Page 84 of Into These Eyes
The way he’s running his thumb over my knuckles has me thinking about all the assistance those fingers can give me.
Like touching me.
Everywhere.
His eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. Flustered, I quickly withdraw my hand and reach for my phone.
“Well,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “give me your phone. I’ll set you up with my grocery app so you can do all the food shopping. That’ll save me time.”
Although he’s reluctant, he lets me install and log into the grocery app. When he gets up and clears the plates away, I log him out of his Uber app and log in as myself, so whatever trips he has to make will be charged to my account. He might be mad when he figures that one out, but it’s nothing to me. I don’t live an extravagant lifestyle, and I’ve never had to pay any rent, resulting in quite a large savings account that barely gets touched. I’m more than happy to spend some money.
Especially if it keeps him close.
I’m just unsure if I need him here because I want to feel safe, or because I want to feel something else entirely.
Chapter 26
Gavin
Keeping my eyes closed, I stretch in the double bed, loving the fact I can do that without my feet hitting a hot tin wall. I haven’t slept this well since I was a teenager. I’m just not sure if it’s due to the comfort of a great mattress, or because I’m needed.
Eager to start the day, I throw back the covers, sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, and I curl my toes into the thick carpet. As I glance around the room, I take taking in all the space,including a desk where I can sketch in private. Standing, I roll my shoulders and stretch my arms overhead, pleasantly aware that my hands don’t come anywhere near the ceiling. Total luxury.
As I go over everything Jamie said to ease my battered pride last night, I wish the circumstances where different. If I was here because … well, if I was her partner, I’d still do everything she needed me to, but I’d also have a real job. That’s what would make me feel like I have any goddamn worth.
I release a long sigh. I can’t entirely kid myself. It’s pretty fucking awesome not having to endure another minute sweltering in that oppressive oven, though that comes in at a distant second.
It’s the knowledge that I’ll see her every day that has me buzzing with hope. Hope that I shouldn’t entertain.
I’m simply here to make her feel safe in her own home. And cook for her. And do whatever she wants. I just need to get over myself and believe her when she tells me I’mmore than, that my presence has given her back her home. That’s something. Not enough from where I’m standing, but it’s all I have.
Grabbing my duffle bag, I unpack my clothes, and as I place them in the chest-of-drawers, I’m hit with a wave of relief. Relief that I stood my ground when Benny tried to convince me to pack the gun. I don’t believe for a second that he’s eager for Reid to try to hurt Jamie, but he left me with no doubt that he thinks there’s nothing wrong with taking advantage of the situation.
It took one of our most heated arguments to convince him that secretly bringing a gun into Jamie’s home was not only a violation of her trust, but would land me back in prison and her in a shitload of trouble. My Corrections officer can conduct a search of the home I reside in at any time. While I don’t know the consequences of finding an illegal firearm in a lawyer’s house, I imagine it wouldn’t be good. And for me, it’s a serious paroleviolation. Benny eventually relented, but he sure as shit wasn’t happy about it.
After transferring my sketchpad to the desk drawer, I pull on a t-shirt and pair of track pants, grab my shaving kit, and open the door.
A little uncomfortable, I pause on the threshold and listen, not sure where she is, or if I’ll be invading her privacy or routine while she gets ready for work.
When only silence greets me, I pad across the hallway and close the bathroom door. After brushing my teeth and tidying up my beard with the clippers, I clean up the mess, then head down the hallway, eager for a coffee.
The moment I step into the kitchen, I freeze.
She stands at the coffee machine, her back to me, wearing a white figure-hugging camisole and matching boy-leg boxer briefs. Which completely throws me. When the wind at the beach had whipped up her dress, she’d worn lace panties that were on their way to disappearing right up her crack. Deciding to help her instead of standing back and enjoying the show that day, was quite a battle. Though I’ve pictured that incredible arse in those lace panties a million times since, what she’s wearing now is just as sexy. They might come down to the tops of her thighs, but fuck me, they cup her arse like a second skin, showing off every muscle flex as she flits about the kitchen counter, blissfully ignorant that she has an audience.
I should announce my presence, but hold off, unable to stop observing her while she’s unaware, while she’s moving freely without an ounce of self-consciousness. I mean, it’s not really my fault. She invited me to live here with her, so she’s aware we’ll run into each other. And she has every right to wear whatever she wants in her own home. If she likes getting around dressed in next to nothing, who am I to complain? She can’t expect menotto look.
Unfortunately, I’m not a total creep, so I lean against the breakfast bar and clear my throat.
She startles, whirling around to face me. And holy fuck, her breasts sway beneath that tight camisole. Damn. No bra. It’s impossible to drag my gaze away, impossible to miss her nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric. I wonder if they’re reacting because I just scared the shit out of her, or because I’m staring right at them.
When she crosses her arms and cups her breasts, my mind goes straight to how they’d feel in my hands. It’s one hell of an effort to keep from grinning like a fool. While my mouth manages not to betray me, the sight of her tight little body and the way she’s touching herself like that, has my dick ratting me out.
“Sorry,” I mumble, finally raising my eyes to hers. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She lets out a huff and gives me a sheepish grin. “Not your fault. I didn’t think you’d be …” Her eyes flick to my crotch, “up yet.”
Clearly the thin track pants I’m wearing aren’t doing anything to hide my growing erection. Shit. Trying to cover myself now seems a little pointless and a little too much like it might matter. Thank fuck the boxer-briefs I have on underneath prevent the embarrassment of a full-on tent situation.
