Teach Me To Sin- Jace and Clara

CLARA'S POV

The spacious hall vibrates with music as I trail the hotel manager and security team in their neat suits. It's past one in the morning, but when my job demands it, I leave my bed and dress for work. This time, I have to rescue my boss from himself.

The manager swipes his keycard over the lock. "After you, Ms. Bellamy."

The second I push the door open, my head pounds in time with the deafening music. I'm shocked my eardrums didn't burst. It's dark inside, but I can see women, some barely dressed, others completely naked, moving everywhere.

If they believe they can get anything long term from Jace, one of Miami's biggest movie stars and wildest men, they ought to give up now. Jace doesn't do relationships. He has the H&D the Humped and Dumped. Yeah. Some reporter who thinks he's far cleverer than he is came up with that term for the groupies Jace supposedly sleeps with.

I inhale. The suite reeks of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. And marijuana. "Dear God, or whatever being watching over me, don't let it be Jace smoking pot," I whisper under my breath. And no hard substances. Jace has no past with drugs, but you never know. After all, this is Miami...and he has too much money and too much free time lately. And he's hunting for an excuse any excuse to avoid traveling tomorrow.

I hit the light switch, making several people suddenly cover their eyes, and look for the source of the music. I can't even hear myself think in this racket. Finally, I locate the plug and yank it out. The music stops, thank goodness, even as complaints and swears come my way.

"Turn that back on, you witch!" one of the women shouts.

"Be quiet before I summon the police on everyone," I state in my firm voice. I face the hotel manager and his security crew. "Can you remove the women from here? I'll handle Jace."

The security team, all men, glance at the crowded mass of barely dressed female bodies and agree. At least someone will enjoy themselves tonight.

The suite is a disaster. The floor is covered with leftovers of gold crackers, empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, and something dark and gooey probably caviar. The four vases stand empty, their petals scattered everywhere. One of the bare bottomed women has a lily wedged in her rear.

There are a couple of motionless and naked women on the grand piano in the corner with vacant stares, and several others sprawled across the living area. They look sad in the light, hair messy, and makeup smudged. Nearly all of them fit a pattern, young, tall, slim with oversized breasts, courtesy of implants. Their hair likely isn't real either. I notice a few dark roots.

Breathing softly through my mouth, I stride with purpose into the bedroom. More women on the bed. One offers me a cigarette with a foolish smile. I tilt my head to ease the tightness in my shoulders and neck and push into the huge master bathroom, which offers a stunning view of Miami.

It also features a gleaming marble double sink or at least it used to gleam and a hot tub. There are five women in the tub along with Jace Sterling Hayes. Or Jace Hayes, if you recognize him only from his films.

People assume Jace is incredibly photogenic. There has never been an unflattering picture of him. If a higher power had any fairness, Jace would be unphotogenic. Sadly, he isn't. That's just how the world works.

His face has the purest and most defined lines I've ever observed. Articles claim those are the Hayes traits he got from his mother, and it's likely accurate. His father, Alistair Sterling, is fair haired and of average build, while Jace has impressive height, thick dark hair, and a wide, strong physique covered with plenty of muscle.

He waves. His broad, bright grin is so flawless and attractive, it's nearly enough to make me overlook that his behavior has pulled me from bed at this ungodly hour. "Babe!"

He almost never uses my actual name. It's always "babe" or "doll" or something similar which would land ninety nine point nine nine nine nine percent of male bosses in trouble for harassment. But not Jace. He can escape anything. If there's even one woman on a jury, he'll be cleared.

Then there's his voice. It strokes your most sensitive spots and steals your breath. When I first began working for him, I believed he did it deliberately. Now I understand it's simply part of him.

I clear my throat. It's absurd he still affects me, but when you're Jace Hayes, you have that impact on every breathing female. I'm aware of what his agent Ivy Thorne will do if she discovers I'm drawn to him, she'll fire me instantly. She cautioned me on my first day.

There are at least ten empty champagne bottles around the tub. The women likely helped, but I'm sure he consumed most of it. He drinks like an extremely large and thirsty fish. Either his liver is about to burst, or it's constructed of titanium.

I grab a robe from the closet and extend it, looking away. "Exit the water."

"Why? There's plenty of space for you too."

"No! She's so heavy!" one of the women complains.

He flashes her his brilliant smile. "I prefer them soft and curved."

"Come on, Jace. Let's move." When he doesn't budge, I clench my teeth. The women are irritating me; they're attached to him like octopuses, stroking his body and pressing their chests against him. He's nearly trapped in the tub by silicone.

"You're aware you need to attend your cousin's wedding tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner." I dislike how I sound, like a rule enforcer. "You can't skip it. Your mother will be present."