Page 105 of The Convict Gets His Girl

His brothers began to tune their instruments as people drifted into the party, the distant music seeming to fade, leaving only the sound of his own heartbeat. "When I finally got some therapy and started to own up and process… I didn't know how to bridge the gap between us. I wanted to talk with you and Dad so many times."

The admission hung between them—raw, unvarnished, a lifetime of silence compressed into a few trembling words. Chase watched his mother's face, searching for understanding, for a sign that the distance could be crossed.

"I love you, Chase. I always have and always will. I just want you to be happy and safe, make a positive name for yourself, not for us but for you. We don't need you to pass that test and never needed you to get the degree. We love you anyway."

Her hand, weathered from years of ranch work, reached out, soft and deliberate. He grabbed it like a bridge crossing years of silence.

Chase's lips brushed the back of her hand, a gesture of reverence and apology to the queen on her throne. The touch was both a surrender and a promise—fragile, yet profound as he held her hand in both of his and rasped a reply.

"I love you, Ma."

The moment fractured when a sharp movement caught his peripheral vision.

Jewel strutted into the barn, her police officer costume cutting a provocative silhouette against the festive backdrop.

Something primal surged through Chase, unable to stop it with the raw emotions already rolling because of his conversation. A low growl rumbled in his chest—part desire, part challenge.

His mom laughed and pulled her hand away. "Well, aren't you two a matched pair. Go on, go dance with your girl."

He strode across the party without a backward glance, weaving through clusters of costumed guests that now crowded the room.

"Did you do this on purpose?" he demanded, stopping inches from her, close enough to catch her perfume, to feel the heat radiating between them. His prisoner outfit was a stark contrast to her law enforcement ensemble.

His eyes blazed—a mix of accusation and something deeper. Hunger. Playfulness. A dare to take their relationship to another level.

Thank God, because going slow with her had been driving him insane. He'd missed her so fucking much this week.

She tugged at the edge of her skirt, a nervous gesture that belied her confident stance. Her eyes glimmered—part mischief, part vulnerability. "I might've heard from Holly about your shopping trip to Denton with Landry for supplies for the house."

The admission hung between them, charged with unspoken electricity. Chase recognized the hint of strategy in her voice, the careful choreography of this moment. Holly, always the matchmaker, knew just enough to stir the pot.

"Do you like it?" she whispered.

His body moved before his mind could catch up. One moment they were standing, charged and static, the next he swept her into his arms. No more hesitating or holding back.

He swooped down, kissing her like oxygen was a luxury, and she was his only source. The kiss was urgent, possessive—years of restraint and longing compressed into a single moment of connection. Dancers spun around them as the edge of the dance floor filled, one bumping into them and breaking their kiss.

He spun them onto the dance floor, her police badge pressing between them, his prisoner uniform a stark counterpoint to her crisp outfit. His hands settled on her hips, holding her close and dipping his head for another irresistible kiss.

As a slow song drifted through the barn, the kiss softened. He traced a line of kisses down her jaw, intimate and deliberate, until he could nuzzle close to her ear. His breath was warm against her skin, sending a shiver through her body.

The world around them blurred—just music, movement, the two of them suspended in their own gravity. She sighed, pliant in his arms as hers held him tight. "I take it that's a yes to liking it."

Chase's voice dropped low, rough with desire. "Hell, yes, I like it. I can't wait to get you back to the house. I've missed you this week, but all I can think of with you in that skirt is bending you over and railing you."

The words were unfiltered, primal, no pretense or soft edges but simply pure, raw desire.

Jewel's breath caught—a sharp intake of air, muscles tensing, and pupils dilating. She leaned back, searching his face even as vulnerability flickered in hers. Was this too much? Too soon?

Chase was afraid to hope. The last time he'd been up front about what he wanted, she'd run off to college and hadn't returned for fifteen years. He couldn't go even another day without her.

Perhaps she saw the raw need and love in his face because a slow smile of pure invitation spread on hers. Desire pooled in her eyes, glassy and heated. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her costume's fabric rustled with the movement, police badge catching the light, and his hands lowered to her ass. His fingers just reached the hem of her dress, and he caressed the back of her leg.

"Think the cuffs that go with this outfit will work?" she murmured, a challenge and a promise wrapped in one breathless question.

Her voice was low, teasing, but underneath remained trust and an unspoken understanding of two people who knew each other's shadows and light. She accepted him as he was. They may not have defined their feelings, but she was coming to love him just as he loved her. He was certain of it. He just had to be patient a little while longer.

He growled, "Not on me. There's nothing on this green earth that's going to keep me from you tonight."

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