Page 43 of Mess With Me

Then his hand would creep down farther, sliding over my ass. His lips would brush skin, and I’d tell him to make me forget.

Okay, so I’ve spent a lot of time picturing this man naked, which is probably not healthy. But damn, it feels good.

I hear the steady beat of Griffin’s bare feet on the floor now, and a moment later, his giant form fills the doorway. Heat jolts through me. I shouldn’t have thought about all my ridiculous fantasies knowing he’d be getting back into bed with me.

I notice as he climbs into bed that his hair is slicked back. He’s splashed water on his face.

The heat inside me cools. God, I’m selfish. He’s going through his own shit right now, and I’m picturing him naked.

Griffin lies down next to me. I want desperately to reach out and touch him again, but I’m not sure if it’s the right thing.

“You okay?” he asks, surprising me.

I hesitate. “I’m fine,” I say. I’m not fine. But I’m not the only one with feelings here.

He’s silent a moment, then he turns so he’s facing away from me. I get the sense he’s still there, in that dream.

I lie there a moment, hesitating. Then I scoot myself over so I’m right up behind him. I slip my arm up over his side, resting my hand against his chest. Not for me, I tell myself, but for him.

For a moment, Griffin doesn’t move. Clearly I’ve overstepped.

But then his arm shifts, and he holds my hand against his chest the way he did on the bike. My insides swirl with all the feelings I’ve tried to tamp down.

I can feel the beat of his heart against my palm. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

“Yes.” His voice is gruff and low, but with only that one little word, I soften against him. Our breathing matches. A long inhale; a full exhale. Repeat.

As my eyes grow droopy, my last thought before sleep comes is that part of my fantasy has come true. For the first time in days, I feel completely, totally safe.

CHAPTER11

Griffin

When I open my eyes, dawn slants bright and yellow through the open door of the bedroom.

I feel good. Too good, considering yesterday. I should be exhausted, headachy from the tension. Instead, I feel a warmth, not just in my chest but against my back. Sasha’s there. Not the way she was last night, but with her back to me, her butt pressed up against the small of my back.

It feels cozy and close and so fucking good I can hardly take it.

But it feels wrong, too. Especially because my morning wood is raging.

I slip out of bed, adjusting myself in my shorts before looking back at her.

She’s so fucking beautiful my heart catches in my throat. Her hand is curled on the pillow next to her face, her lips parted in sleep, her hair spread in soft waves.

I have to look away fast. Everything bumping around in my heart and chest is too confusing for the logical part of my brain.

I need to burn it off.

I pull out my workout clothes as quietly as I can, then scrawl out a quick note for Sasha in case she wakes up. I’m not going far—just the drive and the road it leads to. The backside of the property slopes steeply down all the way to the Quince River—it’s almost impossible for anything but a mountain goat to venture up over there.

I take off at a clip up the long drive that grades toward the road. I sprint to my only neighbor’s drive a half mile east of my property. Chester Brown’s a seventy-nine-year-old off-grid enthusiast who brings me eggs from his hens when I’m in town and fresh trout during fishing season. When I reach the sign on his gate warning trespassers about his nonexistent guard dogs, I turn around and run in the opposite direction, toward Quince Valley. The closest neighbor on that side is miles away, down at the edge of town.

Running is some of my best thinking time, and right now, I find myself inevitably thinking back to yesterday and how I could have prevented what happened to Sasha. The only way would be if we’d had eyes on Creelman’s goon. Or Sasha. But we still had our client to look after, and with Lionel removing the ground surveillance, it was impossible for Ford and me to be in multiple places at once. I try my best not to beat myself up about what happened, focusing instead on the fact that Sasha’s safe.

And that there’s no way I’m letting anything happen to her again, especially now that I know Creelman hasn’t moved on from her since that night at the restaurant. As I sprint back toward Chester’s place, I wrestle with the most important question of all. How the fuck do I keep Sasha safe with the limited resources I have?

You can’t keep everyone safe.

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