Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
I’m jerked from my thoughts when Jasper’s hand comes to rest on my thigh. It’s then I realize the truck is parked and we are home. I raise my head to look at him, but his face is unreadable. The darkness in his eyes in still there, but there’s a little more softness to his body then there was when he first got in the truck. Like some invisible tension has left his body, only leaving behind the echo of his earlier anger.
“When did you start dressing like this?” His voice is deep and raspy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he hadn’t spoken in days.
His hand stays in place on my thigh, the heat from his palm spreading through me. His thumb strokes my exposed skin, rubbing back and forth. The roughness of his hand sends a tingle up my spine. I’ve never had someone’s hands on me like this before, but even without that, I know this is the hand of a man. I can tell from the texture and weight of it that he’s the kind of man that does hard labor every day. The kind of man that could take care of a woman. His touch is so simple, and to him it’s probably nothing. But to me, this touch is close to what I’ve dreamed of. It feels so intimate, and in my mind, there is nothing brotherly about it.
“Does it matter?” I manage to say, though all my thoughts are centered around his big thumb slowly stroking me.
My cheeks warm as I glance back up. His eyes roam over my body, to my exposed legs and then to my cleavage. I wonder what he’s thinking and if he likes what he sees. Would he like it on any other woman besides me?
“Yes.” His single word hangs in the air as heavy silence follows.
Seconds tick by, but all he does is keep stroking me with his thumb. I reach for my seatbelt, needing to get out of this confined space. My breathing picks up at his touch, and I know what’s happening. It happens late at night when I lie in bed and think about him. I’m getting turned on, and I wonder if he’ll be able to tell. My face gets warmer with each second, but as I place my hand on the buckle, he grabs it and stops me.
“When you dress like this, men get ideas. They start looking at you differently, Libby. I don't like it. Not one bit.”
“So?” I fire back, lifting my chin a little. I want to tell him that maybe I want them to look, but I know that’s a lie. I want him to look. The only eyes I want on me are Jasper’s.
The hand on my thigh tightens, and my legs fall open a little. It’s only a fraction of an inch, but he sees it. Jasper lets out a sound that comes from deep in his chest, making my whole body tighten. I want to get closer to him, even with this anger pulsing from him in waves. Something about it draws me to him rather than pushes me away. I can feel it between us, but I don’t know what it is or what’s happening.
He releases my wrist and moves his hand to my cheek. He touches the exact same spot Owen did, but this time when Jasper does it, he brings his thumb to his mouth.
“Sugar,” he says as he pulls his thumb from his mouth. A dark look passes over his eyes, and I can see that something in him has changed. “Go inside the house, Libby.”
I reach down and fumble with my seatbelt, getting it to unclick. But when it does, Jasper doesn’t release my thigh. He maintains his possessive grip.
“I can’t,” I tell him, looking down at his hand.
The tan of his skin is a bold contrast to the creamy color of mine. I hardly go outside, but it’s evident Jasper spends hours in the sun. I watch as his palm tightens even more, then finally lets go. I take the opportunity and fly from the truck. I practically sprint up the front porch stairs and into the house. For some reason, I need to clear my head, and I can’t do that while sitting so close to him. I don’t look back to see if Jasper is following me.
I don’t stop when I enter the house and see my mom in the living room. I mumble a hello and go right up the stairs into my room, shutting the door behind me. I hope with all my heart that my mom doesn’t come up here and check on me. Not wanting to chance it, I go to my bathroom and shut the door, flipping on the shower. I sit down on the toilet lid as the water runs, and think about what just happened.