Page 140 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
Michael clicked on a lamp, illuminating his chiseled features and the hint of auburn in his dark brown hair. “Not a problem.”
As her eyes adjusted, Jamison scanned the space. It was a world apart from the room her cousins were trapped in. This one was much larger with a king-sized bed, twin dressers, and a sitting area that featured not only the most comfortable-looking reading chair she had ever seen but also wall-to-wall bookshelves.
“Where are we?”
Moving to stand in front of the glass double balcony doors on her right, Michael stretched his arms overhead, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a muscled torso. “My bedroom.”
She figured as much. The room was simple and masculine but not without taste—clean lines, warm tones, unassuming elegance. It fit him.
“Take your shoes off the bed.”
When she didn’t move, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take your shoes off the bed, or I’ll rip every piece of clothing off you and parade you around the house naked.”
She kicked her shoes off and let them fall to the floor one at a time.
“Thought so.” He kept his gaze fixed on the night beyond the windows. “I picked this room for the view. In the morning, you’ll see why. The lake’s beautiful, and the balcony is the perfect place to have coffee.”
Michael’s massive shoulders sank a little at the mention of coffee. “She loved iced coffee. Even on cold mornings. Always a mocha with vanilla crème and caramel drizzle. I tried to drink it with her a few times, but it was just too damn sweet.”
Jamison shook her head, trying to clear the lingering fog from her vision. But no matter how she focused, she couldn’t make the shadowed figure circling Michael go away. Her brain told her it was one of the women who kept following them, but it was impossible, even when the dark silhouette trailed its fingers along Michael’s shoulders while it swayed in the full moonlight.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Taylor wants a baby.” He smirked at the beautifully etched glass. “You understand that feeling, don’t you?”
She shifted, bracing herself on her knees. “That lunatic doesn’t deserve a baby.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, Michael Sinclair had the audacity to wink. “Agreed.”
Positive she hadn’t heard him correctly, Jamison opened her mouth to voice one of the many questions sprinting through her thoughts, but a knock at the door silenced them all, and she clung to the rustic wooden bed frame.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Jessica appeared, cradling a tray with two bowls of steaming hot soup and sandwiches on it. “I have your dinner.”
“Set it on the dresser.” Michael turned, crossing his arms. “Damon?”
Jessica placed the tray down carefully, then stood with her hands folded in front of her. “Fed.”
“Were you respectful, Jessica?”
“We only washed his chest and face. But... I think he needs to use the bathroom.”
“Bruce will handle it.”
“Do you want anything else from me?” Shuffling her feet, Jessica’s gaze flicked down Michael’s body. “I can help with her if you need me to. Or I can help in other ways. Taylor said you can’t have Jamison Fairweather tonight, but that doesn’t mean you should be alone.”
Michael took slow, deliberate steps toward the woman who looked so much like her partner in crime. With glasses and dark hair, Jessica and Krystal could be sisters, and maybe they were, which made their presence here all the more disturbing.
“Are you offering to have sex with me?” Michael asked, stopping just in front of her. “Answer me, Jessica.”
“I’ll do anything.” Jessica’s lips parted, her tongue darting out to lick them. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Michael sighed. “Great. Then get the fuck out.”
“But—”
Jamison’s eyes widened when Michael grabbed Jessica by the upper arm and shoved her toward the door. “Did I stutter? You said you’d do anything, so leave and stop sniffing around me, thinking I’m going to pity fuck you.”
