Page 72 of Jessica's Hero
“Kane.” She turns her head to kiss my jaw.
“Yes?”
“I really love you.”
“Jess. I love you, too.”
She pauses. Traces a little heart on my chest with her finger. “Thank you for making this the best birthday ever.”
“Sweetheart.” I roll her nipple between my fingers. “We’re not done yet. I’ll get you a snack, and then I plan on making you come at least three more times.” I stop. “Unless you’d rather go to sleep?”
Jess glances at the clock on the nightstand before smiling at me. “No way. It’s only ten. I still have two more hours of birthday left.”
“Good.” My hand moves between her thighs, lazily stroking. “I’m going to enjoy giving you a few more gifts, then.”
Her smile broadens. “That soundsperfect.”
CHAPTER 15
JESS
I can tell from Kane’s face that whatever he’s about to tell me isn’t good.
Instead of the easy smiles he usually gives me, this one is thin and strained. Fine lines are etched between his eyebrows, and his jaw is tight and working.
If his expression wasn’t enough of a clue, his outfit would be. Instead of the sweats and T-shirts he typically wears in the evenings, he’s in what I call hisnon-uniformuniform—tailored gray pants and a dark blue button-down—that he wears when he has to go into the station but isn’t on duty.
Considering that we’re supposed to be in for the night, it’s enough to set my inner alarm bells ringing.
Kane isn’t supposed to be heading back to the station after his eight-hour shift. He’s supposed to be home, enjoying the chicken pot pie I’m cooking and thenspending the rest of the night cuddling on the couch while we watch a new action movie he’s been wanting to see for weeks.
My stomach, which had been previously grumbling in hunger, shrivels into a desiccated pit. That familiar tightness bands around my chest as my old enemy, anxiety, descends. The light, optimistic feeling I’ve been enjoying ever since my surprise birthday celebration this past weekend falls flat.
“What’s wrong?” I ask before Kane can say anything. I set the knife down on the cutting block midway through chopping vegetables for our salad. Then I hide my newly-trembling hands behind the kitchen island, hoping he doesn’t notice them.
Kane advances across the kitchen and over to the island, where he pulls me into his arms. His lips graze mine before he pulls back to meet my gaze. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replies, but the tone in his voice betrays him. It’s too tight. Too artificially light.
“Kane.” I frown at him. “Something has to be wrong. Why else would you be heading out now? Two hours after your shift was over?”
Then that niggling insecurity creeps in, whispering silently,Are you being too nosy? Too pushy? Do you have the right to ask him questions about his job like this?
But we’re dating. Not just dating, but in love. Kane’s told me so at least fifty times since this weekend, after those precious words spilled out for the very first time. And I’m living here, albeit temporarily. Shouldn’t that give me some right to ask where he’s going?
Kane hesitates, and my nerves ramp up from a dulljitter to a full-blown explosion of butterflies in my belly. “Nevermind,” I mutter while my attention dips to the half-made salad, inspecting it with the intensity of a surgeon. As I wait for his response, I catalog every flaw in the vegetables, from the dent in the cucumber to the browning edge of a piece of lettuce.
“Stop,” Kane commands, gently, but firm. He touches my chin, lifting my head to look at him again. “You’re imagining the worst, and you shouldn’t be.”
In a small voice, feeling very unlike the strong woman I’m trying to be, I ask, “But you’re leaving. Can you tell me why? Or… is it none of my business?”
Kane stares at me for a moment. Then he hugs me to him again. “Of course it’s your business, sweetheart. You’re my girlfriend. And we live together. Do you really think I’d just leave without telling you why?”
“I don’t want to be that girl,” I explain. “The one who’s always quizzing her boyfriend about everything. And… it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… once your shift is over, you’re home for the night. So if you’re leaving again, it makes me worry.”
“Everything’s fine,” he replies. “And I’m sorry to leave while you’re making dinner. Trust me, I’d rather be here, enjoying that delicious smelling pot pie and watchingDriving Towards Dangerwith you.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense,” I can’t resist commenting. “If there’s danger, why would you drive towards it? Wouldn’t you go in the opposite direction? Call for backup?”
He smiles, smoothing out the wrinkles between his eyes. “Not if you’re a badass cop turned vigilante crimefighter and you’re trying to rescue your girlfriend who’s been kidnapped by a sinister car smuggling organization. Then you’d head after her, no matter how dangerous it is.”
