Page 92 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"When we went to bed, we stayed up for hours talking about all kinds of things. The thing she wanted to talk about most? You," Jewel said, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "She went on and on about how smart you are, how you explained things, how you listened to her. She's excited to get to know you, Chase."

The words settled into him like a balm, easing some of the rawness of the memories he'd just shared. Proud. His daughter was proud of him.

He nodded slowly, absorbing her words. The tension in his shoulders began to unwind, like a tightly coiled spring gradually releasing its energy.

The afternoon light filtered through the cabin windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Outside, the ranch stretched out—acres of potential, of second chances. Just like Chase.

He squeezed her hand, feeling something profound shifting inside him, like tectonic plates realigning after a long, difficult earthquake.

ChapterThirty-Four

God, her heart ached to see him in so much pain. His pain was her pain, and she just wanted to make him forget the past and see the beautiful, bright man she saw today. He was so strong and resilient, and the way he cared about everyone else more than himself showed him to be the most noble, honorable man she'd ever known.

The dust motes danced in the amber sunlight streaming through the cabin's single window, suspended like tiny memories between them. She sat next to him on the worn leather couch, her body zinging with ideas on how she could help him.

Chase's shoulders were hunched, his normally confident posture now fragile and tense. She knew him well enough to recognize the signs of a man wrestling with memories that threatened to consume him. The sharp line of his jaw, the haunted look in his eyes that seemed fixed on some distant, invisible point beyond the unlit fireplace. Her fingers curled into her palms, wanting to reach out but hesitating.

Her heart ached for him, for the darkness she could see gathering behind his eyes. Of all the ideas that ran through her mind, one stood out, and she bit her lip, thinking about it until it became a prayerful litany in her mind.

In one fluid motion, Jewel crawled onto her knees, positioning herself closer to Chase. Her movement was deliberate, careful—like approaching a wounded animal. She hoped to comfort him in ways words could not.

She turned her mind off, refusing to complete the thought as she slid her hands up his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles. The moment her palms touched him, something shifted. His eyes, which had been sad and unfocused, suddenly became sharp and intensely present. The dull grief transformed into something elemental—raw, primal desire sparking in his gaze.

"What are you doing, my Jewel?" Chase asked, his voice a low rumble that was half question, half invitation.

Her fingers traced small circles against the fabric of his jeans, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. She watched his reaction carefully—each micro-expression, each subtle change in his breathing. This was more than seduction. This was reconnection. This was pulling him back from whatever dark memory had been consuming him, anchoring him to the here and now.

To her.

"Seducing you," she whispered, her fingers moving to the button of his jeans. "Helping you leave the past in the past and focus on the present."

The button slipped free, and she pulled the zipper down with a soft, metallic sound that seemed to echo in the quiet cabin.

Chase sucked in a breath, a sharp intake that spoke of surprise and desire. "With a blow job?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

His body shifted, muscles tensing and then relaxing, creating space for her to work. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear some lingering memory. "I—I've never had one before."

She paused, her eyes finding his as excitement raced through her. Then she became frantic, wanting to give him this gift that no one else ever had. He lifted his hips and together, they tugged his jeans down his knees.

The jeans proved stubborn though, then there was the problem with his boots, which refused to cooperate. Chase cursed, a low, frustrated sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. His attempts to toe off the boots were clumsy, frustrated.

"Fucking boots."

Jewel laughed—a sound bright enough to break through whatever shadows had been gathering in his mind. She helped him, her hands deft and sure, removing first one boot, then the other. The boots landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floor, and she tossed his jeans toward the dresser beside the bed with a flick of the wrist.

In the time it took to toss his things aside, he'd slipped off his underwear and pulled his t-shirt over his head so he sat on the couch, naked and jerking his cock.

Her mouth went dry as his confidence slowly returned. She wanted to see this look on his face every day—no! She couldn't.

But she'd enjoy it for today.

She licked her lips and began to sink to her knees.

"No," he said, his voice sending a shiver up her spine. "Strip first. Stay with me tonight."

Her breath caught in her throat at his command. His voice was no longer soft or broken, but commanding, heavy with unspoken desire and something deeper—a vulnerability she rarely saw in Chase.

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