Page 36 of All Jacked Up

I’d told Jellie about this once, and she had threatened to steal my favorite pillow if I started referring to her as a cow.

Ransom: And here I thought, the fuckers just cared about eating.

Me: Poor fellas have always been underestimated due to their love for food.

It was why I’d written the paper about them. But then Barney Hickler had started calling me a cow, and several of the other boys in class had joined in.

Ransom: How’s the manuscript coming along?

Great now, thanks to him—a masquerade ball and a girl from the past that the hero didn’t remember.

Me: Ten thousand words today. My fingers were on fire.

Ransom: What’s this one about? Not that I know what your others are about.

You. Always you.

Me: I don’t talk about them until I finish. Messes with my mojo.

Dots appeared, then stopped. After several minutes, I put the phone back down. Something had come up in his life. Like always, I wondered if he’d gotten a call or another text from a female.

Groaning, I took another drink. Why did I have to care?

Twelve

Ransom

Even in the darkness, her hair was golden. Maybe it was the navy-colored sheets that made it stand out. I stood in the corner of her bedroom, watching her. I shouldn’t be here. I had a big shipment tomorrow that I needed to double-check and sign off on before sending it out. Yet, it was two in the morning, and here I was.

The key card in my wallet had been taunting me every damn second since the last time I’d been here. Making a copy of her card that got me into the building and into her apartment was for her safety. At least that was what I had told myself when I did it. She’d not been in any danger, but the longer I put off coming back here to see her, the more agitated I’d gotten.

Why she had to live in this city, I didn’t know. A writer could live anywhere. I didn’t like the fact that she was here without anyone. She’d not even left the fucking apartment in three days.Could that be good for her mental health?

Hell, who was I to be worried about someone else’s mental health? I’d lied about needing to get a shipment of whiskey to Manhattan, just to take the private plane here without dealing with questions. And now I was standing in the dark, watching a woman sleep without her knowing I was in her apartment. I was the one who needed to seek therapy. Not that I was going to.

I couldn’t keep coming here either, but focusing on other things had been difficult lately. She was there in my head all the damn time. If she just lived closer. In Madison preferably.

But then I’d end up fucking her.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I let that thought run through my head as my eyes traveled down her body. She’d kicked the covers off at least partially, leaving me an excellent view of her bare stomach, where her camisole had ridden up.

Why did she have to also be the Shakespeare I texted with? My distraction. Why couldn’t they be two different people?

Regardless, I wasn’t going to be able to stop coming here. Which meant she had to move back home. I needed a plan. One that didn’t include killing anyone or trading them to the cartel for a future favor. The sooner, the better.

She murmured in her sleep, then turned over. The plump tit that had been peeking out from the bottom of her camisole was now on full display.

Fuck …

Moving closer, I leaned down to see it better. Rose-colored nipples. The craving to pull one into my mouth and suck caused me to break into a sweat. I stepped back before I cracked and gave in. If she woke up to that, she’d probably have a heart attack.

I should leave. I’d been here long enough.

But leaving was difficult. Part of me wanted her to wake up just so I could see her eyes. Hear her voice. Texting wasn’t enoughnow. I could hear the sultry tone when I read her words. I wanted to talk to her. Maybe if I called her, it would keep me from wanting to see her.

Doubtful. It might just make it worse. Her scent was pulling me in, and I tore my eyes off her to leave the room. I wanted to soak my sheets in whatever it was that made her smell like a damn field of honeysuckles. I’d stay hard all night, but, fuck, I loved the scent.

The living room and kitchen area smelled the same.

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