MINE 1 Read Free Page A

asked about Wesley, the man I refuse to call my father despite all the time he’d been exactly that.
    “After Mom died,” I shrug, wiping my dripping nose across the wet sleeve of my sweater. “He just left, okay. One day he was here and the next he was gone.”
    Leaving me to raise a five-year-old who didn’t understand where Mommy went or why his father didn’t love him enough to stick around.
    And here comes the anger again, that slow, creeping fire that never fails to heat my blood whenever I think of him. If I had my way, if that asshole was standing in front of me right now, I’d kick him in the balls so hard he’d walk funny for the rest of his miserable life.
    Instead I’m stuck here with Mr Britain, waiting for him to get to the point of whatever reason he’s decided to plague my life again.
    “So you’ve been looking after Benjamin alone?”
    Why he sounds so angry is beyond me, but I’m just tired enough, and feeling sick enough to boot, not to give a crap about his issues right now. All I want is for him to leave so I can strip out of my wet clothes and fall into bed.
    Tomorrow’s not gonna wait on my ass, and I’d like at least a few hours of sleep before having to deal with Ben and the fact that I need to find another job.
    “Could you please leave?” I huff, feeling my eyelids droop with the fever gripping my body. “I want to go to bed.”
    My eyes are closed by the time I hear the door slam shut, and a tiny zing of disappointment hits me before I can squelch it.
    Woulda been nice to…what? Seeing Lucian Jasper again is not something I’d ever thought possible. Hell, I’d consciously forced myself to forget the man and my teenage emotions right around the time—
    No, I won’t think about that now. Now I just want to sleep and forget that this horrifying day ever happened. With that I allow myself to relax and fall further into the sofa cushions.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    I wake up feeling so crummy I groan and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. My head, if that pile of throbbing mush can still be called that, is pounding so fiercely I feel the pulse in my eyeballs.
    My throat feels like I swallowed razor blades, and if a herd of stampeding elephants didn’t have a rave party at my place last night, I can’t explain the pain gripping my muscles.
    I’m also weak as a new-born, so, when I do finally force my screeching eyes open, it takes a few clumsy attempts to throw myself off the bed and stand to shaky feet.
    The mirror, that rat bastard I avoid like the plague, tells me just how poorly I’m doing. There are dark rings beneath my eyes, my hair is tangled so badly I can’t pull a comb through it, and my skin is the same shade as a corpse.
    Scowling, ‘cause what the hell else can I do when I’m this far gone, I pull on a pair of shorts and my old college t-shirt. It’s only as the fabric is clearing my face that I realize I just woke up in my bed. Naked. I don’t remember taking off my clothes, since I’m almost positive I’d passed out on the sofa.
    What the heck?
    When I get downstairs, ready to face Ben and whatever the heck else I have to, I stop dead in my tracks, sure that I’m having a fever-induced hallucination.
    “Good morning.”
    Nothing comes out, and I’m sure I look like a spellbound fool as I stand stock still, watching a bare-chested Lucian putter around the kitchen, cooking breakfast while Ben sits docilely, his head down, so silent I have the insane urge to check for a pulse.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    It comes out more breathy than I want, but heck, the man’s shirtless and seriously built. His abs are…hard and rippling, everything my not so experienced female parts appreciate in a male of the species.
    Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no ignorant miss, but never having…done much in the sexual arena past kissing a guy, well, the sight of his half clothed body does things to me that