Page 40 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
Jane’s hand moves over my chest, tempting and hesitant too, and the innocence of the gesture makes me harder. I can’t push the feeling away. I can’t push her away. It’s like an ocean swell. You can fight it, but you’ll tire yourself out and drown. Almost always better to let the current take you where it wants to go and wait until you’re on shore to do battle. So I ignore the warning in the back of my mind and turn in her arms to face her.
“You’re right.” I brush my knuckles over her throat, the bones iron hard against velvety softness. Jane swallows as I do it. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And there’s someone out there who wants to kill us. Who already tried.”
“Zoey Aldridge?” A little frown at the corners of her mouth. Jane hated when Zoey was in the house. She tried so hard not to show it. I almost wish she would have so I could have seen her blush and lift her chin, the way she’s doing now.
“Maybe. I have people looking into her whereabouts, but her private jet flew back to Los Angeles the morning after the dinner party. She’s been in Hollywood, supposedly. If it was her, maybe she paid someone else to do it.”
Jane frowns, as if she can’t quite believe what I’m saying. As if, after everything, she doesn’t want to believe the worst in people. But she knows better than that. Her life has taught her otherwise. “Does she hate you that much? Enough to pay someone to do that?”
I don’t want to tell her the worst of me, so I don’t. Not now. The smile barely makes it to my lips. “She’s not the first woman to hate me. And she probably won’t be the last. You should take it as a warning, Jane. I’m not good for you. Not good for anyone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beau Rochester
I might not be good for Jane, but that doesn’t stop the night from rolling into morning. I feel pulled to the Inn. To this routine that Jane and Paige are starting to put together. Jane, who lost everything, is making something out of nothing for Paige.
Well—not nothing. I catch Jane noticing her new clothes. I catch her enjoying them. She runs her fingertips along the hem of her shirt and brushes a palm over the smooth fabric at her stomach. Like she can’t quite believe they’re so soft.
All morning, she and Paige are busy. They’re coloring on the back patio. Painting at the dining table. Reading books curled up on the couch together.
Then, at lunch, Paige puts down her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I want to play Monopoly now. You said we could.”
The shiny new box arrived from Amazon already. It’s not the exact version that Paige had, but I suppose she’s desperate enough to play to accept it. “Right now?” Jane asks.
This is the most animated I’ve seen Paige since the fire. She seems colorful again. Alive. “Now,” Paige says, her gaze settling on me. “I want you to play, too. I want all of us to play.”
My instinct is to back away and let Jane and Paige inhabit the little world they’ve created. The one where they’re safe from me. But Paige looks so hopeful. I still remember her standing in the night, the tarp wrapped around her as a makeshift blanket.
“Where are we playing?” I say, resigned.
Paige grins at me. She scrambles down from her stool at the kitchen island and runs up the stairs two at a time. She comes back down a minute later with a series of thumps and goes to the wide coffee table in the middle of the living room.
Marjorie keeps the space neat and clean and comfortable. I’m glad to have the whole place to ourselves. Paige needs as little friction in her life as possible right now. Letting her choose where we play and where we sit without outside interference is good for everybody.
Jane puts the plates into the sink and follows her, and I follow Jane, my hands aching to touch her. Paige stands at the coffee table, the game in her hands, peering suspiciously at the set. “This isn’t right,” she says.
“Let’s open it up and see.” Jane takes the game from Paige, opens the plastic wrap with a fingernail, and puts the box on the edge of the table.
Paige slides the top off and purses her lips at the piece. “It still doesn’t look right.”
“It’s not the same set as you had before,” Jane agrees. “It will be different. But the rules will stay the same.”
“What if they’re not the same?” Paige frets as Jane sets out the board and unwraps the stacks of cards from their plastic. “What if they changed the rules and changed everything about it?”
