Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) by Julie Johnson

Author:Julie Johnson [Johnson, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0167MT08W
Publisher: Julie Johnson
Published: 2015-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

My doctor told me eliminating my main source

of stress would lower my blood pressure.

I told him homicide isn’t legal yet.

Nathaniel Knox, describing the downsides

of removing Phoebe from his life.

The sensation of arms lifting me from the couch stirs me back into consciousness.

“Nyuuggghh,” I grunt. Adorable as always.

I feel a chuckle move through the chest I’m cradled against. “Shhh. Go back to sleep.”

My eyes open because, of all the times I could start listening to Nate’s orders, it’s not going to be this one, when he’s got his arms wrapped around me. There’s a tanned slice of skin two millimeters from my eyeballs. Hello there, source of all my nighttime fantasies…

“What are you doing?” I whisper to his throat.

“Putting you in my bed,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I blink hard.

The last thing I remember is telling Nate about the kidnapping. He wanted to know everything — the exact wording Cormack used, minute details about the landscape, the angle of my view of the Tobin bridge, the color of the barstool cushions scattered around the basement. Things I never would’ve imagined were important.

By the time I’d drained my Old Fashioned, my eyes were drooping closed and my brain felt limp in my skull from being so thoroughly picked apart. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, mid-interrogation.

“Is the cross-examination over, prosecutor?” I ask sleepily.

He chuckles again — a silent vibration that makes my body hum against his. “For now.”

I stare at his neck as he carries me, thinking this is the closest I’ve ever been to him.

It’s still not close enough. Not remotely.

His body bends as he sets me down on his bed. His hands are gentle — what a strange thing, Nate being gentle — as they pull the black duvet up over me. It’s still dark, but his eyes find mine.

“What time is it?” I ask.

He glances at his watch. “Almost five. Sun will be up soon.”

“I’m never going to be able to sleep, now.”

“Try,” he commands softly, tucking the blankets tighter around me.

Bossy, bossy, bossy.

Right now, I kind of like it.

His hands pull back. “You need anything before I go?”

I sit up, sending the blankets tumbling. Panic sluices through me. “Go?”

Very abruptly, I realize that I don’t want to be alone in the dark again. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

His eyes soften as they read the fear in my expression. “To the couch,” he clarifies gently. “I’m not leaving you, West. I promise.”

Something expands in my chest, when he says that with those dark eyes locked on mine. So steady. So sure. So safe.

I’m not leaving you.

Suddenly I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop myself. I fling my body forward and wrap my arms around his neck. The impact is hard – he jolts two inches back when we collide. I feel him freeze, uncertainty filling his every atom, but I don’t care.

My face finds that spot in the crook of his neck where muscle bunches and veins cord tautly, nestling in so we’re skin on skin.

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