Page 9 of Jordan

The bag has a bit of weight to it, but I’ve no idea what is inside. A parting gift? A thank you for fucking this man beforehand? A rape whistle? Actually, now that I think about it, Damien mentioned this in his speech. Condoms and sex toys? Oh, my god.

My cheeks blaze.

Enzo doesn’t say a word all the way up to the room, and when we reach room 13, he uses the key to unlock the door and pushes it open. He stares into the room, holding it wide open and waiting for me to step inside. I do, feeling like a small child who’s about to be punished. I can’t remember the last time I got in trouble for anything.

The room is gorgeous, and if this weren’t such an awful situation, I’d be excited. It’s spacious, everything in here is expensive as hell. The bed is bigger than the king I have at home. One wall is full of floor-to-ceiling windows with cream-colored drapes pulled halfway open. A tall cabinet is against the wall across from the bed, along with a desk beneath a large flat screen tv hanging on the wall, and a small fridge. The furniture is all black, with the fabrics matching the cream curtains. The pictures on the walls are all abstract, sharing the same black and cream color scheme, but with gold accents that match the couple of throw pillows on the bed.

The bathroom door is on the same wall as the door to enter, and I bet it’s just as nice, but I dare not go in there to check it out.

The door clicks shut, and I close my eyes, taking a steadying breath.

Here goes, Jordan. Prepare to have your ass handed to you.

My fingers tighten around the bag. I wait for Enzo to scream, to ask me what the hell I’m doing here. The seconds tick by, each one having my heart racing faster. Harder. I’m going to pass out. I hate feeling like this. Hate it.

His harsh words never come. It’s only silence.

I open my eyes, wondering if he left. Did he let me in here just to leave? That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why would he even want to look at me? But deep down, I know that’s not right. I feel him behind me. Enzo’s presence isn’t one you can ignore.

So I turn around, still clutching the items in my hands, and meet his burning gaze.

God, he’s even more beautiful up close.

No, Jordan. No! That is not what you should be thinking.

He drags his forefinger along the underneath of his bottom lip as he looks me up and down, with an almost predatory look in his eyes.

He can’t be serious. He isn’t going to…

No. Definitely not. He wouldn’t.

He’s my father’s best friend! He’s twice my age.

But the way he’s looking at me? It says otherwise.

Rafael is standing behind him at the door, the smallest smirk on his lips. But he isn’t looking at me. He’s staring ahead toward the windows.

What does he know that I don’t? And who the hell is he? Why are they here together?

“I’m going round and round in my head, Jordan,” Enzo says quietly, making a circle with his hand near his temple. His voice is raspier than I remember. Deep and sexy. He steps forward and I suck in a breath. He stops at my side for a split second, his gaze scrutinizing, then he keeps going. I’m panting and my mouth is so dry I may choke. I turn to follow where he’s going, this strange fear of him being behind me coming out of nowhere. He sits on the edge of the bed, making us eye level, and rests his forearms on his thighs. “Over what to do with you.”

“Please don’t tell my father I’m here,” I plead desperately. “Please, Enzo. I just…”

His eyes narrow as they hold mine. I have no idea what is going through his head. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. It’s terrifying!

Enzo stands and stops in front of me. That scent invades my senses again, making me feel drunk. He grabs a bit of my hair, tugging on the end. He doesn’t let go of it but wraps the little bit around his finger snugly.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. I sigh in relief as the weight falls from my shoulders. Thank god he isn’t going to tell my father. Enzo yanks on my hair, sharp and hard, causing my neck to jerk to the side and me to hiss. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What?” I breathe out. My scalp is still stinging as he lets go of my hair. “But you—he can’t know! He’ll be so angry. Enzo, please. Please, you can’t tell him.” I beg and plead like a child. Like a desperate, stupid little girl.

Enzo’s gaze moves over my head, and his look softens the slightest bit. I can only assume he and Rafael are having some sort of secret bro conversation. I don’t bother looking around to see what he’s doing in response. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know him. Pleading with him won’t do me any good.

Enzo brings his gaze back to me, his eyes shining with mischief.

“What’ll you do for me?” he asks.

“Anything,” I blurt, clasping my hands together in a pleading position, the bag and paper crunching beneath my tight hold. “I swear, I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t tell him. Please.”