Pulled Under: a standalone Walker Security novel by Jones Lisa Renee

Author:Jones, Lisa Renee [Jones, Lisa Renee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Julie Patra Publishing
Published: 2017-11-27T16:00:00+00:00

I blink awake to sunlight and the scent of Asher, a heady combination that has me caving to the heaviness in my limbs, and the call of more slumber. I shut my eyes again and snuggle deeper into the luxurious sheets and comfortable mattress and Asher except—wait. I open my eyes again. Where is Asher? I roll over and my hand hits a piece of paper. I grab it and read: Downstairs, drinking coffee and working. Your shopping bags are all in the bathroom.

I glance at the clock and read: one twenty-five. My eyes go wide and I jolt to a sitting position. I slept until one twenty-five? No wonder I have to pee so badly. I throw off the covers and dash across the room to the bathroom, where I first answer nature’s call, and wash up. My bags are on the counter and I open them and dig out a toothbrush and toothpaste, and quickly brush my teeth. I open a drawer to find a brush that I use to untangle the mess on my head. I set it back in the drawer, and stare down at Asher’s razor and various aftershave products, the intimacy of being here, in his bathroom, replaying his words in my head: Don’t get close to anyone. Don’t bring women here. Not to my home. Not to my bedroom. Ever. I tell women up front. I fuck. I don’t fall in love.

He doesn’t bring women here, but I’m here. He doesn’t fuck women that he considers his duty. He doesn’t fall in love. I need to make sure I don’t foolishly fall without him. I pat my cheeks, trying to keep myself firmly planted in that reality. Images of the prior night start running through my head, and working against that goal: the passion. The deep connection I share with this man, which is terrifying and wonderful, all at once. Falling asleep in his arms had been—oh God. I grab the sink. I said Devin’s name. I thought we’d be together when we woke up, we’d talk about him and what to do next. What if he’s already talking to other people about this? We’ll all end up dead.

I turn to the door and Asher is standing there, fully dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt that contrast the bright colors of his tattoos, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His blond hair tied at his nape. His green eyes simmer with heat and the intimacy of the night before, while a cup steams in his hand. “Caffeine?” he asks, lifting the cup slightly.

I have a moment that is an out of body kind of experience. I flash back to a similar moment with Devin standing at the bathroom door. He’d been equally as good looking, Mr. Tall, Dark and Debonair, in a tailored suit and tie. But he wasn’t holding coffee. He was holding a jewelry box because that was how he apologized for his verbal bashings. This time, I was a broken woman who couldn’t even bear a child.

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