Page 26 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

Well, I definitely don’t like thinking about how this makes me feel.

“You’ve obviously done a pretty good job of it already,” I point out, glancing down at the scant amount of space between us and taking a breath. “You told me why you did it, and Wren seems believable.” But neither of those things is why I feel less than terrified when I’m standing here with him so close, and I’m worried I’m not the only one who knows it.

At the very least, he doesn’t call me out on the not-quite-honesty of what I’d said. Instead, I see his hand move, his fingers twitching closer to me like he wants to touch some part of me before he aborts the movement and jams that hand into his pocket. The other still hangs at his side, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

As always, Jed is inscrutable. I couldn’t even fathom what goes on behind those eyes. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Especially when I look up from his hands and find him still looking at me. Gaze calculating and unsure. He doesn’t look as afraid of me running away as he had, at least. He looks at me less like a terrified deer and more like a person.

But I don’t know if that’s good or bad for me. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I look right back into those blue eyes, and I can’t help self-consciously tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. He follows the movement, like he can’t help it, and his other hand comes up just enough for me to know he wants to do it himself.

“I’ll do anything to convince you that I’d never hurt you,” Jed murmurs, breaking the silence between us.

“Would you, if I were someone else?” I can’t help but ask, but now that the words are out, the question is one that I need answered. If I weren’t me. If he wasn’t attracted to me for some reason I definitely can’t fathom, would he still be so careful and be so adamant about not hurting me?

“Would I…?” His brows furrow and he glances down, then back up to my face. “Would I what, if you were someone else?”

“Would you have hurt me? Would you have killed me, too?”

“No.” The answer is immediate, and followed by a shake of his head. Then, unexpectedly, his expression turns sheepish. He turns away from me, glancing at the floor as he continues. “But I…would’ve handled things differently.”

“How?” I’m already in this far. I definitely need to know what ‘differently’ means.

A tiny, rueful smile hitches at his lips as his eyes dart back up to mine. And even that is enough to send butterflies into flight between my ribs. Just a look from him shouldn’t do it, and my fingers tighten on the sofa’s cushioned back behind me. Yet again, I wonder how it’s fair for a serial killer to look and act like him, when he seems to be anything but.

“I would’ve called Wren and told him to come over before you were awake. He would’ve done the convincing. Made offers, whatever. Instead of me trying to convince you and being honest about what had happened.” He tilts his head as he speaks, and yet again I wish I could tell what he was thinking.

“Then…why do it differently with me?” This time I know the answer. At least somewhat. He likes something about me, though it can’t be any of the things I see when I look in the mirror. Maybe it’s my winning personality and penchant for dad jokes.

Maybe he needs new headshots.

This time he tilts his chin forward, eyes sharpening as they stay on mine. “You’re really asking?” He seems somewhat surprised, if I’m reading him even close to right. Especially when his brows climb toward his hair that’s still as tousled as it had been when he’d messed with it earlier. A big part of me wants to reach up to run my fingers through it, so I tighten my grip even harder on the sofa to remind myself that is not an option.

“I’m really asking,” I reply, quieter than I mean to be. My heart pounds in my chest as he just…looks at me. And from the corner of my eye I see his hand leave his pocket, fingers curling into his palm. “Will you really tell me?”

“If you need to hear it.” His voice is suddenly lower, rougher, and my stomach jolts as I realize I might have gotten myself into something that I’m not so ready for. “Though I figured Wren was pretty clear when he was here.” I think back to Wren’s words. About his surprise at Jed cooking for me, and suddenly I can’t meet Jed’s gaze. I look anywhere but at him, which is difficult when he’s this close to me.

“I’m not a very good roommate,” I mutter, trying to relieve some of the tension of the situation. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, just as intent on this conversation as the rest of me. Every single inch of my body feels like it’s on alert, and I feel like I’m stuck in limbo, waiting for whatever he’s going to say or do. “I took your bed.”

“I gave you my bed,” Jed points out. “It’s not like I’d let you sleep on the couch.”

I suck in a breath. “I tried to take your chainsaw.”

“You…certainly tried,” he agrees, and I swear there’s a hint of amusement in his tone when he says it. But that’s not what I’m focused on. Suddenly he’s closer than he had been, and I’m stuck scrambling in my brain to figure out when he got this close to me.

Where did all that space between us go?

“I threw up when I saw your slaughter-shed,” I add in a rush of words that come out almost jumbled.

“Wren almost threw up the first time he walked in as well. That’s not the insult you think it is.” It should be impossible for him to sound this good when it feels like he’s quietly laughing at my words. I can’t see the floor between our bodies anymore. Instead, my vision is consumed with his front, and the borrowed shirt that hugs my curves too-tightly for me to feel anything but uncomfortable. The thought makes me lift my hand, and I pinch the fabric with my fingers, trying to pull it away from my hip without doing much good, though I can’t help but repeat the movement on the other side as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Jed murmurs, eyes training on my movements. “Especially if it’s because you think something bothers me. Nothing about you bothers me, Saylor. Except how you’re afraid of me. But…” He doesn’t continue until I look up at him, just in time to see the dark, tempting grin curl over his lips. “If you want me to convince you, then I’ll take all the time you need to reassure you that you never, ever need to be afraid of me, or think I’m going to hurt you. I just need you to be willing to convince me you won’t tell anyone what I did. What we do. Can you do that for me?” I’ve never heard him talk like this. I’ve never heard him sound so confident, or so tempting.

He takes that last, small step to close the rest of the distance between us and my breath catches in my throat. I can’t move when his hand comes up to cup my cheek in his warm, calloused palm.

He’s going to kiss me again.

And I’m more than willing to let him.

One of his knees presses between mine as my mind scrambles, trying to figure out how the hell we got here. How the hell I’m suddenly more okay with this than I was earlier. He’s so fucking hot, so sweet, and the red flags that litter his metaphorical yard are suddenly looking like my favorite color in the whole damn world.