Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
The next time I wake up, I’m in my own bed, looking up at the shifting patterns on the ceiling, my body relaxed and satisfied.
There’s no sign of Caleb, apart from a business card on my nightstand.
Your next appointment: 10 am. Tomorrow.
CHAPTER 7
Caleb
Ashley is mine.
I knew it as soon as I saw her in the pickle aisle, but the logical part of my brain attempted to hit the brakes. Reason tried to stop me, warn me that people don’t fall in love in a matter of moments. Well, that’s what the fuck I did, so explain that. Puzzle it out. I saw her and my life’s plan altered itself, a new path laying itself out in front of me.
That new path includes disentangling Ashley from her husband.
The one thing keeping me remotely sane is that she only belongs to that son of a bitch on paper. Not physically. Not emotionally. Those are parts of Ashley that will be mine. Soon. She must take her identity and soul and needs back first, before she can give them to another person. I’m trying like hell not to rush the process of healing, but dear God, I don’t know how long I can restrain myself.
From kissing that mouth.
From holding her legs open and licking her hot little cunt.
From taking the decision to be with me out of her hands and simply binding her to my headboard, demanding she love me back.
Jesus Christ, I’m capable of that, aren’t I? I had no idea these tendencies were inside me. She’s unearthed them. Or created them out of thin air. The good, logical man I’m supposed to be is horrified by my thunderous obsession with Ashley, because this infatuated man wants to bend her to his will, while my conscience orders me to help restore her will. That conflict wages itself in my middle now, making my pulse hammer.
One thing that requires no debate is this, however: I’ll bury Waylon alive before I allow her to return to him. The two weeks she spent living in his home exist like needles underneath my skin. They turn my stomach. I should have found her sooner. I should have known my angel was out here in need of help. I resent the universe for not giving me a sign and guiding me to her sooner.
I’m here now, however, sitting in the driver’s side of my Bronco, watching her family through the front window of their farmhouse. It’s easy to see the mood is heavy, as one might imagine it would be after selling Ashley to a violent lecher. An older woman sits at the dinner table and stares straight ahead, not eating the food right in front of her. An older man rubs her shoulders, though he seems to know his comfort is useless.
I came here wanting to hate them for putting Ashley in a perilous situation, but they appear to be victims, too.
Not for long.
Taking my phone from the cupholder, I dial a detective friend back in Chicago.
“Luther, hey.” I close my eyes and see Ashley, peaceful and trusting in my arms, as I lay her down in bed. The warmth of her still lingers against my chest, my heart pounding pathetically from missing her. “I’m officially calling in that favor. I need you to run a background check on Waylon Collins, Lunson, Illinois.”
There’s a noticeable change in Ashley when I open the door of my office the following morning. Color dances in her cheeks. Her blonde hair is still fashioned in a braid, but it’s looser, a couple of strands having been teased free by the wind to frame her beautiful face. She wears the pea coat again. It’s not buttoned, however, giving me a glimpse at the pale pink dress underneath, the little pearl buttons that run down the center of her body. Between her tits. Resting against her pussy.
It takes all my self-control not to manhandle her inside and flatten her against the inside of my office door. To run my hands up beneath her dress and feel her curves, her smooth skin, my mouth finally, finally, experiencing her taste.
Patience.
You will have patience.
I told her in very clear terms yesterday that I want her. And she’s still came here of her own free will. I should be seeing this as progress from several different angles. I am. I do. It’s simply getting more and more difficult to ignore my severe hunger for this woman.
This married woman I plan to steal out from under her husband’s nose.
“Good morning, Ashley,” I say, striving to keep my tone even.
“Good morning, Caleb.”
I ease back and allow her to enter my office. She comes slowly, glancing up at me shyly from beneath her eyelashes as she passes. “Would you like me to take your coat?”
“Sure.” With her back to me, she shrugs the garment into my waiting hands, pinkness creeping up the side of her neck when I linger close to her a second too long. “Um.” I hear her swallow. “What are we going to do today?”