Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,49

the matter.”

She took a bite of the bar and nodded, sliding open the tall, gray and royal blue curtains. “Your room always has the best view.”

Ian hummed like it was no big deal. Every new view was a big deal to the girl who had seen very few views in her lifetime.

She took in the moment—the view, the fancy hotel room, the opportunities at her disposal thanks to Ian Cooper. Then she imagined it all vanishing for murdering him.

Prison.

Maybe the death penalty.

Did she care?

The greatest opportunity in her life was a chance at revenge. Not college. Not love. Not success. Vengeance for the Russells.

Revenge.

If Dena and Charles knew, would they understand? Would they be proud of her?

“Coop, can you even remember a time in your life that something took your breath away? I bet not. People who have always had everything can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to have nothing.” She stiffened, feeling him at her back, hovering over her, trying to taunt her with his size and authority, high on the false sense of power that she gave him.

“You think you know me, Jersey?” he whispered in her ear.

She sucked in a sharp breath as his hand pressed to her hip, sliding around to her stomach. Swallowing hard, Jersey nodded once.

“I don’t think you do.”

Jersey pressed her left hand to the window as her drumming heart made it hard to breathe. Ian’s other hand slid around her waist too.

“How much, Jersey?” His breath singed her skin, frying her nerves and making her dizzy. “How much did you miss me?” Ian slowly unfastened her jeans.

Her poorly concealed knife, shoved into the back of her jeans, fell to the floor. Ian paused, and Jersey glanced back at him. They grinned at each other.

Jersey’s lips parted, one breath chasing the next as his right hand slid down the front of her panties. She dropped the granola bar and pressed her other hand flat to the window. Could she let him do that to her and still keep her mind focused on the end game? She needed him close, needed him to want her with him, by his side, in his bed, wrapped around his life so she could find his truth and close the noose.

“Jesus …” Her forehead thunked against the window, eyelids heavy, conscience cringing with guilt. Was it okay for her to enjoy it? Was it okay for a killer’s hand to give her that kind of pleasure? She fought it, his touch, the building need in her body, the teetering edge of control. But he wouldn’t stop, so Jersey let him poison her with pleasure.

For several minutes the hum of the heater and their dueling shallow breaths filled the room. If he said something to her, asked her how she liked it, if she wanted him to stop, anything that felt nauseatingly familiar from her past, she would have pulled away.

But he didn’t.

When it was over, she kept her hands and forehead on the window, shoulders slumped. Ian slid his hand out of her panties and refastened her jeans. When he stepped back, she turned. His tongue grazed along his lower lip before he rubbed them together as if he needed to restrain his next words. And he did.

Jersey bent down and retrieved the knife and the granola bar. Picking off a few pieces of lint first, she took another bite, chewing with her mouth shut while shoving the sheathed knife back into her jeans and wearing a challenging expression on her unavoidably flushed face.

Ian rubbed a hand over his mouth several times, studying Jersey. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. I have a busy day.”

Jersey shrugged, glancing down at her granola bar before taking another bite. Was he waiting for permission? A thank you?

“So…” he scraped his teeth along his bottom lip “…Jersey two, Ian one.”

She choked for a second, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. They were keeping score?

Ian waited.

Jersey didn’t blink.

He waited some more, suppressing his smirk.

She slowly started chewing again and returned a single nod. When Ian seemed satisfied with her level of discomfort, he sauntered off to the bathroom.

“Do you have siblings?” Jersey shot Ian a question the second he emerged from the bathroom, hair wet, ripped jeans, black tee. Perched on his bed, she finished the second bag of chips from his basket of food and crumpled up the foil wrapper.

“You’re getting crumbs in my bed.”

“Brothers? Sisters? Childhood pets?”

“Thanks for asking if you could eat the chips.” He