Page 86 of Wanted

Something… more?

How is it possible in the short time I’ve known her that she’s been able to attack so many of my walls? The fortress I live behind appears to be no match for this woman, and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

“You’re beautiful, Jude.”

I hiss as she finds the scar across my low back that’s still sensitive from time to time.

“That’s enough.” Holding her against me, I flip us back around until she’s lying on my chest.

“I wasn’t done.”

I catch her fingers and bring them to my lips. “For tonight you are. You made your point.”

“Did I?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow, visible through the light trickling in from the hall.

Not really, but furthering the argument won’t change anything.

I know I’m damaged. My siblings each endured rough childhoods, yet none of them are still affected the same way I am. Nobody carries silly compulsions into their adulthood from a past they can’t seem to let go of.

Not even Jack.

But I don’t need her to spell anything out for me. I don’t need to see the look in her eyes when she realizes I’m more work than I’m worth.

For now, I’ll enjoy what she’s willing to give.

And when she’s ready to let go, I’ll become a memory.

21

Frankie

A clump of dirt flies past my face, hitting Bree straight in the chest.

She sputters and jabs her spade into the ground, point down. “Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry!” Juniper giggles and resumes her digging. A brown weed sails through the air and smacks her in the cheek. “What the hell!”

Bree cackles, clutching her sides and falling onto her butt. “You deserve it.”

“If either of you crush Mom’s flowers, she’s going to kill you both and bury you beneath the garden.” Cortney settles onto the ground next to me and hands me a covered Mason jar with a straw. “Thank god I remembered the lids, or we’d all be drinking Mudgaritas with the way these two dig like children. Don’t worry, I made yours and Whitney’s a virgin. Jude told me you don’t drink,” she whispers in my ear.

“Thanks,” I murmur, fighting the intense blush rising to my cheeks. My drink might be a virgin, but I’m not any longer. And the man responsible is out there somewhere making sure his family knows how I like my drinks since they banned him from accompanying me here.

The twinge of soreness between my thighs makes itself known as I shift to set my drink down behind me. I lick my lips and tilt my face to the sun. The heat feels nice after the week of rain and hides my blush. Not that I’m embarrassed, but I’d rather not invite invasive questions.

Jude’s incredibly secretive, and not knowing how much his family is privy to, I’m not interested in revealing more than he’s comfortable with.

If he wants to share that we’re sleeping together, that’s his prerogative. I’d never hide my interest in him, but I can understand if he wants to keep me a secret.

The life I currently embody isn’t exactly a show-winning prize. I’m poor, homeless, jobless. Not exactly the qualities you brag about to Mom and Dad.

I mean, we’re not even in a relationship.

There isn’t anything for him to tell.

But being surrounded by women my age is a novel experience for me, and I feel the desire to confide. The urge bubbles up, begging for a release from these chaotic, conflicting emotions.

How can I feel so much for someone who I’ve known for such a short amount of time?

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