Page 38 of His Custody

The reward for his ridiculousness was a small, watery smile. “Okay. But Jas, I really do want to go. Promise.”

That’s when he let the smile break across his face, and he picked her up and swung her around, squeezing a surprised squeal from her lungs as she hugged him back. She felt so good against him, small and warm, but strong as hell. And her body pressed so tight against his... if she wrapped her legs around his waist, he might die. So he allowed himself another second of the embrace before setting her down.

“I think this calls for a celebration. Want to go out?”

Though most of the women he knew would jump at the chance to go out—and for something this big, he’d take her anywhere she wanted to go—Keyne shook her head. “I thought you were cooking tonight?”

“That seems like an even better reason to go out.”

She rolled her eyes, and then looked to the side, bashful as she shrugged. “I like it when you cook.”

God knew why when Ada was far more proficient in the kitchen, but if that’s what she wanted, then that’s what she’d have. “Okay. You can start your homework while I try not to burn the place down.”

But instead of settling at her desk, she took up her books and headed for the door. “I’ll do it in the kitchen. You could probably use some supervision.”

He’d like to argue, but truthfully couldn’t so he shrugged and ruffled her hair on the way down the hall which led to her trying to punch him, him trying to tickle her. By the time she was laying her books out on the breakfast bar, the world seemed like a decent place.

Jasper pulled the recipe up on his phone, and while Keyne cracked open her notebook, gathered up everything he’d need. How Ada made this look easy, he’d never know. Cutting boards, knives, pans, pots, not to mention all the goddamn ingredients. Keyne worked away, looking far more competent at her reading and note-taking than he felt surrounded by all of these things that would allegedly come together to make a meal.

He’d been doing okay—pot on to boil for the pasta, onion and garlic chopped, meat browning in the pan—when of all the things, he sliced open his finger on a can. Swearing profusely, he held his finger as the blood welled at the cut.

Before he could think to do anything other than stare and curse, Keyne was there, taking his injured hand in hers, and lifting his finger to her mouth. Then her tongue was on him, laving away the blood and surrounding his finger with a wet heat that made him forget that he’d been hurt. Profanities flooded his head for entirely different reasons.

Her mouth felt like heaven and the fiery pits of hell all at once. Heaven, because goddamn, hermouth, and what he wouldn’t give to feel those lips, that tongue against his, or god help him, on other parts of his body. But to have any of that was a sure road to perdition. Not to mention what the fuck was wrong with him for wanting that?Be a man, Andersson, be her guardian. Protect her against all things, including your depraved self.

So he yanked his finger away, not failing to notice the hurt and confusion that flashed in her eyes. Better that than realize he was clenching his jaw so hard the bones might shatter in an effort to not get hard.

“Infection,” he muttered, as he shook his hand. Maybe if he shook it hard enough, he’d be able to forget what her mouth around him had felt like.

“Oh. Yeah, of course, sorry.”

He knew he should shrug it off, tell her not to worry, because that was a perfectly normal impulse. If he were perfectly normal and not a complete and utter deviant, it wouldn’t be a problem. Sweet, even, that she had the impulse to comfort him. Things being as they were...

“It’s fine. I’m going to go clean this up. Could you make sure dinner doesn’t burn? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” During which he’d do his utmost to get his goddamn shit together.

Chapter Fifteen

May

She used to love her birthday. She would have a big party, everyone from school would be there and all the attention would rain down on her like star dust. When she’d turned sixteen, there had been fireworks. Big, huge Fourth-of-July level fireworks. It embarrassed her now. She would trade every last sparkler to have her parents back, to have Aunt Emily and Uncle Arvid back, to have Gavin back. Even just one of them. She’d trade it all. That not being an option, she’d told Jasper no parties, no nothing. She’d asked if she could not go to school and he’d refused. Hard ass.

She’d been surprised he’d so taken her wishes to heart, though. Nothing special for breakfast, no flowers, not even a card. Just a kiss on her cheek that had maybe made her blush and a murmured happy birthday. That’s what she’d asked for, right? What she’d wanted? Still.

Anyone who mentioned it at school got a tight smile. For the most part no one did. People didn’t talk to her much anymore. They didn’t know how. She couldn’t blame them. If they talked about everything she’d lost, she hated them for being callous or digging up freshly buried memories. If they tried to talk to her about inane, everyday things it felt unimportant.

When she got home, Ada greeted her at the door with a hug. “Happy birthday, Keyne.”

“Thanks.” Ada was so different from her mother, plump like a partridge instead of delicate like a humming bird, but she was as close to a mother as she had anymore, so she let Ada hold her for a while, pulling away when she was worried she wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from falling. “Where’s Jasper?”

“Mr. Andersson is in the library. He’s been waiting for you.” Ada arched a sly eyebrow and her face lit up with a smile.

Oh, no. What had Jasper done? She’d told him... A spark of irritation flared behind her eyes. He could boss her around all he liked about most things, she would be thankful for it even, but not this. She’d been very clear.

She stalked toward the library and when she flung the door open, she was so stunned by the sight she forgot her fit. Jasper was standing there in a tux. Holy crap was he handsome. She knew, of course, he was good-looking. Hadn’t realized until recentlyhowgood-looking he was, but if she’d had any lingering doubts, any last reservations because he’d been like her brother, her muchmucholder brother, they were gone now. All she could think wasHoly shit, he’s hot.

Also, she knew how his sand-papery cheek would feel against hers if he kissed her on the cheek again, and how good he would smell, and the idea of him being that close again... Her knees were unsteady and she was suddenly aware of her own body in a way she wasn’t usually.

She only realized she was gaping when he tugged on his cufflinks, the way he did when he was nervous. She’d never seen him do that before she came to live with him, but she’d learned it like a tell.

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