nor lovers. One fox, plus one rabbit…will it ever equal anything? Somehow it doesn’t compute in my brain.
He doesn’t give me time to further contemplate the whole rabbit and fox scenario. Without him prying for a response or explanation of some sort, he opts to move in, and his lips consume mine. The crash of our mouths meeting is heavenly. It’s nothing like I could’ve ever imagined because it’s better. This kiss is more meaningful now than the one we almost shared earlier because I understand him better.
He immediately seeks entrance, and his tongue curls around mine in a commanding way, causing me to moan in the back of my throat. His hands move into my hair. God, that feels so damn good.
The kiss goes on and on as he feasts on my lips and grips my scalp with purpose. His hands are strong. His lips are perfection, and his tongue is skilled as if he went to grad school and finished with a degree majoring in kissing with a minor in licking.
“Elodie…” he whispers against my lips when we finally break apart.
My eyes are still tightly closed. I’m afraid to open them. Once they’re opened, then the magic will have disappeared. The scruff on his chin scratches my cheek and sends pinpricks of desire radiating throughout my body. My head feels fuzzy like I’ve been drugged—Jamison’s effect on me is drugging. Surely I wouldn’t survive making love to him if just kissing him is like this.
“We should go back out there. Your parents are going to wonder what we’re up to,” he reminds me with a slight chuckle.
My eyes fly open, and I suddenly remember where I am and what I’m doing. Oh my God! What the hell is wrong with me?
He picks up my glasses from the sink and hands them back to me, which I then put in place on my ashamed, reddened face—the crimson stain reflected on my cheeks only amplifies my embarrassment. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth the flyaways and find that I need to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth again.