Page 23 of Chasing Wildflowers
“Goodnight, Wildflower.” His voice is low and rough.
His eyes stay on me, heavy and unyielding as I walk to my door.
Once inside, I lean against the door, replaying the night. The bar, Luke’s smug face, Jameson’s effortless dominance.
Luke is a fucking asshole.
And Jameson…
I don’t know what to think about him. He’s intense, and I feel like he can see right through me. Something about him flares a warning inside me. I just don’t know if it’s danger or lust.
My eyes trace over the card still clenched in my hands. The strong, independent woman and the one who wants to be treated like a princess are warring inside me.
I roll my lip between my teeth, thinking about how he handled Luke. His effortless strength, his smirk, that near-murderous calm…it’s in the top five hottest things I’ve ever witnessed.
As if I need another reason to be attracted to him.
I hate the reaction I had when I thought he had left town. The ridiculous ache I felt in my chest. The way I looked up every time the door opened, hoping I would be met with his steely gray eyes.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all. Because every time he looks at me, I forget why I promised myself never to fall again.
Ten
Lane
Taking Back Sunday’s “Cute Without the E”hums softly from the jukebox as I stand behind the bar, singing along as I stock the beer cooler. The metallic clink of bottles sliding into place punctuating the melody.
The door opens, causing my stomach to twist. That’s weird, I distinctly remember locking it behind me.
“I’m sorry we aren’t open yet, but if you just give me a second, I’ll be right with you.”I greet, not looking up as I place the last few bottles in the cooler.
The lock clicks into place, slicing through the music. My spine goes rigid and warning flares go off like fireworks.
“By all means, take your time, Ceciley.”
All of the blood drains from my body, the music fading into the background. I would know that voice anywhere. My ex-husband.
My dead ex-husband.
I turn slowly and am met with his icy blue stare. No, no, no. He can’t be here. He’s dead. I shot him.
My heart threatens to explode out of my chest as I look around for help or an escape. I find neither.
We are all alone, and he stands between me and my only exit, wearing a smug smile as if it’s an accessory to his three-piece suit. Pure arrogance.
He takes a menacing step toward the bar, and I take one back. My pulse thumping loudly in my ears, fear clawing at my throat.
“Did you really think you could kill me, Ceciley?” he demands, his voice cold. Devoid of emotion.
I peek at the bar top, calculating. If I can just make it over and to the door, I can get away and yell for help. I can save myself instead of reverting back to the helpless woman I used to be.
His eyes scan the bar, his nose turned up in disgust. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? That you could hide away in this little shithole forever?” His attention shifts back to me. His eyes rake down my body, leaving behind a greasy film on my skin. “You are my wife, my property. I own you, Ceciley. It’s time to come home where you belong.”
I stay silent, waiting for my moment.
He stops at the end of the bar, eyes locked on me like a predator sizing up prey. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Ceciley.”
I launch myself over the bartop, skin catching across the smooth surface, and scramble toward the door, quickly flipping the deadbolt and yanking it open. It slamsshut, Byron’s hand holding it closed. Blocking my escape, trapping me.
