The Sweet Home Alabama Collection: Books 1-3 by Laura Trentham

Author:Laura Trentham [Trentham, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

12

The next morning, the sun slicing between the curtains and across the bed woke her. Jessica wiggled her toes, the light reflecting like snow off the white duvet. Under the covers, as if she might get caught, she ran her hands over her hips to her unusually sensitive breasts.

What would his big hands feel like on her breasts? Or his mouth? Her nipples peaked against the old concert T-shirt she had borrowed from Lilliana. A combination of endorphins and unsatisfied sexual energy drove her out of bed, wide-awake and itching to get the day started.

She slipped into clean underwear and dug out her red pencil skirt. The waist hooked, but the zipper was a quarter inch from closing over her hips. Dropping the skirt to the floor, she stood in front of the floor-length pivoting mirror and slowly raised her gaze to assess the damage.

Her breasts bulged from the top of her C-cup bra. The dip between her waist and hips was noticeably more pronounced, making her waist look smaller. Her stomach was still flat, but she’d better work in an occasional run if she wanted to keep it that way.

Her mother, who could make a fortune guessing people’s weights at carnivals, would be horrified. With one searing glance, she could tell when Jessica over-indulged. Between the pizzas, the decadent dinners with Logan, and the bowls of ice cream and drinks she and Lilliana shared most nights before bed while talking about everything and nothing, Jessica guessed she’d put on ten pounds.

Yet Logan had told her she was too skinny the night before. Jessica spun and checked out her butt. Maybe a tad bigger. Shockingly, she didn’t feel like crawling back under the covers. She raised her arms over her head and wiggled her hips. Her breasts shimmied. If his reaction on the porch was any indication, he wanted her no matter what her butt looked like.

Thin white scars spiked out from the top and bottom edges of her bikini-cut panties on her left hip. She took pains to keep them covered, and her few serious boyfriends hadn’t delved any deeper when she told them the scars were from a childhood accident.

She presented a challenge for men, but once conquered, they eventually moved on to less complicated women. Not that she blamed them. Her job was—had been—her priority, and in her experience, men required more ego stroking than she was willing to supply.

Things with Logan were different. Gawky and uncertain around him, she was the one who required reassurances, but her scars hadn’t even crossed her mind last night with Logan. She’d shared more of herself with him than she’d ever intended to. He seemed to understand her, not in the nodding way her therapist did, but bone-deep. It scared her. It excited her.

She grabbed a different skirt, tight but zippable, and her last clean silk blouse, the delicate fabric pulling apart over her bust. Either she would need to crash diet or buy new clothes. Working at Adaline’s probably pushed option one off the table.

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