Not Without You by Clare James

Author:Clare James [James, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Amazon: B00TGOS7LU
Barnesnoble: B00TGOS7LU
Goodreads: 24938867
Publisher: C.J. Books
Published: 2015-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

I spend the next week trying to dig up any dirt I can on the Richardson Organization. There has to be a way to keep them out of Minneapolis and away from Tabby.

So far my research hasn’t amounted to much. It’s been one big goose egg.

Jenna offered to make some calls from her real estate office, but we hadn’t exhausted all resources yet, so I had her hold off. Though I’m considering doing something soon to make the problem go away because Foster’s been acting like he’s been put into a pressure cooker and he’s ready to blow. I’m worried he might cave and tell Jules.

When I get home, our place is quiet and empty; Tabby is still out.

Perfect.

So I continue my sleuthing until I hear her keys jingle. Quick to close down the suspicious sites on my laptop as she opens the door, I smile when she walks in.

My heart still speeds up every time I hear her open the door. I still can’t believe she’s living with me. A gush of bitter air blows in. What started as the perfect spring has turned gray and cold.

I put my laptop down and turn around. Tab peeks her head around the door. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, with her pink cheeks and gray beanie, her blond hair falling around her shoulders.

I wait for her face to sour. For the last month, this place has been nothing but tension and frustration so damn tangible you can feel it. Thick and heavy. It’s made me so claustrophobic, I can only imagine how Tab feels. But instead of grimacing or looking away, she smiles. Soft and so achingly sweet. I stand up and move to pull my glasses off.

“Don’t take them off,” she says, walking toward me. “I love you in these nerdy things.” She wiggles them on my face.

The tension in the room thins, dissipates. It’s that easy. That’s the kind of power she has over me.

She slides out of her coat, revealing one of the tiny dresses she wears to rehearsal. The top is like a second skin, covering her chest and stomach before flowing out into the lightest skirt that stops at the tops of her thighs. Her legs are covered in footless tights. She’s every part the tiny dancer, so graceful. So pure.

She wouldn’t like that assessment, but that’s how she looks to me—like a damn angel.

I pull her beanie off and her hair stands up in every direction from the static electricity. I smooth it down, and she grabs my wrists and wraps them around her neck. Her hands tuck around my waist, under my shirt, and she rests her head on my chest.

“Dance with me?” she pleads—as if I’d ever deny her.

“Always,” I say before giving us a beat. I hum a slow melody, not even sure what it is, really. Probably a combination of a hundred different songs.

I let my hands drop down the length of her back. My fingers trace over

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