I’ve never wanted her more.
“A little late for that, don’t you think?”
More color rushes into her face. More blood rushes to my cock.
“Oh God,” she whispers, closing her eyes as though the memory is painful.
I step around the cart and take one of her hands from where it’s nestled in her armpit. I press her palm to the bulge that strains toward her from behind my zipper.
“This is what you do to me. Don’t be embarrassed. Be proud.” Her eyes are fixed on mine now, the pupils eclipsing almost every speck of her green irises. “Now eat before I change my mind about being a nice guy.”
I release her hand and she lets it fall slowly into her lap. She glances away as she drags the sheet around her where she sits, covering up what I’d much rather look at. Disappointing, but probably for the best.
She clears her throat before grabbing a fork.
I move back around to the other side of the cart, taking a strip of bacon from the second plate and downing it in one bite.
“Since when are you a nice guy?” Muse asks, peeking up at me from beneath her lashes as she stabs a grape with her fork. Her lips are curved into the hint of a smile. It does nothing for my raging hard-on. Then again, it seems that my body is determined to react to nearly everything she does with a massive erection.
I sigh.
Until I get inside her, I don’t suppose that’s going to change.
“Good point.” We eat the rest of our breakfast in silence. When Muse finishes, wiping her mouth on her linen napkin, I ask, “Feel better?”
She nods. “Actually, I do. Thank you. I’ve never had a hangover like that before.”
“Are you a good girl, Muse Harper?”
She shrugs. “No, not really. I just usually stick to wine.”
“Red or white?”
“Red. Why?”
“Just curious. When this is over and I come to collect, I wanted to know what kind of wine to bring.”
“You bring wine when you collect your money?”
“I wasn’t talking about collecting money.”
The bloom of pink in her cheeks assures me that she knows exactly what I was talking about.
THIRTEEN
Muse
I’m a bundle of nerves by the time we reach Treeborn early the next afternoon. Being back on the familiar streets is both comforting and unnerving. As we near my father’s house, I reach into my purse for my sunglasses and the hat I brought. The sun is setting, but I still can’t risk being seen.
“If you’re going for incognito, you might want to pull all that red hair through the hole in your hat. It draws attention.”
When I was younger, I used to be very sensitive about my locks. Gingers don’t exactly have it easy, but I grew into being okay with it. “Are you making fun of my hair?” I ask teasingly.
Jasper glances over at me as I grab handfuls of red and wind it into a tail that I can pull through my cap. His eyes, as always, are unfathomable. “Not at all. I love your hair.”
I stop what I’m doing and stare. “You do?”
His comment is matter of fact. His expression is as unreadable as ever. But something about his words, words that he chooses carefully and doles out sparingly, pleases me right down to my toes.
“Very much,” is his short answer. Although it’s given when he’s already looking back at the road, that doesn’t lessen the impact. I tuck the compliment away into a pocket somewhere on the side of my heart, where it can warm me right on and on.
I try to act casual as I finish my disguise, but for some reason my fingers are shaking. This man . . . God! He just does something to me.
Jasper parks across the street from the Colonel’s brick ranch. We sit in the quiet as he looks around. What he’s searching for, I don’t know.
I slump down in the seat and angle my body toward Jasper when I see Millie, my father’s nosey neighbor, come out the front door with Eli, her springer spaniel. She usually walks him just before dark, which makes me think she must’ve noticed us parked here because it’s far too early for her to be out.
“Oh shit! Here comes the neighborhood watch committee,” I whisper.
“Does she have super powers?” Jasper asks in a hushed voice.
“Of course not. Why?”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“Because I’m scared. Why are you whispering?”
Jasper doesn’t respond because his eyes are focused on something just behind my head. I can almost picture Millie making her way across the street to us in her comfortable shoes and blindingly floral blouse, nose wrinkled in that annoying way she has.
“Here she comes,” he warns in his scratchy voice. For about ten seconds, my mind spins with what we could do other than just drive away, which would defeat the purpose of coming here in the first place. That’s as far as I get before my brain is scrambled, though. All thoughts flee my mind when Jasper reaches behind my head, grabs my ponytail and pulls me to him.