Page 105 of First Chance

My fingertips trace the lines of my body while I’m in the shower, wondering how long he had to have looked at me to get them depicted accurately on paper.

And what he would do if he saw more than my silhouette.

When I step around the curtain, there’s a sheet of paper that was pushed through the gap under the door.

It’s the portrait of me laughing with a note written in the corner.

If you could see yourself through my eyes, you’d never find a thing to criticize.

I fling the door open, hoping to catch him on the other side, but he’s nowhere in sight. This closed-off, sweet, frustrating man.

He hides what he’s thinking, feeling, and skills like this. A talent like this could be framed and sold.

Framed and sold.

That’s it.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lochlan

After I slipped the paper under the door, I was not prepared to face my actions head-on and made it a point to stay busy on the other side of the property the rest of the day. My nightly ritual of capturing my favorite moments of hers in a drawing was my dirty secret.

My obsession has been under wraps, but now she sees the truth behind the distance I’ve kept from her. Hell, she probably thinks I’m a stalker…

The first time I put pencil to paper, pulling her likeness from my memory, I stared at the sheet of paper until the sun rose.

I am a stalker.

Thinking of her constantly, leaving gifts on her doorstep, and worst of all, pretending my feelings towards her are barely there.

Once I got a taste of her lips, though, I can’t hide my need for her like I used to.

She slept in my bed.

I was drunk, but I was extremely aware of her sweet body molded to mine all night.

All my dreams were about touching her, tasting her the way that I really want to.

Jo makes me want to be a better man, a man of integrity, but she doesn’t know all of the shades of morality I’ve dabbled in. Running a halfway program for felons isn’t for the faint of heart, and I’ve ruled with an iron fist to prevent any real damage from being done. I’ve been known to enact principles of the prison yard here because it’s a rule book they all understand.

I’m in charge. There’s no debating it.

But the blood on my hands shouldn’t go anywhere near her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jo says as she walks out my front door. Tonight is another event we have to be fake-engaged at.

She went inside to check her reflection in the mirror without a mention of sleeping in my bed last night or the drawings she saw.

I thought she’d be disturbed, but she hasn’t said a word as I’ve been racking my brain for the right explanation for my madness.

“Thinking about what?” I ask, glancing over and getting an eyeful of her tanned and shimmery legs. She’s standing right next to where I’m sitting on the porch steps, fastening her necklace around her neck.

She’s wearing her lipstick. The one that looks like the ripest of wild strawberries, deep red, and sexy as hell.

Looking up at her at this angle is a damn tease, my face is so close to her thighs and the hem of her dress, I could drag my lips across her skin if I was a selfish man.

If my relationship to her wasn’t fake, I’d make her stand here while I buried my face between her legs, ensuring thatshe’s late to this shit event we need to go to.

---