After a while, the light went out, and Clay waited, wishing that ugly-ass cat would come out and keep him company.
* * *
George walked the fifty-two steps separating Jessie’s place from hers more than a little tipsy—something that was apparently getting to be a habit, but one she was enjoying.
Just let me enjoy it a little longer, she thought, pulling a fresh nightgown over her head, her movements more languid than usual, her body relaxed. Starfished across her bed, she recognized, in a moment of drunken clarity, that the thought could just as easily apply to Andrew Blane. Let me enjoy him a little longer. She didn’t want him to stop coming to her, no matter how dangerous Jessie thought he was.
She didn’t want to see his skin as an organ, couldn’t make herself if she tried. It wasn’t just work—it was a work of art, and ashamed though she was, at least tonight she could admit to her desire.
Her hand followed the curve of her body, remembering the sensuous slide of him, the give and take of his shape—the ins and outs of him. Down to the place between her legs which had, in the past week, experienced more intense sensation than in the past decade.
Which is pathetic.
Pathetic, but true, something analytical in her mind argued, and there—there was the reasoning she’d been looking for. She allowed her hand a stroke over the clean cotton, wishing for his rougher, unfamiliar touch. It would be good with him, even if it was bad. It would be good, she knew with absolute certainty, because she wanted him so badly.
That was the thing about chemistry, wasn’t it? It was selective. You never knew when it would hit. One woman’s feast was another woman’s… No. That wasn’t quite it. More like cheesecake. George loved cheesecake. Loved it. But the men she’d dated had been…banana cream pie or something equally unimpressive. Not bad, per se, just meh.
She had a feeling—wrong, probably—that the cheesecake didn’t have to be good to make her happy. It just had to be cheesecake, and she’d had cheesecake only once before in her life and—
“Cheesecake is bad,” she moaned, removing her hand from the wetness and startling Leonard off the bed in the process. Okay, so definitely more than tipsy, if the cheesecake analogy was anything to go by.
Her side table caught her eye as she leaned over to turn off the light, and her gaze fell on the bottle lying there, along with the pack of syringes. Oh, crap. She’d forgotten today’s injection, and it was…Thursday?
How could she have forgotten? And yesterday too, she realized with the strangest, guiltiest jolt. What was wrong with her? Andrew Blane popped right back up in her mind’s eye, answering that question as surely as anything. Of course. She’d been distracted.
Well, it was time to stop. The short needle she jabbed into her bruised belly was a perfect reminder of everything she’d worked for all this time, everything she had to lose. So, no. No.
Tears rushed to her eyes, clogged her throat, and George fell back onto the bed, already regretting a love affair that was never going to be.
When she fell asleep, teary and emotional, reaching for the image of that baby she wanted so badly, for the first time in forever, she couldn’t quite seem to find it.
OceanofPDF.com
11
“You ready?” Sheriff Mullen asked.
Clay nodded. He was ready all right. Aching, in fact, to tear some shit up. Or maybe even get his shit torn up.
Because I’m an idiot.
An idiot who messed with the doc—the only person he’d found to help him—and then took off. Not, of course, because he didn’t want her, but because he had shit for brains.
Because she scares you.
“Yeah. Let’s do this, Sheriff,” he said, pushing memories from the past few nights before from his mind. He’d figure it out later.
“Steve,” said the sheriff.
“Steve. Okay. I’m…Andrew.”
Today, the gym was nearly empty, which was a relief, since he hadn’t really loved having an audience.
“All right, Andrew. Ready for another challenge from the man who claims he doesn’t know how to fight. You say you’re not military…” He squinted at Clay, who felt suddenly naked. “That’s okay. I still got some moves. Little guy like me can still kick your monster ass, don’t worry.”
“Oh, great,” Clay said, faking annoyance but actually pretty revved.
On the mat, he let Steve get a couple of hits in: nothing big, but enough to rattle his brain in his skull and wake him up. It felt great to let loose, despite his aching leg and stiff back. He ignored those and just let his body go.
