Page 97 of Capri

I continue, “I think the stress comes from the unknown. New year, new challenges and all that. I’ve been running myself ragged all week and the school year hasn’t started yet. I’m just tired.” I exhale, feeling more exhausted than ever.

My conversation with Collie the other night only adds to the anxiety I feel. I won’t tell Jones that, though.

But I’m questioning everything. Overanalyzing everything.

It’s what I do.

What if I open my heart to him? Will he leave, and that will be the end of us? Or would we both prioritize each other enough to make it work? Does Jones actually want to be with me, or does he just want to fuck me?

There’s a difference, and I’m scared to be vulnerable again to know the answer.

My gut tells me Jones is not that man. Kissing him earlier today did me no favors, but it did make wanting him a hell of a lot easier.

“Wanna know what I think?” he asks, and I nod my head.

He turns to set his beer down and reaches for my hand. “I think you’ve spent enough time doing things on your own. Uncontrollable stress is too much for one person to carry. Don’t carry it alone, Capri.”

He always knows the right thing to say.

“I wish I was wired like that,” I snort. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Do you trust me?” His green eyes are filled with so much understanding. I’ve never met a man whogets melike Jones does. To the point where no explanation is ever needed.

I’m quick to respond because I’m pretty sure there’s no man I trust more. “Yes.”

Jones lifts himself from the bed and stands before me, intention laced in his heated stare.

His confident voice has my body buzzing. “I want you, Capri.”

I could die hearing those words alone and be happy. “Lay back for me, sweetheart. Okay?”

“Jones,” I whisper, knowing where this is going. If he touches me like I think he’s going to, I’ll be done for. There will be no ‘will I fall for him or not?’ I’ll be a goner.

Signed, sealed, and delivered to Jones Archer.

I told him I trust him, and now it’s time to show it. He grabs my beer and sits it on the nightstand before looming over me again. I’m awkwardly still, unsure of what to do with myself.

But Jones has plans.

His large hands lift my legs to keep them bent in front of me, the rest of my body sprawled across the bed. He uses our proximity to his advantage and runs comforting strokes up my calves.

“Relax for me,” he says, his voice soothing.

The setting of the sun gives the room a sensual ambiance. But it’s the tone of Jones’ voice and the command of his hands that transport me to complete tranquility.

“Just clear your mind. Don’t think about anything else but what my hands are doing to your body. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah…”

I close my eyes and let him lead. It feels incredible to hand it over.

His hands find the top of my thighs, rubbing soft circles around my knees then massaging the muscles in my calves. “That feels nice,” I whisper.

Jones travels his hands to the globes of my bottom and gives them a gentle squeeze, kneading circles into the tense muscles. “Am I hurting you?” he asks caringly.

“Not at all.” The buzz running through me sends warm tingles up my spine.

I’m trying not to let my mind drift into off-limits territory, but my core is throbbing. I haven’t been touched since Italy, and he’s been what my body is missing.

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