Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“No, I was only kidding. I didn’t plan on any of this.”
“So why the fake name?”
“I panicked,” I tell him. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to get Mom in trouble.”
“She must think I’m a real monster.”
Yes, or she wants to screw you. It’s hard to tell.
I shrug. “She doesn’t talk about work much.”
Thankfully, he leaves it at that. “I’ll wait outside, but if anything happens, or if you think anything’s going to happen, you yell for me as loud as you can.”
I almost ask him why he cares so much, putting himself out there like this, leaving his busy job, his busy life, to help a complete stranger. Maybe it’s better if I entertain the false thoughts, and tell myself he’s doing this because he needs me. He’s crushing on me, just like I’m crushing on him.
Together, we walk toward the apartment building. I glance over my shoulder at my modest second-hand car or third- or fourth- or fifth-hand—let’s be real—and his sleek, expensive vehicle.
“Aren’t you worried about somebody vandalizing it?”
“It’s electrified,” he tells me. “If anybody except me touches it, they get a jolt that leaves them paralyzed for several minutes. That’ll be enough time for me to get down here and alert the police.”
He speaks darkly, as if he gets some pleasure from the act of defending his vehicle with such extreme measures. Then he laughs, reaching over and playfully nudging my arm.
Speaking of electric… His touch is just that. A jolt sizzles up and down my arm, teases at the beating in my heart, the sizzling coating my body. One touch shouldn’t do that, but it does, and I’m left hungry for more.
“You’re kidding, right?” I whisper, aware my voice is probably way too breathy and full of lust for the circumstances.
It’s surreal. Jacob Jennings is becoming less grim, less serious, and all for me.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s fine. It’s worth the risk. Let’s go.”
It’s worth the risk. Does he mean me?
I press down on the apartment buzzer. A nervous voice answers.
“H-hello?”
“Hi, Philip,” I say, hoping my calm tone disarms him. “It’s Madison Lewis.”
“Oh, you came.”
“You sound like you wish I didn’t.”
Remember the dogs, Philip. Remember how much they suffered.
“No, it’s a good thing,” he says after a pause. “I’ll buzz you up.”
The elevator is busted, so Jacob and I take the stairs together. He walks close to me, and I wonder if he’s going to reach over and take my hand, or perhaps cradle the small of my back with protective intensity.
The hallway of the apartment building is old—the carpet, the walls, the paint, and the lightbulb casts a dusty glow through the narrow passage. Music plays from an apartment at the end.
“Remember,” Jacob says seriously. “If anything goes wrong…”
“It won’t,” I reply.
He frowns, then nods.
Despite the anxiety of attempting to jump to any conclusions, surely I can assume at least this… he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to me. It’s the why of it that alludes me.
Simple kindness… or the first step on a path that leads to a bright, starry world. A world with kids and family and… Shut up, Madison. Focus.
I knock on the door as Jacob moves down the hallway, leaning against the wall, looking ready for war.
CHAPTER SIX
Jacob
Thankfully, Madison doesn’t yell from the apartment. I offered to help her, and I meant it, but the longer I spend in the hallway, the more I wonder if it was a mistake. I’d never let anything happen to her. I’d seriously hurt any man who tried to hurt her.
That’s the problem. If she yelled for me, I’d kick the door open, charge in there… and then what? I’m normally in control, able to push down any savagery and assume the role of the cold, detached business operator, but if Madison yelled for me, I wouldn’t be able to contain the rage. I’d run into the apartment and throttle anybody who dared to upset her, let alone physically harm her.
After around thirty minutes, she emerges from the apartment. She’s got a shell-hocked look as she glances at me, then at the floor.
“Is something wrong?” I ask as we descend the stairs.
“That was a bombshell,” she murmurs, glancing at me again.
There’s something in her skittish look, a puzzle I’ll never get tired of solving. On our wedding day, our wedding night, the first time we wake to our child crying in the night… I’ll always study her, obsess over her.
“Talk about it in my car?” I offer.
She nods shortly. When I open the door for her, she’s able to summon a small smile. The fleeting movement of her lips is a gift, making her smile a privilege.
Inside the car, I lay my hands on my knees. As long as I can feel the pressure of my palms through my pants, it means I’m not reaching over and giving into every need surging to the surface of my consciousness. Her legs are too tempting, too curvy. Everything about her is too tempting.