Page 110 of Dallas

Mrs. Brown was in Florida. Her mother probably didn’t even remember which city she’d left her only child in all those years ago.

And Poppy was wonderful, but she didn’t make Sam watchDie Hardor drink beer with cupcakes.

She needed Jace. She needed this to not have happened.

“Good night,” she said, not looking at him and as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Jace was still trying to catch his breath, and Sam was already gone. It was probably a good thing because the moment he caught his breath, if she was still here, he wouldhave done one of two things. He would have started yelling. Or he would have pushed her back down into the water and wrestled those jeans off of her no matter how hard it was to peel wet denim from skin.

He breathed in deep, finally, his chest pitching sharply with the motion, and stepped out of the tub.

Dammit. What had he just done?

Years of pent-up lust had exploded, and it had gotten all over Sam. Had he been in a shower by himself, great, fine. He’d have guiltily jacked off to her image. And it wouldn’t have been the first time.

Even those moments, moments of pure fantasy, made him feel like dirt.

But this was inexcusable. He’d expended his fantasies all over her. Well, the denim had caught most of it.

He winced. What kind of asshole did that to his best friend?

In fairness, she’d kissed him back. And she’d really seemed to enjoy everything that had happened in the tub. But he should have stopped. He should have known better. He should have done better.

He looked around the bathroom. It was a mess. Evidence of the dog’s bath all over the place, and puddles from their water fight splashed across the floor.

But for some reason the thought of cleaning didn’t relax him.

Whether he cleaned the bathroom or not, what had just happened would have still just happened.

Because no matter how much control he took over his surroundings, in this situation he had no control at all. And it made him feel like the entire theory for his life wasn’t quite as sound as he’d always believed.

He had to figure out a way to get control. At the moment, a little dog hair was the least of his worries.

Chapter Seven

Samantha had scurried out of the house before he’d gotten out of bed the next morning. And she wasn’t home when he got in from working the next afternoon.

It was so fricking cold outside he felt like his balls had been on ice all day, which, all things considered, was kind of helpful. Especially since he’d spent the whole night trying to ignore the hard-on from hell that seemed to be inextricably linked to a shame wave that threatened to wash him away the minute he wrapped his hand around himself.

He’d been awake most of the night, horny and unable to do anything about it. Because he was hard for Sam, and that was something he was ashamed about. Vicious cycle set on repeat.

Thankfully, punishing physical labor in weather that was pushing the negative numbers on the thermometer was helpful for that state. If he couldn’t tame his nether regions he’d freeze them off.

He poured himself some coffee, needing the warmth in spite of the fact that it was past five in the evening,and added just a little bit of booze. To warm himself up. And to make the image of Samantha’s breasts a little less clear in his mind.

He froze at the kitchen counter, his hand wrapped tight around the hot mug. Perfect, pale breasts with little pink nipples. So hard. So delicious. One taste and he craved more with everything in him.

He craved her flavor. Not just her mouth or her breasts. He wanted to bury his face between her thighs and...

Poppy barked and Jace jumped, sloshing his coffee and alcohol mixture over the edge of his cup.

He turned and looked at the dog. “You can read my mind, can’t you?” he said, his tone hostile. Poppy looked confused by what she’d done to earn his anger, but he had no doubt that she knew. That bark was too well timed.

“I can have fantasies,” he said. “It’s my right as a man.”

Poppy tilted her head to the side. Silently judging.

“Clearly you wouldn’t understand. I guess you’ve never met another mutt who lit your fire. It’s probably better in the end. This is all a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

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