Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
He grins, looking almost boyish despite his silver hair. Then he quickly pushes the smile away, as though he thinks it’s disrespectful, which it is. He shouldn’t be smiling, should he? Neither should I, but I am. I push mine away too.
“I understand,” he says.
“I’m not saying I do,” I reply way too eagerly.
He nods. “Whatever you need, whatever you want to say, I’m here. If you need anything from me, I’ll do it, Lucy. Anything.”
Oh, Jamie, don’t say anything.
A few nights ago, I was in the shower thinking about my no-Jamie rule. I’d been touching myself while thinking about him way too often. I sometimes wake at night with my hand pressed between my legs as though some inner instinct was guiding me.
As the water dripped down my body, I closed my eyes and imagined him walking up behind me. He’d push his naked, muscled torso against my back, reaching around to massage my breasts possessively. Then he’d slip down to my sex, rub, obsess… The showerhead is no substitute for the real thing.
I glance at his hand, still messing with the glass. I imagine him wrapping it tenderly around my wrist before pulling me closer for a kiss.
“Anything,” he says again, making me tingle all over. “Errands, chores. I’m decent with my hands.”
Oh, don’t say that. I bet he is.
“Well, the downstairs toilet’s busted if you want to look at that?”
There, let’s make this grosser. Easier to ignore the steam.
He stands before I’m done talking, relieved to have something practical to focus on. He keeps looking at me with an intensity that has my mind skipping into overdrive. It’s like he’s angry. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here. Maybe he doesn’t want to help fix the toilet, and he’s just being nice, but it’s too late anyway. I’m already leading him into the house.
The prison strictly advised me not to do this. They said Jamie was a model prisoner, but I should still be cautious. Closing the door behind him and trapping us together in the foyer is the opposite of that.
“It’s this way,” I murmur, leading him through the house.
“This is a nice place,” he comments, walking right behind me, close to me, his musky, manly scent tempting.
Remember Aunt Lila’s face and the devastation. Think about the barbaric things he did to Dad.
I must be really screwed in the head.
Turning, I gesture to the end of the hallway. He nods and moves to walk past me, but it’s a narrow passage. I could do more to get out of his way, but I’m frozen in place as he brushes past me, his body touching mine. Instant heat ignites, my heart thundering.
He stops and stares down at me. His jaw clenches. His temples are pulsing. I’ve often read that in books, but I’ve rarely seen it. His temples are shimmering, like a volcano inside him, getting ready to erupt. He steps forward, almost pressing me against the wall.
“Lucy,” he whispers.
There’s something so soul-tingling about the way he says my name. It’s so much better than I imagined it would be, this feeling, this sensation of belonging. It goes beyond lust. I must be truly nuts.
Behind him, there’s a photo of me and Dad, one of the good memories. We’re at the fair, and Dad’s got me on his shoulders, both of us grinning widely at the cameras.
Jamie starts leaning down. Is he going to kiss me? He stops at the last second, staring directly into my eyes, so close I can feel his warm breath shivering over me. His lips are trembling, his hands shaking as he raises them. I almost whimper in pleasure when his fingertips brush my hips, but then it’s like I float out of my body, see myself, see what’s happening. This was not part of the plan.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, trying to sound outraged but failing.
He steps back and shakes his head.
“I should go.”
“You should.”
Should. That’s a very important word. It doesn’t mean I want him to, but he turns away and walks quickly. He pushes the door open and almost runs into the sunlight. I stay where I am, feeling paralyzed by how close we came.
He was going to kiss me, wasn’t he? I didn’t misread that. Did I? I go to the door and close it. I can’t let anything like that happen again.
CHAPTER THREE
Jamie
“Thanks, bro,” I say, pulling out the foldout bed from the couch.
Tommy stands at the doorway to the annex. He’s my oldest friend. We used to do mixed martial arts together in high school, and after, another reason the prison fights weren’t as difficult as they could’ve been.
Tommy is tall and lean, his features sharp. They seem even sharper as he frowns and runs a hand over his bald head. He used to have long, yellow hair, but then his hairline started to recede, so he shaved the whole thing off. That’s Tommy—no half-measures.