Page 38 of Hart of Vengeance
My jaw nearly hit my lap. “Oh my God. What made you think of that?”
He chuckled loud and free. “I’ve been replaying that day over and over since I saw you in prison. And if I’m correct, you were thinking about it too. Weren’t you?”
Hell yeah.I’m thinking about how I gave you the best blow jobs ever and how we couldn’t get enough of each other.
“No.” My voice cracked.
His grin was evil and wicked. “Right. Your cheeks are so red, Jade. You want me as bad as I want you.”
My gaze dropped to his groin, but he had his hands in his lap. I would bet a million dollars those hands were covering the bulge in his jeans.
He laughed again.
The crying baby was off the charts, so the mom popped out of her chair, coddling her child.
The crying sound was what I’d needed to switch gears. “Do inmates pay for protection?” I whispered.
Denim lost his smirk. “Can’t we talk about the janitor’s closet?”
I understood that he was as horny as a dog in heat. Heck, it was his first day out. Then I sucked in a sharp breath. “That advice you said you wanted—does it have anything to do with getting laid?”
He arched a brow while one corner of his lips turned upward. “Are you hoping that’s why I showed up to see you?”
A delicious shiver racked my body.Yes.“No.”
“Liar.”
I sighed and looked away. Otherwise, I would jump on his lap or find a closet. “Tell me about prison life.” Sex with Denim was a great distraction, but talking about it wasn’t for prying ears.
He gently pulled my hand from my mouth. “You still bite your nails.”
I pushed out a shoulder. “Don’t change the subject.” Now I sounded like Mallory.
Draping an arm around the back of my chair, he leaned in. “I’d rather talk about sex.”
I crossed one leg over the other and squirmed in my seat.
“I’m getting to you,” he whispered, sniffing my hair. “You still smell like the beach. Mmm. I could—”
I pushed him away or tried to.
He didn’t move, licking his lips as he studied me. No doubt he was thinking of me and him having sex.Oh my.
Stop torturing yourself, Jade.
I cleared my throat, trying to remember what I’d asked him and came up empty. “It’s my fault Savannah is fighting for her life.”
He stiffened. “Why do you always blame yourself when it comes to her? You did that in high school. It drove me insane then, and it still does.” His husky tone turned flat. “Your sister is her own person. You can’t change her.”
I stuck out my chin. “She wanted money for protection. I didn’t know whether to believe her. She begged me to ask Duke.”
“You didn’t.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a Duke fan.”
He dragged a hand along his stubbled jaw. “Anyone inside has to watch their back. It’s not that much different in prison than on the streets. Gangs, power plays, and enemies exist inside. It’s worse, though. Out here”—he waved a hand at the window behind us—"you can run and hide. Inside, you have nowhere to run except behind a person you trust to have your back.”
Well, crap.“Did you need protection?”
