Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(67)

How can he look so good covered in grease?

Without stopping to think about it, I let my hands run up his chest. Ridges of muscle play against my palms. He said he went easy on me last time. What would hard be like?

He’s waiting for an answer.

“Yes? No. I don’t know.” I search his face, then give a tiny shrug. “I just feel safe with you, I guess.”

Dirty blond brows lower, and I can’t help but smile at his consternation.

“Does that really surprise you?” I ask. I’m not sure what it is about him, but he makes me bold. I let my fingertips rub over a spot of engine grease on his thick bicep where it mars one of his tattoos. “I can’t imagine why. You’re strong.” I lick my lips and force myself to continue. “Attractive. You took care of me the other night, even though you pretended you wouldn’t.”

He glances away, jaw flexing, and mutters, “That wasn’t taking care of you.”

My chest twists, though I’m not sure why. Running on instinct, I lift on my toes and brush a light kiss across his check.

“Thank you for helping me, Jayk.”

His gaze swings back to mine, a deep, beautiful midnight blue. Something glimmers in their depths like stars, so unfathomably inside him, I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been soaking them in.

Red rolls into his cheeks, and he pulls back abruptly. He shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t get used to it or anything.”

My lips purse, though it’s more to hold in a snort of laughter than in disapproval.

“Uh-huh,” I hum through closed lips, and he glowers at me. Then I glance around the workshop, realizing I have a day to kill. I could spend it doing the few chores I’ve assigned myself, but I have zero desire to do anything else that makes me feel like their sexed-up maid.

The pile of laundry can wait.

My eyes linger on the washing machine that I would commit all kinds of sins to have fixed. That broken beauty belongs back in the house with the rest of the equipment.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s mine.

“Need a hand?”





Chapter 21


Eden


SURVIVAL TIP #173

Settling for less than you need

only guarantees a slower death.

T hud. Frowning, I ease my door open gingerly, looking down to see what I bumped. There, on the floor, is a glorious, embossed copy of Dracula. I pick it up with a hungry eagerness. It’s been days since Jasper last left me a book—since we had that entrancing and awful encounter in the library. Whenever I think of it, my stomach flips and churns all at once.

It’s Jasper’s “day,” and I’m so nervous I could heave.

Will he expect sex? Of course he will, won’t he? Lucky said he would set boundaries with me before we did anything . . .

but he’s a sadist. Can my boundary even be “don’t hurt me”? Where does that leave us? Will he want me to try, at least? Take off my clothes and let him chain me to a wall so he can whip me until I scream?

That’s what sadists do, don’t they? They whip?

I haven’t forgotten Jasper’s dismissiveness when I asked him for answers, or the cutting cruelty of his words in the library.

Yet . . . he brought me my dearest friends to keep me company when I was confused and alone—the one gift that could have made me feel at home. He listens so carefully, absorbs me so utterly in his attention, that after so many years of walking unseen and unheard through the forest, I’m turned real, turned flesh, just by the weight of it. Flesh that feels. Flesh that craves.

And he does have such lovely, clever hands.

God, I’m such a mess.

Ever since I left Jayk’s workshop last night, I’ve been plagued with worries. I fully expected today to reduce me to a puddle of nerves, except that I woke to Lucky staring at me with puppy-dog eyes, begging to spend the day with me.

Whether he’d forgotten it was Jasper’s day or simply didn’t care, the distraction suited me just fine. I let him drag me away to spend half the day giggling and cooking with him in the kitchen. I had half a mind to let him suffer for the trouble he got me in with Dom, except that he was moving so gingerly, I didn’t have the heart.

Dom apparently thumped him soundly—mostly because Lucky still hasn’t returned the bazooka from his hidey stash. I only hope that Dom doesn’t work out I know where that stash is. Let’s just say Lucky has more than a bazooka in there, and I will sing like a canary if he questions me.

Still, despite Lucky’s protests, I begged off cooking an hour ago and came back to my room to think.

Well, and to shower, since I was covered head to toe in about a dozen different ingredients.

I can’t procrastinate any longer. I need to make a decision.

Do I go and find Jasper to fulfill my end of this bargain? Or risk a refusal?

I turn the book over in my hands, and it naturally parts at chapter five where he’s bookmarked the pages with a simple note.

Chess in my room at 3pm.

Please?

—Jasper

On the first page of chapter five, he had—heartrendingly—highlighted several lines: “I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.”

Please.

Does that mean I’m getting lovely, bookish Jasper today? One who will talk with me freely about all the things they’re keeping from me?