Page 71 of The Convict Gets His Girl

He returned with thick slices of sourdough, tearing them into chunks and offering her a piece along with a bottle of water. His movements were gentle, almost reverent. She took the bread, appreciating how he was reading her energy, understanding her need for softness after the intense emotional and physical journey of the evening.

"Drink," he commanded gently, and she obeyed, the cool water helping to clear her foggy mind. He grabbed a fresh towel and set it beside the tub. He turned to leave, but she didn't want to be alone. The realization burned her soul, but she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"I—thank you, Chase."

He tilted his head, his expression patient and confused. "For what?"

She shrugged and sighed. "For… for letting me process this new reality, for not adding to the stress of it, for—for taking care of me."

The last part she whispered, and his other hand came up to cup her cheek. "I'll be here to take care of you for as long as you'll let me, my Jewel. Are you ready to go to bed now? You're looking mighty sleepy and glassy eyed."

She nodded with a yawn.

He reached over and grabbed the thick towel, holding it open for her.

"Come on," he murmured, holding out his hand. "Let's get you dried and warm."

Jewel took his hand and stood, water cascading down her body. He wrapped her in the thick terry cloth, his arms not holding her sexually, but with a tenderness that made her chest ache. He rubbed her shoulders, her arms, carefully patting her dry down her legs, then he swept her into his arms, bridal style.

She gasped, her arms going around his neck, and he carried her to the bed, tucking her beneath the warm quilts. She noticed how carefully he moved, how he seemed to be calibrating every gesture to avoid startling her, how calloused his hands were, hands that could be rough but were now impossibly soft.

When the blanket touched her chin, she grabbed it by the edges and looked up at him. She hated going to bed without brushing her teeth or fixing her hair, so her curls laid right. But there was no way she was going to stop him from taking care of her like this. It was nice. She'd not had someone to look after her since—since Gemma had gone back to school after Destini had been born.

His face was vulnerable as he paused. "Is it alright if I sleep in the bed too? If you move in with me at the new house, you'll have your own room and bed, but the couch isn't exactly comfortable here."

She nodded, not even hesitating. "Of course."

He sighed in relief. "Alright, thanks."

He turned back to the bathroom, and she heard him brushing his teeth, the light from the bathroom the only one in the small cabin. Her eyes fluttered, and she was asleep before he even came back to bed.

She woke the next morning confused at the massive heat waves coming from behind her. Chase's arm was draped heavily over her waist, his breath steady and warm against the back of her neck. She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her back, the muscled length of his body curled protectively around her.

For a moment, she lay perfectly still, absorbing the unfamiliar sensation of being held. Her body ached—not just from their lovemaking, but from emotional exhaustion. The events of last night replayed in her mind: the tears, the vulnerability, the unexpected tenderness.

She had no way of explaining what was happening between them. Were they starting a relationship, or had their encounters simply been emotionally charged side-effects of shared trauma?

Instead of confronting her feelings, her mind drifted to Destini. She'd have to call her soon, explain the complicated situation. Her daughter would be worried, would want details and an answer about who her father was. Perhaps Chase was right, and they should go tell Destini together.

Chase stirred behind her, his arm tightening momentarily before he seemed to remember himself. He carefully extracted himself, moving slowly so as not to wake her. She heard him padding softly around the cabin, the sounds of coffee brewing, wood being stacked in the stove.

She kept her eyes closed, listening. The intimacy of the moment felt fragile, like something that might shatter if she analyzed it too closely. Not just the moment, but of their entire relationship.

The cabin creaked softly as Chase moved about, the morning light filtering through the thin curtains. Jewel kept her eyes closed, savoring the warmth and the quiet and loathe to confront whatever this was between them.

When the smell of fresh coffee finally drew her from her half-sleep, she opened her eyes. Chase stood by the window, black-out curtains drawn back to let in the natural light. Wearing only jeans, his back muscled and scarred with a steaming mug in his hand, he turned, catching her watching him.

"Morning," he said softly. "Coffee?"

She shook her head, suddenly shy. Last night's intimacy felt both distant and immediate. "No, thanks. I have a mushroom coffee in my bag. I had to give up a lot when I changed my diet this year."

"Can I rummage in your bag and bring it to you?"

Her cheeks burned as she nodded, sitting up and clutching the sheet and blanket to her chest. Who knew that a convict could be such a gentleman?

He brought her bag, setting it carefully on the bed's edge. His movements were deliberate, considerate. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," she admitted. "But okay."

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