Page 65 of Shades of Mercy
The woman’s mouth fell open. She swiveled and squeaked off in her rubber shoes.
Mercy dumped the useless phone into a plastic bag and buried it in the trash can.
Then she remembered the roast!
She hurried to take it out of the oven and nearly cried. The top was black. She had half the mind to quit and hand over the duties to Jess, who wanted to do them.
Yet, she wasn’t a quitter.
She decided to cut off the burnt top and chunk up the meat for BBQ.
As far as the phone and watching the video, she’d have to come up with a Plan B.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Jag woke up to the rich scent of brewing coffee.
He instantly craved a giant mug.
Pushing up off the bed, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and the dream he’d had of Mercy. It'd left his body rock-hard. He had an urge to masturbate to release some tension, but he could hear Mercy down the hall, piddling around.
He pulled on clothes, stopped at the restroom, and then headed into the kitchenette.
Mercy had her back to him, and he didn’t miss an opportunity to check out the lovely view. The jeans she wore fit her heart-shaped ass nicely. She turned and spilled her coffee all over the front of that white blouse.
“Jag! What are you doing sneaking around?” She seemed agitated.
“Shit, sorry.” He felt guilty as the brown coffee stain continued to spread across the delicate material of her blouse.
He grabbed a dishrag from the drawer, wetted it under the faucet, and tried his best to clean the stain. The only reward he got was his hard-on returning full force, and the sweatpants not helping a bit in hiding the fact.
Although he should have stepped far away, he instead stared into her eyes, a lethal combination of desire and interest.
He drank in every detail of her face. Her glossy hair, the supple curve of her pouty lips. The slender slope of her lovely shoulders, down to the outline of her erect nipples pressing against the shirt.
He heard a whimper fall from her slightly parted lips, and it was almost his undoing.
Fuck.
He was losing control.
He dragged in a ragged breath, needing to fill his lungs. He was losing a battle.
He wanted to haul her up into his arms and carry her to bed. He knew that when a man lost his logic, trouble wasn’t far behind.
He tilted her chin up. Her eyes were like blue lasers penetrating his skin straight to the marrow of his bones. He clenched his hands, reminding himself—no touching her.
“It’s a wonderful morning, isn’t it?” she said and walked around him, leaving a scent of cotton candy behind her. “I made the coffee since I couldn’t handle another cup of that tar you call joe,” she said cooly.
He poured himself a large mug of coffee and took a sip. “This isn’t coffee. This is tea with a kick,” he groaned.
“Then don’t drink it,” she said over the rim of her cup.,
“It’ll serve the need,” he said, stepping closer and inhaling her scent. She awakened his every sense better than any cup of the fragrant brew ever could.
“So, I hear it’s the day off around here? I don’t have kitchen duty, so while I was in town shopping, I stopped by the hardware store and grabbed some paint and supplies.”
“Painting? For what purpose?” he inquired.
