Chapter 3
Willow
“You’re going to make a mess of this. You’re going to screw everything up, and you’re only going to have yourself to blame.
” These are the words I utter as I follow Jace into his driveway, watch as he parks and steps out of his truck.
I pull in next to him, do the same thing, and watch each movement he makes.
The whole way here, I’ve been thinking about the man—the way he looks, the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he carries himself. And I have to say I really appreciate the visual one hundred and ten percent.
As the evening sun clings to his skin like honey, turning the hard lines of his body into a golden hue, he stands near the front of his truck, phone to his ear, looking every bit the hardworking man he is.
Broad shoulders, lean muscles, the kind of quiet strength that didn’t come from endless hours at a gym but from long days and nights working under unforgiving elements.
Jace’s skin is bronzed by the sun, glistening faintly when he moves just the right way.
You can tell he’s spent the majority of his time outdoors and fixing things with his hands.
His jaw is set in concentration. Whoever is on the other end of the line is saying something he doesn’t like.
His gaze turns toward me, he does a slight head tilt, and I take that as my sign to move out of my car.
I so badly want to keep my eyes on him, to look at him without the fear of someone scrutinizing what I’m doing.
In the same sense, listening to him speak is just as hot.
I grab my bag. Both actually. I keep one with a spare change of clothes, along with shoes, deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste in my car.
There’s been many a time I’ve had Brenda call me and had to hurry into grandmother’s facility either from or work or in the middle of the night.
I’m out of my car after putting my smaller bag into the bigger one, and I’m sure it’s presumptuous of me to ask to use his bathroom to change, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.
The glad rags, what I call my business attire, isn’t my style; it’s what I’m forced to wear to keep up for the sake of the Ashford name.
I’d much rather be in a pair of jeans, a dressy top, and a nicer shoe if I had to, but on the days I’m not at work, it’s completely different.
I prefer to call my style Adam Sandler chic—a tank top, loose sweatpants rolled at the waist, and a flannel of some type to wear over it in case I get cold.
On my feet are usually sandals. The only problem with that is, it makes it hard to wear socks.
And when you’re in a hospital-like facility, the last thing you want is open-toed shoes.
Which is why I learned to pack slippers.
I back out of my car and hit the lock button on the door instead of the key fob to avoid it making a noise since Jace is still on the phone.
My eyes gravitate toward his like a magnetic forcefield.
The force is so strong, there’s nothing that could stop me.
The sharp lines of his cheekbones and the close cropper hair at his temples add to his rugged, almost untamed good looks.
He’s not polished or refined.
He’s raw, and he’s real.
The kind of man who smells like sun-warmed steel mixed with oil and leather.
The kind of man whose voice is low and slow, with a Southern drawl to it that makes your thighs clench.
The kind of man whose scent is so masculine it makes your pulse spike and the temperature rise whenever he’s close. Every inhale drags his intoxicating scent into my lungs, making me want to stay forever.
And right now, he’s the kind of man whose focus is solely on me. Jace stops just inches away. I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. A ripple of tension and desire surrounds the air between us.
The unexpected touch of his calloused fingers skates along my upper arm, and I can hear the deep rumble of his voice, which I’m sure would vibrate against your chest when you’re closer to him.
It’s a feeling I want more than I’ve realized until now.
The type of moment when the clothes are gone, you’re between the sheets, bodies touching, sweat coating your skin, and the only thing you need is each other.
Jace’s forest-green eyes are so vivid that the color should seem unreal—bright one second, dark and dangerous in the best way possible the next.
He hangs up the phone with a gruff bye, and then his focus is completely on me.
It’s sharp and observant, as if he sees far more than he lets on.
The kind of gaze that’s steady, confident, and utterly sexy.
“You good?” he asks, drawing attention to his full lips.
Whether he’s licking them to moisten or to see how I’ll handle him, I’m not sure.
What I do know is that he repeats the process, slowly, deliberately, and it’s almost unfair what he’s doing to my body.
I nearly whimper when he takes a step closer.
“Yeah, peaches, you’re good.” His smile isn’t easy or careless but slow and all-too knowing.
It starts with a slight curve at the corner of his mouth, like he’s keeping a secret you’ve yet to figure out, and when it finally spreads, it’s all-too tempting and full of promises.
It’s the smile of a man who knows exactly the effect he has on you—and enjoys every second of it.
“Jace.” His name tumbles off my lips at the same time I feel him take my bag off my shoulder, lacing his fingers with mine and guiding me away from our vehicles and up the stairs to his home.
His house is truly a rare gem. There’s so much growth, yet he’s got a piece of property that’s secluded in a magical way.
A charming cabin-style home, exuding warmth with its set of wide welcoming steps leading up to a spacious front porch.
I can imagine sitting on while enjoying a cup of coffee, writing my journal, and listening to the trees sway in the breeze.
The wood is richly stained, giving the home a rustic yet inviting look. The large front windows give me the idea that his house is bright and airy.
“Home sweet home.” Jace unlocks the door, all without letting go of my hand.
I step inside and see that the charm from the front carries all the way through.
Tongue-and-groove stained wood covers the ceilings and floors, the walls are a painted in a rich taupe color, and the furniture is big and inviting.
I can imagine Jace relaxing after a long day, shirt off, boots the same way.
Maybe he’s still in his jeans, but his feet are most definitely propped up on the coffee table while he’s enjoying a drink of some kind.
My imagination gets the better of me, and I envision being right there beside him, sitting sideways in his lap, fingers tracing his chest.
“It’s beautiful. The wood, the view, it’s so full of character and craftmanship.” The words aren’t enough to describe how amazing his home is.
“Thank you. Make yourself at home. I’ll open up the back, get the grill started, and make us a couple of drinks.” He squeezes my hand before letting it go, moving to place my bag on the couch.
“Do you mind if I change my clothes?” I ask, more than ready to get out of my high heels.
“Not at all. Bedroom is this way.” Jace grabs my bag before leading me through the house.
The living room is open to the kitchen and dining room, showcasing the river Jace has just steps out his backdoor.
A quick trip down the hallway brings us to his room, and I’m completely unprepared to be surrounded by him and where he sleeps.
“Take your time. I’ll be out back.” He gives me a wink, a whisper of his finger grazes the slope of my neck, and before I’m able to respond, he’s out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I’d like to say I change quickly, but that would be a lie.
Instead, I take my time, noticing everything about his room—the masculine furniture, the dark bedding, the décor, which isn’t much, just metal wall art, something I expect he might have made.
It depicts the nature outside of his home: the trees, the river, the ground.
It’s absolutely stunning. I take one last quick walk around the room, nose into the bathroom and walk-in closet, both of which fit the space perfectly.
There’s no marble or quartz to be seen. Everything is what I’m assuming to be original to when the house was built, and it takes my breath away.
When I’m thoroughly finished being the nosey woman I am, I make quick work of changing into my clothes. I check the bathroom mirror when I’m done, and I’m thankful I had the forethought to repack something a bit better this time around.
“You can’t hide forever, Willow.” I straighten my top, pull my hair out of the clip, letting the blonde waves hang loosely around my shoulders, and head to the man who makes a delicious tingle shiver down my spine any time he’s near.