Page 5

Seattle, Washington
Xavier Quinn frowned as he reviewed the information on his phone. It’d been a while since he’d used this particular alias, and now he remembered why. He hated the guy, even if he existed only on paper.
For this OZ op, he was Oliver Jackson, age thirty-four, a perpetual womanizer. Ollie was still living off his inheritance and seemed to have no goal other than partying and sleeping with as many women as he could before he died.
Xavier shook his head. Yeah, definitely not his favorite role.
A grin kicked up on his face when he thought about how Jazz wouldn’t like her alias any better. If he was a sleaze, then she was one of his many one-night stands. That was likely the most unrealistic thing about their entire cover. There were a lot of descriptions he could come up with for Jasmine McAlister, but a one-night stand would not be one of them.
Intelligent, fiercely independent, stubborn, and loyal to a fault were just a few ways he would describe his beautiful partner. After what they’d learned about her brother last year, she had not changed her mind one iota about him. She loved Brody McAlister, wanted to find him, and that was that. Xavier, on the other hand, wanted to beat him within an inch of his life for abandoning his fourteen-year-old sister, leaving her to survive on her own, as if she meant nothing to him.
Shrugging into his tuxedo jacket, Xavier turned to the full-length mirror and grimaced again. A Tom Ford tux could make any man look good. It fit him like it was made for him—which it had been—and was actually comfortable. Problem was, he was not a tuxedo guy. Give him a pair of ragged jeans, a soft T-shirt, his favorite pair of beaten-up boots, and his bike, and he was in his element.
Tonight’s mission called for elegance, and as much as he disliked the role, he could play it for the op. Especially when he got to sit across from the most fascinating woman he’d ever known.
With that, Xavier opened his bedroom door and then stopped in his tracks. Of all those words he’d used to describe Jazz, he’d left one word out. And that word? Stunning.
Dressed in a shimmering black, off-the-shoulder dress that fell about three inches above her knees and hugged every delicate curve of her body, Jasmine McAlister was breathtakingly beautiful.
Seemingly unaware that his silence was related to his inability to breathe, she smiled beatifically and said, “You clean up nice, Quinn.”
Finally able to articulate some words, he managed to rasp out a gruff, “Ditto, McAlister.”
Yeah, a poet he was not.
Holding up a silver and black necklace, she said, “Can you help me here? The clasp is giving me fits.”
He made his way over without taking his eyes from her. In an uncomplicated world where he didn’t have to explain his actions or justify them, he’d pull her into his arms and kiss those luscious, smiling lips. But when they came up for air, he’d have to speak, and oh hell, would she have questions.
So he did what he’d been doing for years and ignored his own desires. Taking the necklace from her, he turned her toward the mirror and draped the necklace around her slender neck.
In four-inch heels, she still came barely to his shoulders. Jazz was petite and small-boned, but she more than made up for that with attitude and grit.
Willing his fingers to obey him instead of doing what they were aching to do, he hooked the clasp and then stepped back. He felt a sense of relief that he’d been able to do the small task without venturing into forbidden territory. But he made a fatal mistake when he looked at her in the mirror.
“Jazz,” he groaned.
She jerked her head up and met his eyes. There was no way he could mask what he was feeling. The desire, the need, the incredible ache that consumed him.
“Xavier?” she whispered.
Going on instinct, Xavier held her shoulders in his hands and slowly turned her to face him. Her eyes were wide and glittering with a heat he’d always longed to see. He’d been so careful to hide his feelings for her. When they’d met, he’d felt an instant attraction but had squelched it, knowing a romantic relationship with a coworker could be difficult. Then, when Ash had partnered them together, he’d forced those feelings back even further. When she’d been injured and had almost died, he’d cursed himself for not telling her how he felt. Her long road to recovery had made him hold back again.
Most people who knew him would say that caution wasn’t even in his vocabulary. But with Jazz, he had never wanted to scare her or make her uncomfortable. No, she wasn’t a fragile flower, but her heart had been broken too many times in her young life. No way would he risk hurting her.
But to see his feelings reflected in her eyes was more than he could resist. Carefully, in case he was misreading her, he gently cupped her face and whispered softly, “You take my breath away, McAlister.”
A soft smile curved her full lips, and a teasing glint entered her eyes. “Ditto, Quinn.”
Chuckling at her repeat of his earlier response, he shook his head. “Words have never been my forte.”
“Oh yeah? Then what would you say your forte is?”
Hoping like hell he wasn’t reading this wrong, he lowered his head and growled against her lips, “This.”
Her lips were soft, luscious, sweeter than he ever could have imagined. He could spend an eternity kissing her and still not get enough. When she opened for him, he slid his tongue inside and groaned. She tasted luscious, like strawberry-flavored cotton candy.
Not wanting to take more than she was comfortable with giving, Xavier pulled slightly away. He stopped immediately when Jazz’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Taking that as a sign, Xavier let himself go. Drawing her closer, he explored her mouth like a starving man at a buffet.