Powerless (Chestnut Springs Book 3) by Elsie Silver

Author:Elsie Silver [Silver, Elsie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780349437712
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2023-02-09T18:30:00+00:00

I emerge from the bathroom in a puff of warm steam. My skin is pink and raw from how hot I had the water, from how hard I scrubbed my skin.

I feel like I scalded an entire layer of myself away in there. Found a little kernel of strength hiding underneath and latched on to it. Decided I won’t be the girl who goes along with what everyone else around her wants.

I’m going to speak up.

I’m going to get comfortable disappointing other people to avoid disappointing myself.

I won’t apologize for doing things the way I want to do them.

I’m ready to be unapologetically me and let go of the people in my life who don’t approve of the person I am now.

Jasper’s head snaps up, eyes dragging down my body and the small white towel I have wrapped around my torso. He doesn’t bother dropping my gaze or hiding the intense look of want that paints his features.

And I decide to revel in that. The petty part of me hopes it hurts. I hope he feels a fraction of the longing I’ve felt for him while he sat around, not telling me why he’s stayed so close and so far away all at once.

“Shower’s all yours. Bathroom lock doesn’t work.” I hike a thumb over my shoulder and walk straight toward my duffel bag that’s beside the atrocious little cot I’ve told myself I’m going to sleep on.

I’m not sure what point I was trying to prove. The new me would make Jasper sleep on it, but one look at him and his hulking frame tells me that isn’t an option.

I love him too much to do that to him. And he likes me too much to say no.

God. We’re so fucked.

“Thanks.” I hear him move across the room, the floorboards beneath the tightly woven carpet creaking as he lumbers past.

I try to force myself not to turn and check him out as he goes.

But I fail.

Miserably.

I let my eyes wander over his broad, toned shoulders, the way his muscles ripple in his back as he walks. The indent down the column of his spine. The grayscale tattoos that wrap around his arms and a lone one that peeks out on his ribs. I can only see it because he lifts one arm and runs a hand through his hair, but it looks an awful lot like . . .

No.

I shake my head and turn back to my bag. When I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, I drop my towel and quickly slide into a pair of black Calvin Klein sleep shorts and a tight black tank top. No bra. My breasts aren’t big enough for it to matter. This stretchy material presses them into place without issue.

I sit on the cot, and a spring pokes my ass through the flimsy mattress. It’s fine. I didn’t torture myself in pointe shoes for years to be put off by a minor discomfort.

As I lie back on the squeaky cot, the glimpse of Jasper’s tattoo keeps popping up in my head.

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