Page 15 of Chasing the Flame
That changed the minute I watched Jettson’s gaze track the movement, his expression turning bold and sensual. His irises lit like fire, snaking down my body possessively.
Someone, I’m assuming one of his crew members, calls out to us, but the sound is muffled and incoherent. It doesn’t matter. I can’t focus on anything but Jettson’s steady gaze. He sucks in a breath, biting his lower lip before whispering under his breath, “Beautiful, fucking perfect.”
I blink, sure that I misheard him. A slow smile slithers across his face, his eyes burning with such intense desire that it steals my breath. My thoughts rage, my mind and heart at war.
I have got to back up and gather some distance between us. I shouldn’t encourage his attention, especially not in front of his crew. This is a recipe for tragedy. Deep down in the back of my mind, I know exactly how dangerous this is—how it willendif I’m not careful.
My hands tremble against his chest, and his grip tightens around my waist, firm but not cruel. I want so badly to lean into him, to rest my head against his chest and let Jettson hold me.
The intensity of the pure need behind that thought scares me.
In the end, a voice cuts through the haze, “Didn’t you hear me? I have the rest of the siding. We can get started around the back of the house.”
I jump back several feet, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. Jettson stares at me for a moment longer before answering, “Yeah, I heard ya. I was just asking Mrs. Blackthorne’s opinion on the paint color for the door.”
The lie tumbles quickly from his lips, and I swallow hard, feeling like something is lodged in the back of my throat. Words spill from my lips, rushing out in a whoosh, “The green you used for the shutters is pretty.”
He smirks, clearly loving that I’m struggling to string together a single sentence. Flustered and slightly annoyed, I huff, “Don’t you need to get busy?”
The grin that spreads across his lips is feral and wicked, shooting another tingle down my spine. “Yes, ma’am, I probably should get busy. I came to tell you we were here in case yourhusbandforgot to mention it.”
I’m filled with a sense of excitement, and the way he bites out the word husband has me in a chokehold for some ungodly reason. It’s almost as if he can’t stand Luke, either.
Goosebumps ripple across my flesh, and my breath hitches. Damn this man! I nervously bite my lower lip, and his gaze darkens. Desire burns again, a tether that keeps us both rooted to the spot.
He looks me up and down, lingering longest on my chest. His eyes flash, and I can tell he’s itching to say something. Whatever it is, it has a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Finally, my mouth seems to work again, and I speak before he can say or do something we’ll both regret. “He did remind me this morning. I should go. I’m sure he’s called by now. Please, don’t let me keep you. Should you need anything I'll be in my office, just let yourself in. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
With those final words, I dart past him, rushing toward the front door like flames are licking my heels. Shutting the door behind me, my heart races, and I’m suddenly short of breath. The voices of the men are muffled, but I still hear it clear as day when one of them says, “Looks like the boss has decided to fuck around and find out.”
The deep chuckle that booms in the background sends another wave of embarrassment shooting through me. My cheeks are burning, and I know I’m soaked at just the thought of the way he looked at me. Then, the memory of what I said comes crashing over me. The implication of my words sets my whole body aflame.
I slide down the door, mortified and confused by my conflicting emotions. I put my face in my palms and grumble, “Averie, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
After embarrassing myself earlier, only to realize that Luke hadn’t called, I’d thrown myself into setting up my office. As soon as I got started, my phone rang. A frantic-sounding mother was on the other line, a solid reminder that I must consciously check in more. She’s starting to worry a little too much, and I don’t want to add to her stress.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her, but Luke seems to get annoyed at my mother’s gentle prodding and questioning. It’s easier to talk to her when he isn’t around, as much as it pains me to admit it. He always seems to make things worse, and I know Mom doesn’t like him. No, Kathryn MacKinnon has made it abundantly apparent that she tolerates him, and after the last year we’ve spent together, well...
I can’t say that I blame her.
Sighing, I rummage around in the last remaining box, trying to decide if the keepsakes are worth keeping.
I’m distracted from the conversation with my mother, Jettson’s quiet mannerisms, the strange noises, and the irrational thoughts that keep clouding my mind. As I mindlessly sift through the items, my gaze takes in the rectangular-shaped room, settling on the white walls and hardwood floors. I love the dark wood accentuating this space, and I can tell that the old fireplace on the left wall was well-loved. I smile at the thought, grabbing a few knick-knacks from my last box and settling them on my desk.
I’ve managed to arrange everything to my liking. My laptop rests in its usual spot on my desk, and my favorite books now line the built-in bookshelves that grace the left wall. Sunlight is pouring in from the huge bay window, framed by the black curtains I’d hung earlier.
My favorite part of this room is the plush, emerald-green nook tucked into the window, where I can see myself writing or readingsome of my favorite novels. I haven’t felt this kind of peace since Luke took the job and moved us here.
I frown, remembering the day Luke told me about this job relocation. Something about it bothered me, and looking back, I don’t remember him being up for a promotion. Still, truth be told, I have no idea how we ended up here. It seems silly to think this power plant plays such a crucial role in the Blackthorne’s business plan.
So many questions burn in my mind, but I’ll never ask them. I learned not to ask stupid questions three years ago. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the night Luke broke my arm. So, it’s no surprise I wasn’t exactly kept in the loop.
I rub the spot on my left forearm, massaging the sore muscles around my wrist. Pain that still lingers due to his abuse. Luke wouldn’t let me seek care immediately for the injury, insisting it was only a sprain and that he didn’t break anything. After a day with it wrapped and excruciating pain that caused me to collapse, well. He was forced to take me to the hospital.
I’ve never felt so ashamed.
The memory is a sore spot that has me shaking a little as the memory haunts my mind. That was one of the first nights Luke showed signs of aggression toward me.
