Page 3 of Burly and Possessive

I step inside. The Lodge is roomy, but it feels homey—like it’s been lived in. A plaid blanket is thrown over the back of the couch, and shelves lined with books and knick-knacks fill the walls.

“Make yourself at home,” Jax says, moving toward the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Um…” I hesitate, the thought of alcohol swirling in my mind, but the idea of something to take the edge off is appealing. “Sure. Whiskey’s good.”

He nods, pouring two glasses and handing one to me before settling into a chair across from me. We sip in silence for a moment and for the first time since I left the church, a calmness settles over me. It doesn’t erase my sadness and anger, but for now I feel like I can breathe again.

“So,” he says, his voice low and gruff, “what’s next for you?”

I look into the amber liquid swirling in my glass, not sure I have an answer. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice soft. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

He leans back in his chair, studying me. “You can stay here for as long as you need.”

I meet his gaze, surprised by the offer. Have I misjudged this man? “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.”

The silence stretches between us again, but this time, it’s not awkward. It feels like I can take him at his word.

After a moment, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know it’s not much, but this is a safe place for you to land. I’m not a creep, I promise.”

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, but you’re a strange man I just met. There’s no way I can know that.”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile creeping onto his lips. “Fair point. But trust me, you won’t find a better place to rest your head tonight. You can call my sisters if it will make you feel better.”

I watch him, the way his expression shifts from amusement to something more serious. It’s like he’s decided he’s my protector. Not what I was looking for when I fled the church, but I find I don’t mind.

“Okay,” I finally say, the word slipping from my lips before I can think better of it. Having sisters doesn’t make a man safe, but he seems like a good man. He hasn’t checked my body out once and hasn’t made me feel uncomfortable. Instead, he seems patient and genuinely interested in helping me. “You’re not giving off any weird vibes. I’ll stay.”

He nods, and something flutters in my stomach. Is this a bad idea? Should I be more cautious? Jax doesn’t give off a dangerous vibe, but I’m not sure I’d even care right now if he did.

“Let’s eat something,” he says, rising to his feet. “You must be starving.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea.” I haven’t thought about food since breakfast this morning, but the mere idea of it, now, makes me realize I’m starving.

“Right. I’ll get something going,” he says, standing. “But first, let’s get you out of that dress.”

CHAPTER 2

JAX

Leesa stiffens, and her green eyes flare in alarm as she glances at the door like she’s ready to run for it. “Say what?”

“Sorry,” I say, holding up my hands. “That came out wrong. You’re shivering. I meant we should get you into some dry, warm clothes. And given what I’m assuming are the circumstances, I can’t imagine you want to stay in that dress any longer than you have to.”

“Oh,” she says, her body slumping a little. “Yeah, something else would be nice.”

“Right. If you go down that hall,” I say, pointing across the living area, “you’ll see a couple of bedrooms. Try the first one on the left. You should find some clothes in there. The bathroom is next door if you want to get cleaned up.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to argue, but then her shoulders sag. She nods and heads toward the bedroom. I know the signs of an adrenaline crash, and she’s crashing.

I stay rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door once she’s gone. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Why do I care so much about this woman? One look at her standing on the side of the road was all it took for her to become my mission. Every possessive and protective instinct roared through my blood when I saw her.

I move to the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. Food. Whiskey. She needs something to steady her, and I need the distraction. I grab a pan of lasagna from the fridge, cut off two hefty slices, and pop them into the microwave. I hear water running in the bathroom as I pull two glasses from the cabinet and pour us both a generous amount of whiskey.

The microwave beeps as Leesa walks into the kitchen. Out of everything in the closet, she’s wearing one of my sister Andrea’s dresses and she’s wearing one of my old flannel shirts over it. She’s swimming in my flannel, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Her damp hair curls in loose tendrils around her face, and it takes all of my restraint not to pull her into my arms and hug her until she realizes she’s mine.

Fuck. I’m jealous of my old shirt. What I’d give to have her in my arms and feel her soft curves pressed tightly against my body.

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