Suddenly His - Jessa Kane Page 0,15

become a tangled quagmire I have no idea how to straighten out.

For one, I should not have an excited hamster running on a wheel in my stomach over seeing Jack Lincoln again. He’s a bad man. A terrible employer, according to my mother and our pathetically empty bank account. A man who buys women. A man who breaks his promises. So I shouldn’t be mentally selecting my outfit for the day, wondering what would melt the glaciers of his sharp blue eyes. I shouldn’t be short of breath wondering if he’ll touch me again with total possession, total control.

My body still carries the memory of last time. His tongue learning the secrets between my thighs—secrets even I didn’t know. His two fingers roughing in and out of me. The words he said, the way his neck and jaw strained, eyes intense. Riveted on me. How sinful it felt to wrap my legs around him and surrender to the friction between us, even with an audience watching.

How at the end…I slowly stopped minding the men watching at all.

I’m not the reserved girl I thought I was apparently. When I select books to read, I usually tend to avoid the more explicit ones, but since Friday, they’re all I’ve been craving. I’m reluctantly anxious to find out more about who I am around Jack. I’m also on edge because I have no idea what’s coming. Or even how I’ll respond.

Something happened between us Friday night and now I’m left with a serious thirst for the man while also wanting to give him another couple of smacks across the face.

It’s all very confusing.

After patting my skin dry, I put on some mascara and colored lip gloss, brush out my hair and go get dressed. Again, I surprise myself. When I normally would have put on a sensible pair of pants and a sweater, I opt for a short, clingy dress with a daisy pattern, buttons running up the center and stopping right between my breasts. Looking in the mirror, I turn to the side and smooth my hands down the slopes of my cleavage, over my hardening nipples. I continue moving south, scrubbing my palms low, across my hips, lower into the V of my thighs.

I’m gathering the hem of my dress in one hand, sliding the fingers of my opposite hand into my panties when I hear footsteps approaching. Familiar ones. They belong to my mother.

Quickly, I try to appear normal. And not like I was about to touch myself.

“Maisy?” She opens my door without knocking and leans her head in, her expression weary as usual. “I’m leaving for the day. You can fix yourself dinner later before your shift?”

“Yes, Mom.”

She turns to leave.

I chew my lip for a moment, then follow her.

There is something that has been bothering me since Friday night. In addition to this whole awakened hormones business, it’s another reason I’ve been staring up at my ceiling all night when I should be sleeping.

My mother has been cleaning the Lincoln estate for over a year. She’s been complaining about her salary equally as long. But try as I might, I can’t seem to imagine Lincoln being stingy. And I really want to believe he’s a miserly employer, because it will give me more reasons to be angry with him, but somehow penny pinching just doesn’t fit with his personality. Throw in the fact that he dropped ten million dollars for my company and something doesn’t seem right.

Right before my mother can walk out the door, I stop her. “Mom?”

She pauses with one foot over the threshold. “Yes?”

“Um…” I pick imaginary lint off my dress. “I’m just curious. How much did you say Jack Lincoln pays you?”

A corner of her mouth ticks down. “Why?”

“No reason. Just…” I think fast. “Wondering if it would be more profitable if I cleaned residences, instead of the school and offices.”

“Oh.” She relaxes a little, but still hedges when it comes to giving me a figure. “Let’s just say he pays me a lot less than I’m worth.”

With a quick smile, she’s out the door. But my sixth sense continues to buzz.

I hesitate only a moment before sitting down at the kitchen table and firing up my mother’s laptop. It takes me three guesses to come up with the password to her online bank accounts…

…and the numbers in front of my eyes, the amount of the deposits, namely, make my head spin. No, this can’t be true. This can’t—

There’s a knock on the door.

Thinking