Page 54 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"Chase…" her voice faded, and he pushed a little more.

"I told you you'd win a wet t-shirt contest. Exhibit A—you right now? Total winner."

Her eyes softened, and he leaned forward, desperately needing another kiss. Instead, she jumped up and shut off the water, her arm muscles flexing. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel he'd set aside, tossing it to him.

Before he could stand, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes smoking with hidden emotion. Then she peeled the wet shirt over her head and tossed it into the hamper with a soft plop. His mouth went dry, and he was no longer shivering from the cold water. His temperature spiked, his heart racing.

Chase watched, unable to look away. Her body was lean and muscled from her work, not a soft city girl, but someone who knew physical labor. Her wild blond curls bounced as she moved to grab a fresh towel from above the toilet.

She started drying her hair first—always practical, always efficient. Water droplets traced lines down her back, following the curve of her muscles, muscles that etched themselves into his brain. This was one memory he wanted to keep forever. The way her ass curved, accentuating her hips.

"Well," she said, her voice slicing through his thoughts. "Are you going to just sit there? I need another shirt."

Her tone was pure Jewel—part command, part invitation, completely unapologetic. It sent a shiver of awareness down his spine, and he stood. Suddenly aware of his body, he lifted the towel slowly and dried his own head first.

His dick, hard, unhidden, aching with need, drew her gaze like a moth to flame. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out in an unconscious gesture that sent electricity down his spine.

She smirked even as desire settled in her gaze as she backed out of the bathroom, a towel held to her chest and covering little. "I see the monster is back."

Her retreat felt like a challenge, and he followed, the terrycloth towel riding low on his hips as he tied it in place. She stopped at the side of the bed, and he prowled around her, his nostrils flaring at the scent of woman that clung to her.

Fuck, he wanted her. His muscles were still tense from the day's trauma, and his whole body ached, but something else pulsed beneath, exposed by the raw emotions—the burning desire that had flared between them for so long, now complicated by their shared grief.

At the dresser, he moved with deliberate slowness. His fingers traced the worn wood grain, searching for a soft shirt, something that might comfort her. He grabbed a pair of boxers for himself.

But nothing about that moment felt simple.

He turned, towel still wrapped, and saw her watching. Emotions flickered across her face—vulnerability, want, something deeper than pure physical attraction. Friendship, shared pain, and unspoken tension crystallized in this moment.

The shirt landed softly on the bed's rumpled surface, a flag of challenge.

Her towel—white, slightly damp—remained clutched to her chest, her knuckles white. The only sound in the room was their ragged breaths. Trembling almost imperceptibly, something shifted in her eyes as she stared at him with a daring vulnerability.

Then the towel dropped to the floor, leaving her completely bare as she moved onto the bed like a goddess settling on her throne. She laid back on the pillows, completed exposed, and waited for him to make a move.

He was too paralyzed by raw, animal need and the sight of her left him speechless. With her hourglass figure, she was lusher than she'd been fifteen years ago. Her curves belied her muscles; if she was a goddess, she was a warrior one, strong and resilient.

She blushed as her breasts heaved, her breaths shallow. Round and full, his mouth watered for a taste. Despite her actions, she had not given consent or invited him to join her.

Her hands rose to graze along her side and up to circle her nipples. His mouth went dry, and it was his turn to lick his lips.

He groaned, raking a hand down his face. "God, what the fuck are you doing to me, my Jewel?"

She smirked at him, but it didn't hide the flash of vulnerability within. "I thought that was obvious. I'm seducing you."

He gripped the towel at his waist tightly, needing something to hold on to that wasn't his dick or her body. "Why?" he rasped out.

She sat up, her breasts swaying as her gaze drew serious. "I—I want something good to come out of this day from hell. Will… will you make me feel good?"

He groaned, his eyes burning with desire. Her nipples were ripe berries waiting to be plucked and feasted on. The pale, short hair that hid her sweet pussy made his fingers itch to touch and explore.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded harshly. "I won't let this be like last time, a mistake that leaves you running in the night."

She bit her lip and glanced away, plucking at the comforter. "I want you to love me," she said softly.

His chest burned at her words.I already doechoed in his mind.

Her eyes flew to his in panic as she corrected, "Makelove to me. Fuck me, make me feel anything but this empty failure."

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