Page 45 of Twisted

A small, wavering smile lit her features through her tears.

“I like the sound of that.”

14

Maisie

Present day

After a long shower, Maisie sat perched on a barstool in a fresh shirt of Jaeger’s, her wet tendrils pulled up high in a bun as she clutched a coffee mug with both hands. She watched him, her knees pulled up to her chest; Carter never let her sit with her feet on the chairs, but she loved curling up, feeling cozy, and Jaeger didn’t seem to give a fuck.

It was apparent in his mismatched kitchen; the dishes varied in size and color, same with the silverware and dish towels. The sizzle of bacon in the cast iron skillet reminded her of how starving she was, now that other needs had been sated. Her cheeks warmed at the memories, all swirling together in her mind, giving her a dopamine buzz she’d never felt before. Sinking down a little further in her chair, her eyes watched his muscled back as he flipped the strips, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips.

Bringing the coffee to her lips, she hid her small smile.

Bliss. She realized with a start that’s what she was feeling. Utter bliss. Jaeger was turning out to be everything she never knew she needed, and despite the warning flaring in her gut, it was somehow quelled. He was dangerous, but he wasn’t toward her.

She wanted to slap herself for trusting a man—any man. But something about his story, about how he hunted down an attacker she had only blurry memories of, it made her see him in a different light. Would it be so bad to allow him to be infatuated with her? To allow something good to finally happen?

And then the worry crept in. When would he take it back, hate her, turn on her? When would he leave her for another? She felt herself beginning to bristle, her joy turning to sorrow and bitterness in her mouth. Staring into her cup of coffee, she felt her lips twist down, felt the blaring scar on her face throb like a neon sign. DAMAGED, it screamed. Irreparable. Loads of baggage. She’d not even shared the worst of it yet. What would he do, then?

“Maisie, Maisie,” he drawled, and her eyes snapped up to meet his. There was a reprimand in those orbs, and the way he held the spatula in his long, strong fingers made her ass cheek ache to feel it punishing her. Gulping, she feigned innocence, but a blush bled across her cheeks despite her acting.

“Hmm?”

“You think louder ‘an anyone I ever fuckin’ met. Quit it.”

His lips frowned, and she thought how unfair it was that even in disappointment, he was sexy as sin.

“What?” she asked, though it was pointless. He knew everything, her every thought, and as annoying as it was, it was also sort of nice. She didn’t have to talk, fill in the gaps—he seemed to already know.

Flipping off the stove top and moving the skillet, he came over to the counter and leaned across it, his face just a foot away from hers now. She tensed, leaning back. She’d rather he fucked her hard, made it hurt, used his belt or his hand across her ass. She couldn’t receive anything less than brutal.

But here and now, and even after their encounter just an hour ago, he’d been so attentive, loving. She hated it. It was confusing. But somehow, she also knew she needed it.

“You ain’t gonna make this easy, are ya?”

“I told you what I know—”

“Nah, baby. I mean letting me in—and I mean all the way. I fuckin’ love your body, but I need your heart and soul, too. I’ll give ya time, but you need to allow it.”

With a huff and a roll of her eyes, she set aside her coffee and crossed her arms, shrinking further in his dominating shadow. He only stared back, a small, charming smile hinting at the corners of his lips. She realized they’d never even had a real kiss, despite all they’d done.

“I’m not affectionate. Get used to it.”

He snorted.

“Liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“If you’re ready for round two, I can make it happen right here on this counter,” he said, and his eyes sparked with lust as her stomach plummeted and her sore pussy clenched. He dropped his head with a laugh, so light and airy and full of life. It made her head spin, drew her into his light, his infectious orbit.

“Ass,” she mumbled. He tossed a shrug at her and stood up, drumming his fingers on the counter. She felt the sorrow begin to creep back in. Fiddling with an oil stain on his shirt, the words began to tumble from her mouth. As much as she didn’t like this situation, she was equally frightened to give it up—to lose something that had already given her so much hope.

“I don’t know how.”

She felt his eyes blazing over her skin like the fire she loved in her whiskey.

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