Page 93 of His Good Girl

I typed with numb fingers.

Me:Come over.

Her reply arrived instantly.

Jules:Wine or weapons?

Me:Both.

Jules:That’s my girl.

I locked the phone and leaned my head back against the seat. I closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw his hand closing in my hair. I opened them again.

The driver, mercifully, did not speak. The city rolled past in long streaks of light and wet pavement. Somewhere, women were leaving work with nothing more complicated than a mild resentment toward their email inboxes. Somewhere, a person had a normal boss and a normal godfather.

I did not live in those somewheres.

I lived in the back of a quiet car with my lips tingling and my body still humming from a soul-searing kiss from my godfather-boss. That was the worst part. Callum had not crossed the line like a careless man. He had shown me the line and asked if I wanted to step over it instead.

Once I got home, I did not feel any less out of sorts. I locked the door behind me, then leaned back against it and touched my mouth.

Bad idea.

The memory of his kiss came with a vividness that nearly made my knees buckle.

His mouth over mine, firm and deep. His hand in my hair, not hurting, but not gentle either, holding me in a way that made every sensible part of me shut up and step back. His body against mine. The hard, undeniable proof that he wanted me too.

I pushed myself off the door, walked to my bedroom, and stripped out of my work clothes mechanically, folding nothing, and dropping everything in a heap on the floor. In the bathroom, I turned the shower cold enough to qualify as a personal attack and stepped under it with a gasp that echoed off the tile. It did not help. Or maybe it helped too much. The cold made my skin tighten, made me aware of every place his hand had not touched. My neck. The bare skin beneath my blouse. The place between my thighs that still ached with a low, humiliating insistence.

“Normal evening,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

I shampooed and conditioned my hair. I washed my face. I got out, put on pajamas, and ordered Thai food because Callum had told me to eat something and it turns out that I was in an obedient mood.

Jules arrived twenty minutes later carrying a bottle of wine, a bag of gummy candy, and a black tote.

She took one look at me and dropped everything on the counter.

“Oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Oh, honey.”

“Do not ‘Oh, honey’ me.”

“You look like someone from the tenth century who just discovered electricity.”

“I hate that you’re always accurate.”

“I’m never always anything. Sit.”

“I ordered food.”

“Good. Trauma likes food.”

I sat on the couch because she pointed at it. Jules opened cabinets until she found glasses, poured wine for both of us, then sat cross-legged beside me and waited.

“What?” I asked.