Текст книги "Middle of Knight"

Автор книги: Jewel E. Ann

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

He slid his glasses down to mirror her serious look. “Yes. My mom gave me one.”

She smirked. “It’s probably the same one she and your dad wrapped around their wet naked bodies last night.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Time to swap.” She leaned over and kissed him, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. “You suck at this,” she mumbled against his mouth. Then she pushed her gum into his mouth.

“What are you—”

“Give me your gum.” She teased his upper lip with the tip of her tongue, beckoning him to give it to her.

He shoved it in her mouth. The nasty watermelon taste almost ruined his favorite flavor—Jessica Day.

“You never swapped gum with a girl, did you?”

“Sorry.” He shrugged as she sat back in her seat.

Jessica sighed. “The first time I swapped gum was with a girl in fourth grade.”

Luke almost choked on his gum. “What?”

“Tina Reeves. She was “going with” a fifth grade boy. A rumor had been floating around that he was planning on French kissing Tina after school. She freaked out because she hadn’t ever kissed a boy, let alone French kissed. So I offered to teach her.”

Luke raised his usual skeptical brow. “You’d French kissed someone by the fourth grade?”

“No … not until Tina.”

Jessica’s unpredictability never ceased to amaze him.

“But I’d seen it in the movies. It basically looked like two people trying to swap gum. Fifteen minutes in my bedroom with a Madonna CD and two pieces of grape Hubba Bubba later, Tina was quite the French kisser.”

“How generous of you.”

“Anything to help out a friend.”

The woman before him had singlehandedly taken the life of a serial killer one unforgiving cut at a time. Even on their blind date when she bit him in the closet, she wasn’t a killer. He never knew that Jessica. All she had ever wanted to be with him was the Hubba Bubba girl who liked skinny dipping, wet dog kisses, and apparently Staples. Luke knew he would spend the rest of his life, giving her that life—giving her back her innocence.

“I’m starving.”

He nodded, not realizing how long he’d been staring at her. “Let’s eat.”

They spread out the blanket on a large boulder with a beautiful panoramic view of the lake.

“Which part of the blanket do you think hugged your dad’s balls?”

“Probably two inches from the part that flossed his crack.”

“Oh my God!” Her eyes grew wide. “I can’t believe you said that. How very un-Jones of you.” She laughed. “I fear I’ve tainted you.”

They sat side by side on the rock with their legs dangling off the edge, sandwiches in hand. Jessica nudged his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Skinny dipping, waiting by the register at Staples, swapping gum … letting me experience life with you.”

“The experience is mine.”

With a furrowed brow, she looked up at him. “What are you experiencing?”

He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “You. You’re the greatest experience of my life.”

She shoved a bite of sandwich into her mouth and mumbled over it like the well-mannered lady she’d never be. “That’s just … sad for you.”

Luke watched her look out at the lake. He didn’t miss the glassy tears that attempted to pool in her eyes. Would she ever feel worthy of true, heart-stopping, soul-shattering love? He hoped so because it’s all he had to give her.

*

Her favorite doctor had been right: surrendering took as much strength as it did control. Every day she gave him a piece of her past in exchange for his future. As much as she wanted—needed—his love, accepting it took practice. A voice in her head kept reminding her to just “shut up and let him love you.”

“The day will come that I don’t want to kill Trigger, right?”

Luke sucked in a slow, deep breath. “I hope so. Maybe it will be the same day I care if Fran dies.”

Jessica tilted her head, resting it on his arm. “You care. You just haven’t let yourself feel it yet. Feelings are who we are … actions are what we’ve become. I became a killer. I just have yet to feel bad about it. But I hope to God that someday I do. Killers don’t feel remorse. If that day comes … I’ll finally be the woman you see. I’ve caught a glimpse of her in your eyes, and I can’t help but envy her.”

Luke twisted around and hopped off the boulder then offered his hand to her. “It’s funny how we don’t recognize our own reflections, but the one thing about them is they never lie.”

Taking his hand she jumped down. “Dr. Jones, you should have majored in philosophy. On a more positive topic … what’s your theory on me driving back to your parents?”

“I don’t have a theory, just a fact.”

“Really? Enlighten me.”

“You will not be driving my car.”

She made a horn-like buzzing sound. “Wrong answer.”

He folded the blanket and grabbed their empty bags then opened the trunk.

“Let me enlighten you. I’m going to strip, and ride your cock on the hood of your shiny red GTO, not giving a damn what passersby think until you—”

“Yeah all of that.” He gestured to his arms full with the big blanket and the lunch bags. “Would you grab the first aid kit? I scraped my ankle on the rock over there.”

She looked at the little box with the red cross on it. With a huff, she leaned into the trunk to reach it at the back, squirming until nearly three-fourths of her short stature was inside.

“Fuck!” She fell … no she was shoved into the trunk and he closed it on her. He. Locked. Her. In. The. Trunk.

“As much as I like you riding my cock, and in spite of last night’s bonding with my parents, I’m not an exhibitionist. And I just put a new coat of wax on her the other day so I’m not going to leave my ass print on the hood.” He knocked twice on the trunk. “Hope you’re not claustrophobic, but if you are, I’m pretty sure I just bought you some electric pillar candles in one of those sacks. They should take the edge off. Hold on tight, I’ll go slow.”

“Die. YOU. WILL. DIE!”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Knight

1 Timothy 2:12

Jillian stared at her phone as the sun peaked over the horizon. AJ struggled to get to sleep the previous night, refusing to take any pills until after they’d had sex—sex that felt like making love, sex that gave her so much heartache and guilt. Luke was gone, she tried to tell herself, but he really wasn’t. Jessica died. Luke lived. Would it have been easier to move on had he died? Had Luke moved on? Had he made love to another? The ghost of the woman she once was couldn’t bear the thought, but Jillian Knight wished him a life filled with a wife who embraced his quirks and maybe someday little Joneses tearing his orderly life apart in the best possible way. She hoped her four-legged baby would live out the rest of his life in a house full of people who understood him the way Jessica had.

To avoid waking AJ, she perched in a chair outside the tent, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for her one-bar wireless service to return an answer to her biblical verse search. After churning in cyber circles the answer appeared on her screen.

“I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.”

“Fuck that,” she whispered to herself. Her finger hovered over the forward button as she contemplated sending the message to Jackson.

“Jill—”

She clicked off the screen and unzipped the front of the tent.

“Goddammit! AJ?” He lost consciousness and his body began to wrench in muscle contractions. She dropped to her knees beside him, watching in horror. There was nothing else she could do. It took less than two minutes that seemed like an eternity, and then he went completely limp. Her lower lip quivered between her teeth as she pressed her fingers to his neck. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard, finally feeling his pulse.

“I can barely keep myself alive … I can’t do this,” she whispered, collapsing onto her side next to him.

After a few minutes he came to, focusing on her eyes with confusion in his.

“You had a seizure.”

“Sorry.”

Jillian huffed a small laugh. “You just up and left without anything, didn’t you? What is this? Am I here just to watch you die?” The bitterness bled through her words.

“I was dying with them … I’m living with you.”

“Well, then it’s a shitty way to live. You need some anti-seizure meds or something. I can’t watch this every day.”

“Take me back.” The defeat in his voice hurt worse than watching his body lose control.

“I’m not taking you back.” She crawled out of the tent, grabbed her phone, and walked toward the main road for privacy and better signal.

“I’m still getting texts.”

McGraw’s cynical laugh greeted her on the other end of the line. “Then let me bring you in. New identities, new location, maybe even a sex change. I always thought you should have been a guy.”

“Is that why you buried your cock in my ass?”

“What the fuck do you want?” On the outside he’d perfected the tough-guy role, but Jillian—Jessica—always ignited the fuse on his patience.

“AJ needs his anti-seizure medication.”

“Do you have a prescription?”

“No. He didn’t bring any with him.”

“You’re dreaming, little girl. I’m flattered you think I’m God, but I’m not. I can’t just thumb through a PDR and find him the right medication.”

“Clearly you’re an old fuck who hasn’t been to the doctor recently. Welcome to the digital age where everyone’s entire life, including their medical records, can be accessed online.”

“You’re asking me to break into the hospital’s database?”

“I’m not asking. Message me with the pharmacy information.”

*

Jillian and AJ continued south with her drug dealer on speed dial. Each passing day AJ seemed to be doing better. Jillian would have been skeptical had AJ himself not acted a little shocked. He admitted the doctors said radiation was a wait and see situation. She insisted he still take his medications, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d repeatedly sold her soul to the Devil, or vice versa, to get them.

“You’ve been gone a while. How long is Jackson going to let you gallivant around the country with me?”

Jillian grinned, keeping her eyes trained to the miles of Texas highway before them. “I occasionally check in with my parole officer … can you say the same? Besides, I told you Jackson’s too busy courting your ex-cleaning lady.”

“Courting?”

“Yes. He’s decided it’s time to marry and populate the world with little Knights. Pun intended.”

“I think she’s close to my age and maybe has a teenager or something. Shouldn’t he be courting someone in their childbearing years?”

“I like Ryn and I should land my fist in your junk on her behalf for making her seem old and barren. Not to mention she’s worked for you how many years? And you think she “maybe” has a child who FYI is twenty-one—a daughter.”

“She was my cleaning lady, not my psychiatrist.”

That hit so close to home.

“And honestly, I rarely saw her. Most people aren’t home when their cleaning lady comes, and she only came twice a month. She actually did more odd jobs for me. I don’t mind scrubbing toilets and running a vacuum, but laundry, dusting those stupid mini-blinds, light fixtures, and cleaning my fish tank…” she felt him glaring at the side of her head “…that’s the stuff she did for me and it didn’t require an exchange of personal information.”

“I think when you ask someone to wash and fold your tighty-whities there really should be an exchange of personal information.”

AJ shook his head. “It was more sheets and towels, occasionally my uniform or ironing some shirts.”

“Good to know … I thought she must have been pretty desperate for work. Anyway, I hope it works out. I’d love to be an aunt. I’d be the coolest aunt ever.”

“Is that enough?”

“What do you mean?” She stole a quick, sideways glance.

“Don’t you want to be a mom?”

“I feel like we’ve had this discussion.”

“I feel like you’re afraid to admit what you want, or maybe you’re even afraid to want it at all.”

“I don’t want you to die. I’m not afraid to admit that. I want a romantic date with cloth napkins. I want to always be on top when we have sex.”

The last part was a lie. Jillian realized her list of wants turned into her needs. Her deepest truth: she didn’t want everything she needed or maybe she didn’t want to need it. Needs were weaknesses.

“You’d be an amazing mother.”

She guffawed. “How can you even say that with a straight face?”

“Your compassion equals your strength, and you’re the strongest person I know.”

“Well, it’s a moot point. You can’t have kids and I choose you.”

“But—”

“I. Choose. You. And don’t you dare talk about the fucking cancer. You’re better … we’re better.”

AJ sighed, gazing out his window. “We’re better,” he whispered.

*

If he loved her, he’d let her go. AJ couldn’t get that thought out of his damaged mind. Jillian loved him and she let him go with a simple thank you. He blamed his selfishness on the tumor … by that point he blamed everything on the tumor. How much of her life could he steal and still feel like a man and not an inconsiderate bastard?

“How do you feel about ice cream?” She slowed, pulling into the dinky parking lot of an ice cream shop with a few picnic tables in front.

“I feel like you want some.”

“I do.”

That smile. When they first met he never imagined one day having a long list of traits he loved about Jillian Knight—quite the opposite. Life was nothing if not unimaginable. The woman was real. She never faked anything, not a single word, not a single smile. Every ounce of her being screamed, “Take me as I am.”

Hence the selfishness. If life was short, then AJ’s was less than a breath from ending, so he wanted to end it with something real.

“Let’s get ice cream then.” He smiled back at her.

“I hope they have dipped cones.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the window.

“I’ll have a twist cone dipped in chocolate.” Her eyes beamed as if all her dreams just came true.

Who was this woman with the innocence of a young child dying to escape?

“Small vanilla in a cup.”

“What?” She looked at him with wide eyes. “What he means is a hot caramel sundae with pecans.”

“I do?” He looked down at her.

“You do.” She pressed a kiss to his arm as he handed the lady a twenty.

They took their cool treats to the picnic table.

“We should stay here for the winter. I bet Omaha sucks in the winter.”

“Can’t be any worse than New York.”

She paused with her dripping cone at her lips. A moment later she nodded. “True.”

“Hurricane season is over. We should head to the Gulf and find a little shack to rent.”

“Shack?”

“We don’t need much.”

He was looking at everything he needed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do the laundry and dust the blinds.”

“You clean?” AJ couldn’t hold back his incredulous response.

“As needed. We might have to negotiate the definition of need. I have this feeling yours may be a bit more stringent than mine.”

He nodded, taking a small bite of his ice cream. “Were your parents wealthy?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Work seems to be an option for you, not a necessity. You live in a nice house, drive a brand new Harley, drop a couple thousand dollars on camping equipment, and for that first week I’m pretty sure you paid for all the gas and the hotel room expenses. Unless you stole my credit card from my wallet.”

Jillian licked her ice cream and chocolate covered lips. “Hmm … I never thought about stealing your wallet. Total oversight on my part.”

“I’m serious.” AJ pushed his half-eaten sundae toward the middle of the table. His appetite was still off.

“They weren’t wealthy, but they had money in savings, a house that was paid off, and pretty good life insurance.”

“Well you’re young and you should be putting that money in savings or investing it, not spending it on me.”

“So you quit your job. Where are you getting the money?”

“Savings … my house if it ever sells.”

“You don’t need to sell your house now.”

“Jillian …”

“What?” She shrugged, keeping her eyes on his ice cream that she decided to finish off.

“Look at me.” He took the cup from her and held both of her hands, squeezing them until she surrendered her gaze to him. “I can’t … I won’t pretend with you. I just want your now for as many days as I have. Because now—this moment—is all I have to give. It’s yours. I’m yours. Please just let it be enough.”

She looked at him without a single blink. Finally her head moved a fraction. It looked like a nod, a very small acquiescence. “You have ice cream on your nose.”

AJ wiped his nose then looked at his hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nope.”

He looked up just as a spoon filled with caramel and ice cream collided with his nose. Jillian’s shoulders bounced as she bit her lips together and snorted a laugh.

“Funny?” He narrowed his eyes.

Cupping a hand over her mouth, she nodded.

“Stop.” She tried to twist from his hold as he lunged over the table, locking her head between his hands while he rubbed his nose all over her face. She gave up the fight when his lips took hers.

Fate used his heart as a punching bag every time he touched her, a painful reminder that it could be the last touch, the last kiss.

“Aric James …” she whispered over his lips.

“Shh … now. Nothing else matters.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lady Gaga blared through the speakers about her Nebraska guy as Ryn gripped the ballet barre. Her leg muscles ignited into a fiery burn under Val’s drill sergeant orders. She welcomed the pain because her Nebraska guy was off. The. Charts.

“Coffee?” Val wiggled her brows at Ryn after the rest of the class left the building.

“I don’t know I—”

“Sorry. It sounded like a question didn’t it? I meant we’re going for coffee because you owe me the latest scoop. I’m in a dating funk right now. I need to know there’s life after divorce.”

“Sorry, I’m on a tight schedule today.”

“Just say it. You’re going to have hot sex with that boy because he likes the taste of your sweat.”

Ryn pushed on the front door and turned back. “Please don’t call him a boy. I’m drowning in enough insecurity.”

Val laughed. “Next week. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Ryn nodded and rushed out the door, digging through her purse for her keys as the cool fall breeze whipped her hair in her face.

“I love that my wife works hard to keep her figure.”

She froze, feeling nothing but fear pounding against her chest. Preston’s smug bastard face greeted her as she lifted her gaze. He wore his usual custom-tailored black suit, leaning against her car door with his ankles casually crossed as if he owned the world, as if he still owned her. Ryn held up her phone.

“You can’t be here, so leave before I have you arrested.”

“I want to apologize.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Apologize? This better be about Maddie. How dare you lie to her and make her think I was ever crazy and suicidal.”

He smirked. “I’m not apologizing for that. That’s between you and Maddie. I’m here to apologize for your birthday. The whole passing out thing.” He chuckled. “You know the funny thing about that … the last thing I remember is that thug you brought putting his hand around the back of my neck and squeezing. He say anything about that to you?”

Ryn shook her head.

“I did some looking into him. It’s like he didn’t exist before moving to Omaha. Where did he say he’s from?”

“He’s none of your business.” She reached for the door handle.

He didn’t move. Instead, he bent down and whispered in her ear, “He’s fucking what’s mine so that makes him my business.”

“I’m not yours.”

He pushed off the door and slid on his shades. “Semantics, sweetheart. I’m just telling you something’s not right about him so watch yourself.”

*

Mrs. Baker reeked of all kinds of wrong. Jackson followed her home after her last lesson. She lived in a small split-level house surrounded by a jungle of weeds in a run-down neighborhood. Children’s toys cluttered the front yard like she ran a daycare out of her home. Through his binoculars, he watched her get out of her car, go inside, and come back out fifteen minutes later wearing baggy ripped jeans and a flannel shirt—a fashion world away from the expensive clothes she wore to her lessons. But it wasn’t her clothes that made his blood run toxic through his veins, it was her red hair. Had she been wearing a wig? Certain that at least on some level she could be a liability, he decided to plan her removal.

Fate, however, granted Meredith Baker a stay of execution when she missed her lesson to visit a friend in the hospital. Knowing she could be plotting his death, or even Jillian’s, had him on edge the entire following week. Ryn fell victim to his nervous energy. All their lessons on self-defense turned into fuck fest on the mat. He fucked her hard and often, hoping the release would ease his impatience, but it didn’t. It just left the woman he felt certain defined love in a constant state of confusion and physically exhausted to the point of avoiding him for days in between.

All of that was about to change as he lined the back of Woody with plastic. Jillian hated knives, but Jackson found them to be quite effective. He didn’t enjoy the kill—that’s how he slept at night. There was never any sort of high or adrenaline rush. It was a job. Remove the threat.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Baker was more than a threat. There was no way she worked alone, which meant he would have to drag the information from her. That’s why he needed the knife. The quick neck snap was more his thing, but the threat of it rarely garnered much information. Evil people weren’t afraid to die, but they didn’t like pain.

From the garage he heard a car pull into the driveway. He slipped back into the house and grabbed his knife from the kitchen table. He had another lesson in an hour. There would be no time to waste on meaningless chitchat.

“Ryn.” He tried to sound excited to see her as he strained to see if Mrs. Baker had pulled in too.

“I know you have a lesson, but I need to talk to you. Do you mind if I wait here until you’re done?”

“Uh … or I could meet you at your house?”

“Well I’m already here so …” She looked at his hand. “You’re holding a knife … a scary-looking knife.”

He looked at his hand as though he’d forgotten about it. “I am.”

“You’re not planning on killing anyone, are you?” She grinned.

“Ha. Well, now that you’re here I’m not.” Jackson gave her his sexy grin and winked while slipping it into his back pocket.

Ryn shook her head as she stepped inside. “Seriously. What are you doing with a knife?”

“I’m … changing the batteries in a clock. It was easier than looking in Jillian’s tool chest for a screwdriver.”

“The tools belong to Jillian?”

“She likes working on cars and motorcycles. I like working on computers which don’t require anything with the word Craftsman on it.”

She pressed her finger to the taped center of his glasses that were supposed to keep any spurting blood from getting in his eyes. “You’re such a geek.”

He grabbed her hand and bit her finger. “Watch it, hot pants.”

The doorbell rang, the daunting reminder that Mrs. Baker would live to see another day.

“I’ll wait downstairs. Maybe practice some pull-ups.” She leaned up and pecked his lips before slipping around the corner.

“Mrs. Baker.”

“Jackson.” She beamed her flirty teeth-covered-in-lipstick grin at him as she stepped inside wearing expensive everything—right down to her Manolo Blahnik shoes.

He inspected her head to see if it was her real hair or if the red hair had been a wig. “You have a bug in your hair.”

She rolled her eyes toward her brows as he yanked on a few strands of hair. The delayed “ouch” confirmed that it was a wig.

“Sorry.” He smirked. “Got it.” With a flick of his fingers he sent the nonexistent bug flying absolutely nowhere.

“That’s fine.” She eased her hand over her wig. “Is that Jillian’s car in your driveway?”

“Why do you ask, Mrs. Baker?”

She took a seat at the piano. “Just curious I suppose. If it’s not hers then you might have company.”

“You’re my company, Mrs. Baker.” He slipped the knife under a magazine on the table and walked toward the piano giving her the you-should’ve-been-dead-by-now stare.

She averted her eyes. He grinned at the thought of how easily she would squeal like a pig, spewing out everything he needed to know before removing her from the equation. A necessary casualty.

“I’m not company. I’m your student.”

Jackson sat in the chair next to the bench, resting his ankle on the opposing knee. “You are. So please…” he gestured “…let me hear your progress.”

She played each song with perfection. Too much perfection. Mrs. Baker was his only student who practiced, although he suspected she knew how to play before taking lessons with him, in spite of claiming to be a novice. At the end of her thirty minutes he told her to have a good week—her last week of course.

After replacing the knife in its leather sheath in his drawer, he took a deep breath to expel the anxiety before going downstairs. If he didn’t control his sexual urges with Ryn, he could scare the mother of his children away before he had a chance to implant them inside her.

*

Ryn braced herself for the sexual hurricane that she knew would come tearing down the stairs at any moment. Jackson had ripped the zippers off two pairs of jeans, disintegrated four pairs of panties, and broken the clasp on her newest bra. She couldn’t even complain about him being selfish because his first stop was always between her legs. Lips, tongue, teeth, and she was gone. Every. Time.

“I started my period.” The words came out so fast it all sounded like one long word instead of four.

Jackson paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Jillian probably has something in her bathroom.”

“No … I just mean I or we can’t … you know.”

He smirked then nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, pulling the waist down to tease her with the wide band of his sexy briefs. “Is that what you needed to tell me?”

“No.” She laughed at herself. It had probably sounded like that was her important news. “Preston was waiting by my car for me when I came out of barre class this morning.”

“You need me to kill him? Done.”

“No. Well, it’s not a bad idea, but I’m certain that would guarantee I’d never see Maddie again or you for that matter because you’d be in prison.”

The corners of his lips curled like he had the best secret ever. She trusted him, ninety-nine-point-nine percent. Yet that point-one percent held her heart captive in the hands of fear. Would she ever be completely free of that fear?

“I’m not happy that my ex-husband thinks you’re his business, but after you sent him to the hospital on my birthday he’s taken it upon himself to make you his business.”

Jackson shrugged. “Then tell him to call me and we’ll set up a business meeting, but until then he needs to stay the fuck away from you, or I’ll be the first one to make contact and it won’t be in the way of a phone call.”

There it was—that point one percent.

“I can call the police if it becomes a bigger issue.”

“I’m sure they’ll slap him on the wrist. They might even take away his favorite toy for a month or so.”

“Whatever, that’s really not my point. My point is that Preston did some looking into your past and he said it’s like you didn’t even exist before Omaha. Don’t you think that’s kind of odd?”

“Yes. I think it’s odd that your ex-husband is looking into my past.”

Ryn tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not what I mean.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes a mere millimeter. That minuscule change in his expression, that may not have been anything more than a muscle twitch, left Ryn feeling guilty for bringing it up.

“So I haven’t left my fingerprints all over my past. So what?”

Coughing out a sarcastic laugh, she gawked at him. “Fingerprints? What are you, a killer?”

“Do I look like a killer?” He smirked.

“I don’t think killers have a certain look, personality maybe, but not a look.”

“Well, if you think I have a killer personality then I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Ryn shook her head, unable to keep a straight face.

“What do you want to know?” He moved toward her with slow predatory strides that sent tingly goose bumps shooting up along her skin.

She retreated, the thick mats under her feet mixed with that look made it impossible to balance. Her back hit the wall, saving her from stumbling, but trapping her in his larger-than-life presence as he wet his lips.

“Do you want to know my favorite color? The first girl I kissed? How many comic books I owned? The longest book I’ve read?”

Gulp.

“Yes,” she whispered, embarrassingly breathless.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Blue, like your eyes.”

He kissed her right ear. “Stephanie Mills, third grade.”

He kissed her left ear. “Three hundred and seventy-one. Batman was my favorite.”

He kissed the hollow area in between her collarbone, circling his tongue around it. “The Bible.”

“No way.”

He nodded while unfastening his jeans.

Ryn swallowed hard, her body stiff. “M-My period.”

Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, he bit it with a chilling intensity as he stroked himself. “Don’t worry. That’s not where I’m going to put it.”