Page 27 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

I watched as she laughed, sang, danced in her seat, and became engrossed in the classic movie.

It captivated her. She captivated me.

Dance like nobody’s watching. Sing like nobody’s listening. Live like it’s Heaven on Earth.

That right there sums up Jessie O’Brien.

Love as though you’ve never been hurt. I pray she never has been. Adrenaline surges through me at the thought of anyone ever hurting her. Of anyone trying to control, tame, or rein in that free spirit of hers. For the first time in my life, I feel murderous about something. About someone.

More alien feelings.

I’m not daft. I know the root cause is protectiveness and possessiveness. That I want to care for her, look after her. That I want her to be mine even though she doesn’t want me.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t realize she’s fallen asleep. Her long blonde eyelashes lay on her golden cheeks, her lips parted just slightly as she breathes slowly in and then out.

I watch her. Is that weird? Maybe it is. My excuse is I’d never get the chance otherwise. Not unobserved like this. Not without her noticing and making some smart-mouthed comment.

I frown as my gaze graces her face. She looks exhausted still. Her eyes have the tell-tale dark circles. She’s been working flat out, doing all she can to sort this worrying situation for my family. Yes, she’s being paid handsomely for her efforts, but it’s clear Jessie takes pride in her work. She also has a vested interest in my family because Jaine does.

I have no doubt she’ll pull it off.

But when it’s over, then what? Yes, she’ll still live in the apartment below, but we both know how easy it is to avoid each other. We’d been doing it successfully for months.

I don’t want to avoid her. I want to see her every day. I want her feet in my lap. I want to deal with her off-kilter moments. I want to laugh at her wild antics and her, at times, toilet sense of humor.

I want all of that.

For me.

Not for anyone else.

Lifting her legs slightly, I stand before placing them gently back down. Deciding not to wake her, I cover her with the throw that’s resting over the back of the sofa.

I want her in my life. But she’s friend-zoned me. And the question is, can I be happy with just that?

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

DYLAN

Jessie’s Apartment, Hudson Yards, New York

“Stay still and stop fidgeting.In fact, it might be best if you took your shirt off. That way, it won’t get any hair on it.”

We’re in her kitchen. I’m sitting on the leather executive chair, staring at her like she’s finally gone round the bend.

“I’d much rather keep it on.”

She steps back and smirks cockily at me, her hands on her blue jean-covered hips. “You do know you’ve not got anything I haven’t seen before, right, Dyl?”

Jealousy courses through me. I don’t want to think of her with other men. Looking at them. Touching them. I realize my Neanderthalic brain has taken over once more, and I’m thinking like my cavemen brothers. It must the O’Connell blood. I’ll be dragging her around by the hair next.

Jessie is her own person. I have no right to lay claim over her. Especially when someone might be about to lay claim over me.

Standing, I remove my Henley, so I’m left in only a pair of black jeans. I’m tall at around six-three. While slim built, I’m toned and defined. I have a gym in my apartment. In the absence of having much else to do, I work out most days, so my body is in pretty good shape.

I feel the heat of Jessie’s gaze as she takes in my half-naked form. I wait for her to speak. She doesn’t.

“Cat got your tongue, Jessie?”

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