Page 86 of Run to Me

“I’m leaving too. Let me grab my purse, and I’ll walk you out.”

Once I’ve locked the door behind us, I hand her some cash, which she counts before holding out two bills.

“You gave me too much,” she says.

“Please keep it. You deserve a big tip after being yelled at by my mother. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I understand the burden of having difficult family members.”

I’ve never been so curious about someone in my life. I want to root around in Ainsley’s past and find out more about her. No doubt, getting to know her would be equivalent to pulling teeth.

Her gaze slides to an old black sedan parked on the curb. When she notices I’ve followed her line of sight, embarrassment stains her cheeks once again. The car has definitely seen better days, plagued with a dent in the rear bumper and a cracked front windshield. Prolonged exposure to the sun has faded the exterior paint, and duct tape holds one of the side mirrors in place. Some might call it a hunk of junk.

Shifting on her feet, she says, “Thanks again for the water and the chat. And for hiring me.”

“No problem. Any time,” I say.

Something about Ainsley calls to me. It could be the kindred loneliness I sense within her, or her work ethic and desire to improve her lot in life. Or the wear and tear of her possessions reflecting the potential struggles she’s endured. I’m inclined to help her in some way—to be a friend if she needs one. At least for as long as I’m in Walford.

I blink, clearing my head of the instinctual thought of leaving again. I told Jensen I wouldn’t run, and I meant it. My mind needs a restart button to eliminate that line of thinking if there’s any hope of allowing myself to be happy here.

28

JENSEN

The television screen flickers in the dark house when I get home from work. Maisy’s curled in a ball on the leather couch, and the blanket wrapped around her covers most of her face. Either she isn’t aware of my presence yet, or she fell asleep watching the vampire movie playing on the TV.

I toe off my boots and approach on socked feet, my footsteps silent. When I drop to a knee, brush the hair from her eyes, and press a kiss on her forehead, she stirs. Her eyelids drift open, and she greets me with a sweet, sleepy grin that makes my heart swell. I have no defenses against her soft side. She rarely allows it to show, and I’d do anything she asked to catch a glimpse of it every day.

“I waited up for you,” she rasps, rubbing her eyes.

“You tried.” I stroke her curls as visions of coming home to her each night bring a smile to my lips.

She pushes herself to a seated position, and the blanket falls away from her top half, exposing a black silk camisole with lace trim. Her pebbled nipples tempt me through the thin fabric. I’ll have them in my mouth before this night ends, guaranteed.

I slip a finger under the strap of her top, teasing as if I might slide it off her shoulder. “Did you dress up for me?”

The demure role she’s playing is cute as she stares at her lap. “Maybe.”

I go along with her shy act, lifting her chin and pressing my lips to her pillowy ones. She’s not wearing makeup, and I’m certain it’s a tactical maneuver, a ploy to show she’s willing to be submissive. Our first night together, she discovered how much her natural beauty turns me on, and now she’s using it against me.

“Since you put in the effort, perhaps I should admire the full package.” I peel the blanket open, and her crossed legs follow suit, spreading to show off skimpy bottoms that match her top. Her breaths quicken when I slip my hands inside her shorts and grab two handfuls of ass. “No panties?”

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. I slide my thumbs toward her center and stroke the creases at the juncture of her thighs. A slight rock of her hips brings her closer to me on the cushion.

“We have some things to talk about,” I say.

She sighs, and I accept it as her acknowledgment of how poorly she’s treated me, shutting me out for days. I’d rather annoy her with my constant presence and unexpected appearances than give her a chance to run. She’s not getting away from me again. And her efforts to keep me at arm’s length, whether or not they’re intentional, end tonight.

“After.” Grabbing the back of my neck, she crushes her mouth to mine, her tongue demanding entry. I allow her to control the kiss and take what she needs from it. “I want you,” she whispers.

“Is that right?” I push the tips of my thumbs into her slick opening, earning a gasp from her. “Beg me for what you want.”

“Come again?” she asks, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“You’ve put me off for days. I’m not some fuck-toy for you to show up and use at your whim. If you want me to pleasure you, beg.”

Her head falls back on the couch, and she stares down her nose at me. Lust and stubbornness battle in her gaze, as well as a hint of irritation at not getting what she wants. Too bad. I refuse to let her take advantage of my physical desire for her. She has to learn to compromise, even in the little things, if we’re to have any hope of a successful relationship.