The Best Man (Jasper Falls 2)

Her moans shattered into cries of pleasure as her body trembled beneath him, delicate shivers rippling over her flesh as her pliant limbs quivered. His name passed her lips with breathless surprise, as if she were stunned by the things he could make her feel. He coaxed out every drop of pleasure until the tension in her body melted away, and he held her in his arms.

She slowly looked up at him, her eyes heavy with lust and curiosity, her lashes full and so perfectly feminine. He cradled her bare shoulders, and her breast caught the moonlight piercing the dark. She was a goddess.

When she shivered, he pulled the discarded shawl over her arms and lifted her fully onto his lap. She said nothing, but the weight of her cheek resting against his chest, said it all. She felt safe with him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, silently vowing to take care of her. His body ached with selfish desire, but she was his first priority. He seemed to have a primal need to make her feel safe and get her to trust him again.

They would take things as slow as she needed. As long as she questioned her own judgement, his words would carry little weight. But he could show her he was different. He’d show her there were good guys in this world. Men who valued women, respected them, and would never actively do anything to hurt others. He would be the best man she could find.

Chapter 9

Julie shifted, her back burning hot and her front freezing cold. But the stiff, smooth surface she slept on was not her bed. Her eyes opened as memories from the night before flooded her mind.

They were in the bookstore. She must have fallen asleep. Peeking over her shoulder, she found Pat sleeping soundly at her back. His arm looped possessively over her waist and dust motes danced in a beam of light seeping past the bookcases from the front windows.

Carefully lifting his arm, she momentarily wondered when he became so muscular. She scooted a few inches away and quickly righted her dress, unsure what to do.

Her mind continued to replay the things he’d done to her the night before and her cheeks heated. This was Patrick Clooney. Her sweet childhood best friend. She couldn’t quite equate him with the man sleeping beside her, yet they were one in the same.

She meant what she told him, that she didn’t trust her own decision-making right now. But last night had felt right. Being with Pat came so naturally, she wondered how she had never viewed him as more than a friend before. Yet there had been something foreign in the experience, something strangely pleasant she wasn’t used to. The things he did to her, the way he made her feel… She blushed at the thought. Lance was never that attentive.

She chewed her lip. The thought of facing reality after her breakdown last night overwhelmed her. Before she realized what she was doing, she stood, found her keys, and rushed to the front door, only to draw back at the last second, when she spotted people out front.

She ducked behind a bookcase and spied through the soaped windows. What were they doing just standing there? Then she heard the lock jiggle, and she gasped.

“Shit.” She ran back to where Pat slept on the floor. “Get up!” she hissed.

He groggily roused, then bolted upright—his red waves flipped against his usual cowlick and his expression confused then he smiled. “Hey.”

“People are out front. They’re trying to get in here.”

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, moving too slow for the crisis about to unfold. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”

“Pat, focus! People are literally trying to open the front door, and I’m pretty sure we weren’t supposed to sleep here. Is there a back door?”

They didn’t have time for pleasantries. The whole town thought he was engaged to her sister. And she hadn’t told anyone, aside from Jo and Pat, about her and Lance. They had to get out of there.

The sound of the front door pressing open bolted him into action. He was on his feet and rushing her toward the back as a woman’s voice approached from the other side of the tall shelves.

“Luckily, we always keep a separate key at the office. You’re actually the second person I’ve shown the property to this week.”

Pat raced into the back, holding her hand in an unbreakable grip. A steal bar exit door hid behind stacks of boxes and he cursed, shoving them so fast they fell with a loud clatter.

“Hello?” the woman, who she assumed was the realtor, called. “Is someone back there?”

Pat slammed down the bar, and the door opened, blinding her with morning sunlight. He jumped the boxes first, then turned back to lift her over the mess of cardboard and books. Her heart spiked in her chest at the sense of being rescued. They ran down the back lot and dashed into the first alley they found.