Page 43 of The Convict Gets His Girl

The words hung between them, charged and electric as he stopped a few feet from her. Fifteen years of separation, of unspoken history, of carefully constructed walls—all trembling on the edge of something vast and potentially devastating.

Jewel felt her breath catch. Felt the ground shifting beneath her feet.

She backed up, her movement jerky and defensive. Her hands came up, palms out, as if to physically push back against his words. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, we can't."

"Why not? Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you don't crave this as much as I do, because our kiss yesterday says otherwise," he demanded, waving a hand back and forth between them as his eyes blazed with challenge.

Her own eyes betrayed her, trailing down his body despite her mind's desperate attempt to look away. His bare chest was a landscape of muscle and shadow, skin bronzed and taut. Scars she didn't recognize mapped a history she hadn't been part of. And when he moved, those jeans riding low on his hips, she couldn't help the slow, involuntary sweep of her gaze.

The bulge there was impossible to ignore.

Her breath caught—part desire, part panic. Fifteen years of carefully constructed walls were crumbling, and she wasn't sure she was ready for the avalanche.

She snorted, a defensive mechanism born of years of self-preservation. "Fine, let's say I believe you because there's no hiding that monster."

Her eyes flicked meaningfully downward, then back up to his face, a challenge burning in her gaze. "It doesn't change the fact that you don't really want me for me. This is some inflated sense of justice or responsibility. Penance for fixing the mistakes of your past."

Her retreat was raw, instinctive—like a wounded animal seeking distance. But Chase wasn't letting her go. Not this time.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asked, hands going wide.

"I'm not a debt you need to repay, Chase," she added, her voice cracking on the last word, revealing the vulnerability beneath her bravado.

He moved then—a predatory prowl that ate up the space between them that made her gasp and practically run toward her boots by the door. Each step he took was deliberate, loaded with intention.

"I haven't even met Destini yet," Chase said, his voice a rough-edged weapon. "What's between you and me has nothing to do with her."

The proximity in this one-room cabin was suffocating. She could feel the heat radiating off his body as he neared, smell the cedar and leather that was uniquely him. Years melted away, and suddenly they were teenagers again—raw, passionate, on the precipice of something explosive.

She jerked on her boots and threw open the door, trembling. Not from fear. From something far more dangerous. Want, desire—not just sexual but a deep, soul-stirring need to belong at his side, to seek comfort and safety in his arms, to build a trust and love together that would defy the ages.

"You're the only woman I've ever wanted, Jewel," he continued, his voice following her outside.

"It hasn't changed in all these years. Don't deny the truth again. You don't have the excuse of dating Hunter to keep us apart now. Are you really going to use Destini as an excuse now, or Lyme? Why won't you admit that what we have is real?"

She gasped—a sharp, terrified sound that seemed to escape before she could catch it. Her body moved without conscious thought, pure instinct driving her away from his intense hazel gaze.

Her hands shook as she stomped to the truck, fingers slipping on the handle before she finally gripped it and eased inside. The engine roared to life, an animal's defiant growl matching the wild beating of her heart.

Dirt sprayed behind her tires as she peeled away, the truck fishtailing slightly before finding purchase on the rough dirt road.

She allowed herself one look in the rearview mirror. Chase stood perfectly still, a shadow-etched silhouette against the cabin's weathered wood. Just jeans. Bare chest. Those eyes—watching. Always watching.

What the hell just happened?

Her breath came in ragged gasps. Not from the sprint to the truck. From his words. "The only woman I've ever wanted."

Fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence. Of separation. Of her raising Destini alone. And now… this.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white.

Want. Need. Two very different things. She knew that better than anyone.

Didn't she?

ChapterSixteen

The dusty pickup truck rumbled to a stop, gravel crunching beneath worn tires. Jewel's hands remained gripped on the steering wheel, knuckles white despite the long journey being over. Houston sprawled around her—a concrete maze that felt both familiar and foreign after weeks of living in Crimson Creek.

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