His Ransom 4 by Aubrey Dark

Author:Aubrey Dark [Dark, Aubrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-03-31T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

It was the day Jake was supposed to leave, and I had the strangest feelings roiling around in my mind. As I pulled on my black jeans to get ready quickly, I tried to figure out what had me so uneasy.

I’d never slept with another man before, but I’d had boyfriends. None of them, though, had ever aroused the kinds of feelings in me that Jake did. He pushed me to the edge of my limits in every way. He made me uncomfortable. And yet, I couldn’t help falling in love with him. When he touched me, my heart sang.

I thought that maybe Jake was in love with something else, an idea of me that I couldn’t live up to. Today, meeting with this art collector, I was determined to prove to him that I deserved his love right back.

Of course, I couldn’t prove how responsible I was if I was late waking up. The art collector was coming here, to Jake’s studio, to see my paintings. And I hadn’t even gotten dressed yet.

Jake had already taken a shower. He came out wearing one of the slim black suits I’d gotten used to seeing him in. He insisted that they were charcoal gray, but even as a painter I didn’t really care about the color of fabric. All I knew was that he looked smoking hot.

“Lacey!” he cried, when he saw me half-dressed. “I thought you were going to get up while I got ready.”

“I kind of fell back asleep,” I said, smiling apologetically.

“Aren’t you going to wear a dress?”

“Black jeans are classy enough,” I said, hiking the pants up over my curvy hips. Jake slid behind me and cupped my ass. My heart fluttered in my chest.

“Oh, Lacey,” he whispered. He gave my ass a squeeze. “Okay, okay, the artist is always right. At least wear that blouse I got you.”

He rummaged in my drawers and pulled out the top he’d bought me on one of his random shopping trips. It was a pastel orange—no, coral—and the sleeve caps spilled over my shoulders in twisting spirals of fabric that served no purpose at all except to irritate me. Jake knew me well, but he didn’t know anything about my taste in clothing.

“Don’t forget shoes. Those black heels,” he said, pulling them out. I sighed and began strapping on the silly, impractical shoes.

As a tomboy, I’d been dedicated to living my life in jeans and a hoodie. If you had told ten-year-old me that I’d be wearing a frilly Easter Egg-colored blouse over black jeans and heels, I’d have thrown up in disgust.

Somehow, though, Jake had convinced me that dressing up was okay. Maybe it was his hands running over my body as I got dressed.

“Shoo, Jake,” I said, Now, as I pulled the blouse over my head and arranged the frills over my shoulders with consternation, I thought that maybe it was true love that drove me to wearing such ridiculous things.

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