From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two

by Amy Leigh Simpson

She pried her lips away, surrendering to the nauseating effects of the concussion. An excuse. A safe one. And though she was now sitting on the bed next to him, she could still feel his body heat lingering on every inch of her skin beneath her pajamas.

  She was still breathless when she spoke. “You really have to stop rescuing me.”

  His chest heaved in sync with hers, and the dazed look on his face melted into a wicked grin. “I’m finding I have new motivation.”

  “I’m serious.” She couldn’t help but smile, contradicting her words.

  “Well somebody’s gotta do it. And if this is the reward, it better not be anyone but me.”

  Without thinking, she reached out and touched his cheek. “I’m sorry I hit you again. You’re always sneaking up on me.” Drat, must stop touching him!

  She tried to draw back, but he caught her hand and pressed each of her fingertips to his lips.

  Oh my. “W-Why are you in my be—my room?”

  “Doctor’s orders. I need to rouse you to consciousness every couple of hours.”

  “Hmm, you just prescribed yourself into my bed. Pretty crafty, Carson. Unfortunately, I think your medication gave me a fever.”

  Still in possession of her hand, he tugged her forward, his eyes smoldering. “I can help you with that.”

  She managed to pull her hand back and stay several inches away—baffled by how it was both too close and too far at the same time. “How, by setting the sheets on fire?”

  He wagged his eyebrows in response. And while the thought of “burning up the sheets” should have given her a hellish flashback to her burning bedroom, she instead flashed forward to a different kind of burn entirely. A heat she knew she couldn’t stand. For several reasons.

  She delicately cleared her throat and went for a diversion. “But really, you need to stop taking care of me. A girl could get used to this, and then what?”

  “I’d think you’d be plenty used to being waited on by now.”

  Burn. And there it was—his opinion of her. It still hadn’t changed. “You don’t know me as well as you think.” She crossed her arms.

  “I know your daddy already sent over a shiny new Mercedes Benz G-Class SUV. Keys were on the counter, and the in-your-face pretentious tank was on display outside when I got here last night. Couldn’t be all that tough having everything handed over on a silver platter.”

  After the smack had landed, his face went slack, like he couldn’t believe his mouth had dumped out his thoughtless words without permission.

  But that didn’t ease the sting, much. And she was tempted to slap him all over again and return the favor.

  Finn was a jerk. And a player. How could she keep forgetting? A heated look from those drowning eyes, a hard physique, a skilled tongue, and a morsel of attention, and she’d fallen like every other vapid little hose hussy. Or was it badge bunny? Gah! Either way, she was disgusted with herself.

  “I couldn’t care less about the stupid car—you know what? Forget it. I refuse to sit here and justify myself to you when you certainly never did that for me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Temporary insanity. But your mind is obviously made up, so go ahead and show yourself out.” She flung her hand toward the door, but he caught it again and firmly cradled it in both of his.

  “Prove me wrong.” His eyes pleaded—daring her to spill it all. As if he concocted this whole ruse in her moment of weakness to wheedle out the missing pieces of the puzzle.

  Fury boiled below the surface, ready to erupt and leave him a pile of ashes. Tugging at her captive hand, she attempted to clear the mess he seemed to make of her senses with a simple touch.

  But he was way ahead of her. Keeping a stern grip with one hand, he used the other to tuck away a rebellious clump of hair behind her ear. Trapping her face with his palm, holding her gaze hostage, the rough pad of his thumb skimming her cheek, tracing tantalizing circles of unwelcome desire on her skin.

  Shuddering from his touch, her anger simmered. And then feeling easily manipulated, it fired back up again and she jerked back.

  She thought better of defending herself and giving him exactly what he wanted, but before she could boot him from her room, her lips started unloading against her will.

  “You wanna know about my life, Mr. Perfect? Fine. Yia-Yia raised me. I grew up in that house that burned to the ground. My father decided he wanted nothing to do with me after we both watched my mother die. I saw him maybe once a year around Christmastime.

  “And when I was about twelve, Yia-Yia started forgetting things. How to work the stove. Where she’d parked at the mall. She’d walk down the street and forget her way home. So I’d spend hours searching the dark streets by myself to find her sitting by the tracks, watching the trains roll through the station. That’s when my childhood ended and I started taking care of her full time, which was better than any alterative.

  “I was in high school by the time my father finally caught on to my living situation. He tore me away from the only home I’d ever known and locked me up in his cold, isolated castle. Now that I’m older and less of a burden he uses me as political ammunition in whatever ‘happy family’ farce he’s cooked up for the media. I’m a trophy daughter. The extent of his ‘generosity’ with these over-the-top cars and gifts I couldn’t care less about is more about power than about affection of any kind. And there isn’t a luxury in the world he could buy with his billions that he could barter for pain of his abandonment.”

  Fueled by the angry rush, she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “So you think my life is easy because my father has a bunch of money in a trust for me somewhere. I don’t care. I don’t want it. It feels like blood money, for all it cost me. I make my own living—made plenty of money all on my own. Bought Yia-Yia’s house and have been working ever since to get her the help she needs.

  “The only money I have touched from my inheritance was used to fund the rest of the nursing home she lives in that I couldn’t afford on my own. So get over yourself. You are the spoiled brat as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never had a family, or a childhood, or anything that really matters. And the last thing I need is a lecture from some arrogant playboy who gets everything he wants and has never known my kind of loss.”

  Tears burned her eyes, and she wished she could pull back every one of those words when she saw shock and pity in the eyes of the man she loved.

  Yes, she loved him.

  She supposed she always had—from that very first moment. But that was her problem—on top of everything else—she was stupid. An idiot, really. To let herself love someone she could never have. Their past was too tainted to overcome, and yet here she was—a fool—kissing and falling back in love with her enemy.

  Good grief, Joselyn, will you ever learn?

  The emotion swimming in Finn’s eyes was too confusing. Everything about him was confusing.

  Loving him at the top of that list.

  So she resorted to staying angry. It was her only hope for getting out of this alive.

  “There you have it, hotshot. I even left out some of the more gory details for your peace of mind. Now leave me alone.” The last word caught on a poorly stifled sob. Oh, if only the earth would open and swallow her whole. She was so weak. She’d let him past the barricade of her heart, past the emotionless mask and the placating niceties.

  Tears, so many stupid tears escaped from the purge of her stupid confession, so she shoved him. She was already stupid, might as well tack on irrational and impulsive to make a miserable trifecta. It was sheer torture being all exposed—letting him view the tragic wreckage of her life like some drive-by gawker.

  Even more painful was seeing him so distraught that he couldn’t even speak. It made her long to comfort him. Crawl back onto his lap and kiss away his sorrows.

  And that’s when she knew it was official. She was the biggest idiot on the planet.

  Couldn’t he yell at her and storm off? Call her Snow Whyte or a spoiled brat? That would be easier to d
eal with than his renegade tear and his heartbreaking helpless paralysis.

  “Please go.” The words sounded flimsy and pathetic through her stupid tears. Stupid!

  “No,” he said, quiet, but firm. He slipped his arms around her back and pulled her into him, leaning back so she was snuggled against his iron chest.

  She tried to resist, but he held tight, combating her best efforts until she relaxed into him. The steady drum of his heart beneath her ear and the masculine musk of his skin drawing in with each breath lulled her into complete compliance and contentment—so much so she was really starting to hate herself.

  “Joss.” He breathed her name like a solemn vow and then made a promise she knew would shatter her heart. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Winter white sunshine billowed into the room like a fog of heaven. Joselyn’s eyes were heavy, but the warmth of the light pressed all around her. She felt rested and peaceful, the air drawn into her lungs was laced with something tantalizing. And though she was still trapped in some sort of sleepy haze, it felt like a waking dream. Warm and cozy and perfect.

  Blinking away the last of the euphoric smog, she discovered the reality of that dream still in play when she eased her head away from a well-muscled chest and found she’d fallen asleep in Finn’s arms.

  It would seem she’d gone fetal at some point, curled against him like a baby, and maybe even cried herself to sleep.

  Still leaning against a slant of pillows propped up at the headboard, Finn was asleep. That’s when it hit her. She’d slept with Finn! No, not with. Near. Against maybe. Because for as much as the man liked to push the limits with his hands-on liberties, he hadn’t made a move on her all night.

  Every shiver and knot of stress had left her body while she watched him sleep. And really, since she was pinned in place by his strong arms, she had few options. Darn. So she stayed, and it was no hardship.

  As if drawn by a magnet, her hand skimmed up his shirt and faintly touched his cheek. The feel of the coarse, shimmering stubble beneath her fingertips was more satisfying than any consumed amount of peanut butter M&M’s.

  Amazing how she hadn’t needed any since that first kiss. And all those kisses since had started filling the emptiness of a life devoid of affection. Chocolate was a poor substitute, and the awakening of her need for touch—even the simple comfort of a friendly embrace—made her realize all she’d missed out on in her life.

  Yia-Yia was never much into hugs. Her alcoholic husband hadn’t been an affectionate man—or so Joselyn had been told. He’d left Yia-Yia and Joselyn’s mother, Charisma, when Charisma was five years old, broke poor Helena Verraros’s heart, and left her bitter and sworn off of men for life.

  The man’s legacy was not a fine tribute to the word “family,” and Joselyn’s own father—though no blood relation to Demetrios Verraros—followed in those same callous footsteps.

  And while Joselyn knew her mother had been warm and caring when she was alive, she could only vaguely remember being swaddled in her arms. The years had wiped away any tangible memory.

  Now, in Finn’s solid arms, she felt something so foreign it was like a drug—altering her brain chemistry to the point of desperation for another fix. And that was the scariest thing of all.

  Realizing she wanted to stay right where she was, forever.

  A piercing array of blues and greens peeked out from sleepy lids. Snatching her hand away, she attempted to right herself, but his arms tightened around her back. A slow, lazy grin etched disarming dimples into his handsome face. “Hi.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped in response to the rumble from his chest. Or maybe the grin and the dimples. Or all of the above. Tough to say.

  “Hi.” Feeling uncharacteristically demure, she tilted her lips in a shy smile, her hand settling on his chest.

  Holding his stare, it felt like he could see straight into her battered heart and wasn’t repulsed by what he saw. Not yet, at least. It was as if no one and nothing else existed in the world. She’d never been the center of anyone’s anything. It was heady stuff.

  “Now that you’ve said your hellos, maybe you guys could get up.” The illusion was ripped away in an instant. Standing in the doorway was Sadie. With hands propped on her enviably curvy hips, she looked like mama bear coming to protect her cub. Or maybe both cubs. From themselves.

  Finn and Joselyn jumped up from the bed, untangling their embrace in record time under the watchful eye of the warden. “Finn, I don’t recall bunking being part of the deal when I agreed to let you check on her.” There was a slight twist in her lips and a glimmer of a teasing twinkle in her eye, but she stood her ground for an explanation.

  “Pfff, Sadie, please. Nothing happened.” Finn looked a little nervous, like he didn’t feel that was entirely true. Even though it was.

  Well, nothing beyond the scorching make-out fest and the all-night cuddle.

  So Joselyn came to his rescue. Clearing her throat with extra pizzazz, she said, “I do believe you and Archer,” lifting her hands to use quotations, “‘shared a bed’ when that seedy motel in Kansas only had one room left.” Joselyn cocked an eyebrow, knowing she’d hit her mark.

  Sadie’s mouth gaped open for a soundless moment before she clamped it shut and scowled. “That was an extenuating circumstance—a man was dying. And we fell asleep, okay, nothing happened.”

  Joselyn shrugged. “Same here.”

  Sadie crossed her arms. “Okay, fine. But my brother’s making breakfast. And doing the dishes for his defiance of house rules.”

  Scrambling out of the room from the sparring women, Finn smirked back at Joselyn, “A small price to pay. I’ll take it.”

  Chapter 28

  Finn Carson

  Had he ever felt this good? It was worth pondering. Last night, with Joselyn in his arms—her kisses still searing into his lips—it was better than every dream he had the whole senior year he’d spent pining away for her.

  After prom, any dreams involving Joselyn were either nonexistent or mercilessly cruel. And as of late, there hadn’t been any dreaming. Only nightmares. But last night was the first in months that he’d slept peacefully.

  Flipping the chocolate chip pancakes in the skillet, he withdrew four perfectly golden rounds, scraped four more sizeable dollops from the mixing bowl into the pan and relived the glorious moments before he became a first-class jerk and raging idiot.

  They say old habits die hard, but nothing had been harder than witnessing the look on Joselyn’s face when she’d unloaded the loneliness of her past. All because Finn’s bitterness—stockpiled from the past ten years—kept spilling over.

  Please, forgive me for acting like an arrogant fool.

  No wonder Joselyn had been so frosty in high school. She was all alone, having been uprooted from her home and Yia-Yia and her school to live in a virtual ivory tower—deprived of love from the one person she wanted it from the most.

  Distracted with his growing contempt against Declan Whyte, Finn failed to flip the batch of pancakes before the first side got cast iron crispy. He’d choke down the burned ones.

  It made more sense that she’d had fallen for Cody. She’d been so desperate for attention—something Cody gave freely to each and every attractive female within shouting distance—and maybe she thought, with his family situation, he might be able to relate.

  Something soured in his gut, something sick and jealous when he thought of them together. Even now, the whole night was crystal clear.

  “Ooo, Finn, I love this song. Let’s dance.” Renee Ross’s fake nails clawed at Finn’s hand as she attempted to drag him from his seat.

  Finn growled his response of “No thanks” to the painfully annoying prom date Cody had set him up with. But she either wasn’t smart enough to pay attention or she refused to read the blatant revulsion for her written across his face and tugged at his hand once again.

  “Aww, come on. We haven’t even danced, and the night’s almost over. She pinned him with an evil gl
are, and he begrudgingly let himself be dragged to the dance floor.

  “One dance,” he snapped. This had obviously been a huge mistake. Renee was more Cody’s type of girl—skimpy dress, even skimpier brain power, and a reputation that wasn’t skimpy at all.

  Why on earth had he agreed to this?

  The answer was clear. The very thought of Joselyn made his choice to come along on this charade of a revenge date worth it.

  His date’s cackling hyena laugh struck his eardrum even over the blaring music, and Finn remedied his momentary lapse of judgment. Almost worth it.

  Renee’s moves were quite possibly too explicit to witness, so Finn turned away and preoccupied himself by bopping along to the stupid rap song that was about a hundred decibels too loud.

  Finn’s head was throbbing from the incessant grating noise, and he hadn’t caught a glimpse of Joselyn all night. And his eyes had been glued to the dance floor for that very reason.

  He knew it was a form of torture to come along and see her here with him. But up until now he’d never even seen them talking. Or together. During class, the only times Joselyn spoke it was to the teacher or to Finn.

  Cody’s relay of her rejection echoed in his mind. “She said guys like you were beneath her. Can you believe that? That it was laughable you thought you might actually have a chance with someone like her.”

  And after he’d escaped the close-encounter with the impromptu guitar lesson/almost kiss, he’d accidentally overheard her and Sadie talking about prom. He’d never forget the laugh she’d forced out when he heard her say, “Puh-lease. As if I would go with him. I’m holding out for a better offer.”

  He sucked in a breath upon remembering the sting of those words. How they’d tunneled down into his deepest insecurities and built a nest.