Page 50 of Sweet Surrender

“Jase, you know that you don’t have to give me a rundown. You don’t owe it to me to tell me where you are every minute of every day.”

He pauses and something flashes through his eyes I can’t read. He softens his voice and says, “Yeah, well, I know what it’s like to wonder if someone’s coming home.” He shrugs. “It’s a habit of mine—good or bad.”

So many questions I could ask, curiosities I could satisfy, but I just nod and murmur, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He chuckles and then stills when he looks up before looking back down at me. “It’s not a bad thing to be informed.”

“I never said it was. I just don’t want you to feel like—”

And then without any warning, Jase leans over and cuts the comment short by brushing his lips over mine.

My lips shock open and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between them and meet mine.

It’s only been a few days, but the reminder of what his kiss tastes like and how it makes me feel comes roaring back like a tidal wave about to pull me under.

Thoughts evade me as I slide my hands around his neck, thread my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him closer to me.

I forget to breathe and that this is pretend because all I can see and feel and want is Jase.

And before I can fully process the plethora of feelings the kiss caused—desire, confusion, want, disbelief—it ends.

His smile is crooked and his eyes are dark with desire when he looks at me, as our labored breathing mixes with the sounds of birds chirping.

“Jase?” I ask when my synapses fire.

“Making sure we’re still good to sell this.” He winks and his words jar me.

“Oh. Of course.” My words sound as jilted as I feel. Can’t a guy give a girl a warning?

He takes a few steps back and scrubs a hand over his jaw as he stares at me.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“You may have been one of the most random decisions in my life, Cookie Cutter, but I lucked out.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because damn, girl, you can kiss.”

And without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back into the house. I stare at his distressed blue jeans and black T-shirt-clad back as he goes.

I’m never going to survive this.

Not when kisses like that are going to be the norm and me being left without any sort of relief is part of the plan.

Talk about torture . . .

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gizmo

“You realize you always have shitty timing when you call, right?” I adjust my hard-on in my pants as I stare out the window at the pool where I left Hendrix moments ago.

The urge to go back out there and finish what we started is real, but Nathaniel’s voice in my ear is like cold water splashed in my face.

And a reminder of what I promised him.

Regardless, and at my own discomfort, I accomplished what I set out to do when I went to talk to her, so at least there’s that.