I don’t answer him, just wait for him to tell me why he called.
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about Tennison or the case, but I think you need to know this.” I stiffen instantly. “He’s been seen in Shreveport, Louisiana. Looks like he’s traveling west and closer to Texas.”
“But we don’t know any of that for sure,” I tell him, making sure to keep my voice quiet.
“Oak, it’s a credible source. I just want you to be aware—nothing more, nothing less.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“I’m just concerned because he always seemed to have a hard-on for you, so I want you to be careful, keep your eyes open.”
“I get it, I do, Wood, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be diligent as I usually am. I promise.” I’m not sure if it was the mind-obliterating sex with Willow, but I know he’s just trying to look out for me. I was probably way too hard on him when he came to talk to me. But that’s a conversation for a day I don’t have this gorgeous woman in my bed.
“I just worry about you,” he says quietly.
“I know. I appreciate it. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds good. Sorry to wake you up. I forget you’re not used to the calls at all hours.”
“All good, Wood. Night.”
“Night.”
I hang up and stare at the ceiling. I don’t like that Tennison seems to be moving closer to Texas, but as of right now, we have no reason to believe he knows where I’m at. I’ll stay vigilant.
The day and the epic sex is catching up to me, though.
My eyes get heavy as I check on Willow one more time. My mind’s not focusing on my past life, despite the phone call. I start dozing easily, not even remembering when I fell asleep again. But it’s the best sleep I’ve had in over a year, and I have a feeling it’s all thanks to Will.
Chapter 11
Willow
It’s been a productive two weeks. I finally feel good about the direction of my book, although it’s not anything like my usual stories. This is decidedly more romance-driven than I’ve ever done before, but I’m liking it.
It’s also scary as hell because I have no idea what the reception will be.
But I’ll deal with that later because, right now, I’m actually on track to hitting my deadline.
Could it have something to do with the startling clarity I’ve had since Oakley and I started sleeping together? Possibly, but I’m not going to analyze it at the moment.
The sex, though? Mind-bending. I didn’t know sex could be this good, or that I could shut my brain long enough to enjoy the hell out of it. But Oakley isn’t your average man either. For as sweet, unassuming, and gentlemanly as he is, he is dominant as shit in the bedroom.
We’ve been playing with restraints mostly, and I have to say it’s not something I thought I would personally enjoy, but now? Now, I can’t imagine sex another way.
Shit, am I going to be able to have sex with men who don’t do that?
Do I want to?
The thought rings out so loudly in my mind it scares me. Because I don’t want to do this with anyone else. I just want James.
Tipping my head back, I let out a sigh. This isn’t something I should be thinking about now. Hell, probably ever. Right now, I need to focus on my book, and whatever comes next between the two of us is something I’ll figure out after I write “The End”.
The smell of freshly made espresso permeates my turbulent thoughts, turning my focus to the very man who’s causing the turmoil in my head.
James fucking Oakley.
He’s dressed in his usual distressed jeans, and a T-shirt that fits his upper body like a glove and also showcases the artwork I’ve spent hours studying upstairs in his apartment. I did learn that he got his sleeve because he loved the artist and wanted it on his body. It’s why he doesn’t have more, and it just adds another layer to this very complex man.
