Wild Jaden Read online

  WILD JADEN

  A DARK HEART NOVEL

  Shayne Ford

  Copyright © 2017 by Shayne Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, organizations and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners and have been used without permission and in an editorial fashion only, with no implied endorsement.

  The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with, approved of or sponsored by the trademarks owners.

  This book is for entertainment purposes only. The author and publisher disclaim any and all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly in relation to this book.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  Written by Shayne Ford

  www.shayneford.com

  Twitter:@ShayneFordBooks

  Cover design by Shayne Ford

  The image on the cover is a licensed stock photo, and it is used for illustrative purposes, any person who may be depicted on, is a model.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by Shayne Ford

  About the Author

  1

  SENNA

  Our deal is working.

  It’s been three weeks since he moved in and started to work for me.

  He took over my job faster than I thought.

  He’s good at writing, coming up with headlines, posting reviews and curating content. He shows a lot of discipline, likely stemming from the fact that he’s been on his own and responsible for three people–– two adults and a child, for some time now.

  Harper adores him. The pool boy ignores him––at least he tries to. It’s not that easy when he has to face Jaden’s scrutiny every time he shows up for work. I wish Jaden gave the poor guy a break.

  No chance in hell.

  Seemingly, he’s is on a mission. He’s already made the males who work for me nervous, just by lifting eyebrows and pursing lips.

  I’d be surprised if they don’t think about quitting.

  All in all, it’s easier for those who don’t have to face him, but not so much for the pool boy who comes to my house almost every other day.

  Jaden picks on him to amuse himself, I suspect, and perhaps to drive me crazy––which he succeeds, but once in a while, his territorial stance makes me smile.

  Despite being a pain in the butt occasionally, I love having him around.

  Worse. I got used to him.

  And I think he likes being here with me as well.

  These few past weeks, we’ve done our best to make this work. He took over my tasks while I started to work with a web developing firm on a new app. My new schedule allowed me to catch up on my reading and work on other stuff.

  We’ve never talked about what happened between us on Christmas Eve, let alone fuck. That’s not to say sex is not on our minds. It sure is. He also does all sorts of things that make me think about him all the time.

  And yet, he also makes it clear it’s not my call.

  Aside from that, he spends almost every weekend with Sara and Emma while I stay home, pretending I’m not missing him. I don’t ask him how he spends his time, and he doesn’t offer answers on his own. This was––still is, part of our deal, and I don’t intend to challenge it.

  I promised him to stay out of his life, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Although we have the freedom to see other people, I, for one, cannot do it right now, and he doesn’t confess to doing it either.

  Per our understanding, we keep our lives separately as much as we can. We both spend our days at home, working, and try to cohabit peacefully at night, not stepping on each other’s toes.

  He got his own room and fixed his car, and he’s a pleasure to be around. In fact, he’s too much pleasure, and that’s the hardest part of all.

  He knows it, and he doesn’t make it easy for me at all. He’s playing with me, tossing teasers here and there–– a flirting smile, an undertone, and winks that make me blush.

  He tempts me with his body any time he gets a chance, throwing clothes on him that make me want to peel them off with my teeth. Jeans barely clinging to his butt, shorts redefining the meaning of package, T-shirts that outlined his muscles–– if and when he remembers to clothe his chest.

  I know every scar and mark that brands his torso, better even than my business. Which reminds me that I should try to mind my own business. But as I said before, ignoring him is not an easy thing to do.

  He does it on purpose to push me to the brink of desperation. Or perhaps to test my limits and the seriousness of my words. But no matter how hard he tries I’m not gonna fall for tricks. I stay busy with my work and make sure I keep my head straight. But even so, my eyes always find him.

  Like now.

  Bringing the cup of coffee to my lips, I take a sip and glance out the window. The door to the backyard is open, the AC turned off for a change.

  It’s the middle of January, and it looks and feels like spring. The weather is beautiful, and this is one of the main reasons tourists flock to Florida this time of year.

  The air is warm and dry. The trees are blooming. A layer of colorful petals––pink and golden, cover the ground. Torches outline the backyard, and strings of paper lights litter the trees, swaying in the soft wind.

  It’s warm during the day and cooler in the evenings.

  Once in a while, a really cold night comes along, but that’s rather the exception. The days are shorter, sunny and breezy, the palmetto leaves always dancing in the wind.

  Sprawled in a lounge chair, Jaden talks on the earphone, his fingers running over the keyboard. The pool boy finished up his work and heads to the house.

  Jaden throws him a quick glance.

  It doesn’t take long before he catches sight of me peering through the window. His eyebrows pinch in a frown as he locks my eyes.

  He yanks his earpiece off and pulls the laptop shut before he plops it on the table, and swaggers to the house. The pool boy enters the living room.

  “All done?” I mutter to him rather distracted by Jaden who makes a beeline for the same door.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “I’ll see you next week,” I murmur, my gaze snagged by Jaden again.

  Smoothly, the man vanishes through the main door as my eyes shift to Jaden.

  Tanned, ripped, clad in a pair of swim trunks, he heads my way, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I lean back in my seat and hide my face, smiling behind the cup of coffee.

  My eyes dip to his groin, his whole damn package shifting as he moves. The man sure has a way to make me hot like no one else before. Biting the inside of his cheek, he pushes back a grin that flickers in his eyes.

  He enters the house and graces me with a glance as he strides across the living room and makes a stop in the kitchen. My lips purse into a smile as my
gaze runs up and down on him and I start to muse.

  It’s more than good looks or a body made for sin that has me shackled. It’s the power flowing through his blood, and coursing through his gaze. Bleeding in his touch, and showing in his stance. It’s the way he runs his fingers through his hair and lifts his eyebrows. It’s his smile, a wink, or the tipping of his chin, that make me kneel in front of him.

  Just to prove my point, he flicks his eyes to me and throws me a fiery smile that sends a wave of heat flaring through my senses.

  Briefly, I lower my eyes.

  He’s wild. And smart. And doesn’t dwell or falter. He rarely––almost never, thinks about something twice, and he only does what he wants. There’s no room for negotiation with him.

  I raise my eyes again, just as he makes a stop in front of the refrigerator.

  “I think your pool boy has a crush on you,” he says, swinging the fridge door open.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, pretending I have no idea what he’s alluding to.

  Furtively, my gaze roams over him as his muscles shift beneath his skin, charging with tension.

  “He’s been cleaning the damn pool for like... what? I don’t know. Forever? It’s the fourth time this week. It must be a really dirty pool, or he does a terrible job.”

  A smirk flashes across his lips.

  He grabs a beer, yanks off the bottle cap with his ring and takes a gulp.

  “The pool is not dirty,” I murmur. “And he does a great job.”

  He tips his head back as he takes another swig, barely stifling his laugh.

  “Do I look like an amateur?”

  I almost want to answer his rhetorical question, but I quickly get distracted, and my eyes start taking a detour on his body, painstakingly studying every tattoo, scar, and bumpy muscle.

  He spreads his legs slightly, the ropes of his thighs pushing against his skin. His bulge thrusts forward, and his abs ripple with the motion, a stance that always makes me hot.

  “Isn’t he like fifteen or something? Shouldn’t he be in school?” he sneers.

  He twirls away from the fridge, a grin dancing in his eyes.

  I give him a pointed look.

  He seemingly can’t drop it, can he?

  “He’s nineteen, and he’s getting his diploma online,” I say, a bit stiff. “He’s making some extra money on the side,” I rush to point out, making quite an effort to keep my face straight. “What’s your problem, Jaden?”

  He flicks his hand up, his index finger pointing at his chest.

  “My problem? I don’t have a problem,” he says, the slight frustration in his voice suggesting otherwise. “It’s your staff sweetheart,” he says, his words and tone rubbing me the wrong way.

  He takes another swig of beer, observing me with piercing eyes. His lips curl into a sly smile.

  “Why are you flustered all of a sudden?” he asks.

  Why does this feel like a set-up?

  “I’m not flustered,” I say, trying to maintain my composure. I set the cup of coffee on the table, slide my tablet onto my knees, and shift my focus away from him, pretending I’m not flushed and sweating. “Why do you think he has a crush on me?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “There you are.”

  I lift my gaze.

  “What? I’m just curious,” I say, smiling cunningly. “I want to know why.”

  “I think you know why. But I’ll spell it for you, darling,” he says before he runs the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, making me stare for a moment.

  “Every time you walk in the backyard he loses his shit. He drops things and fumbles, his head spinning faster than a windmill. More so when you parade in your skimpy swimsuit. Then I can spot his hard on from the street.”

  I push back a chuckle.

  “You have quite the imagination.”

  His eyebrows tilt up.

  “No, no. Trust me on this one. I know a horny male when I see one,” he says, no undertone in his voice.

  “Okay. So what are you suggesting?”

  “Diversifying would be nice,” he says, in a playful mood.

  “Like what?

  “Hot women for a change,” he mutters. “In skimpy clothing, if all possible,” he says, a cocky smirk creasing his lips.

  “You are such an ass...”

  “I’m entitled to entertainment as much as you are.”

  I shift my gaze to my tablet.

  “Is that what you think it is for me? A form of entertainment?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Why would you care anyway? You’re hotter than him.”

  “Which proves my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Men are entertainment to you.”

  I flick my eyes to him. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

  “Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “I’m done.”

  “You weren’t done when he got on your nerves.”

  A smile stretches across his lips.

  “I finished earlier. I was working on something else.”

  “While keeping an eye on him.”

  He sets the bottle on the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Yeah, something like that,” he says, grinning.

  I shift my focus to the screen, silence falling around us.

  A faint rustle rolls in my ears as he pivots and looks out the window.

  “Are you gonna be here on Saturday?” I ask.

  “What’s Saturday?”

  I flick my gaze up. My eyes linger on him for a few more moments. He shifts his focus back to me, catching me staring blankly at him.

  “What’s Saturday?” he asks again.

  “It’s my birthday party.”

  It’s been years since I’ve had a birthday party–– since I left my parents’ home to be exact, and I decided to throw one now.

  Quirking his lips, he studies me for a moment, our eyes finally connecting. I have no idea what he reads in my gaze––if anything, but I can’t figure out a thing from his face.

  “I don’t know. Probably not. I won’t be back until Sunday,” he finally says, gauging my reaction for a moment.

  Guarded, I push my emotions back, trying to act cool.

  “Okay?” he asks, not giving me much choice.

  “Okay...” I say, my voice trailing off.

  With those words, I feel a door closing between us.

  I push off the couch and walk into my office while he slithers out of the house and goes back to the backyard.

  2

  SENNA

  “Oh, my God? Where is he?”

  Harper’s voice tears through the air, her sparkling eyes roving around, her voice brimming with excitement.

  I motion to her to follow me into the bedroom and swing the door shut as soon as she enters the room. The loud music crawls up the stairs, meshed with guests’ voices, dripping through the walls.

  People are dancing, and chatting, and drinking. Most of them occupy the first floor of the house while some of them have retreated in the backyard. It’s the who’s who of the online entrepreneurial world, people handpicked by Harper and me from a list dutifully provided by a well-known PR firm in exchange for a fee.

  This is a PR event more than anything else. Most of my guests have no idea who invited them or what my business is all about.

  “Tell me,” Harper demands impatiently as I enter the walk-in closet and fumble through the racks, still looking for something to wear.

  Her rushed breaths tickle the back of my neck.

  One hanger in each hand, I spin around to face her.

  “He is not here.”

  “Is he coming later?” she asks, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, driving me crazy.

  “Probably not.”

  “Oh...”

  Disappointment comes in waves from her lips. And eyes.

  I try to ignore her while I run my gaze over the two options I’m hold
ing in my hands. A maxi chiffon dress with a low plunging neckline in the back and scarfs flowing from the shoulders that make me look like a sixties Goddess, and a sequin jumper reminiscent of the disco era.

  I glance in the mirror, pondering. She watches me in silence.

  I swing my gaze back to her. She still has that questioning look on her face.

  Oh... I forgot. We were talking about him.

  She looks at me with sad puppy eyes, her face flushed. Big ringlets of auburn hair roll down her back, her green eyes gleaming. A skintight mini dress paired with high heels shows off her enticing curves and toned legs.

  So not like her.

  “How come you’re all sexed up? What happened to your boyfriend?” I ask, pulling another dress out of my closet.

  Lenny Jamison––the man she called boyfriend for the past year or so, is notorious for painting Harper’s existence gray.

  “We broke up,” she says, a grin lighting up her face.

  I give her a double take.

  “Aren’t people supposed to be sad when they’re breaking up?” I ask, smiling as well.

  Lenny was a toxic man if I’ve ever seen one.

  She flicks her hands up in the air and grips her hips, slowly shaking her head.

  “You were right about him,” she says as I start to inspect my next dress option with a critical eye.

  Yellow is so not my color. What did I think when I bought this? I lay the dress on the rejected pile of frocks sitting on my bed.

  Clearly, I’m not making any progress.

  “About what?” I toss to Harper.

  “He was a jerk.”

  “Ahh... Mr. Lenny. I told you so.”

  I give her a side glance.

  She shrugs.

  “For someone who’s doing such a great job, picking editorial pieces for my website, you’re missing the mark when it comes to men,” I say.

  She gives me a girlish smile.

  “It was not meant to be,” she says, amused.