Chapter 793
Both of them were sharp as tacks, and they understood each other all too well. Jamison caught the look in her almond–shaped eyes and cut her off before she could even voice her idea. He spoke with crisp finality, “Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it.”
Ivy knew he’d already guessed she was planning to use herself as bait. With a sigh, she tried to persuade him. “Yes, it’s a little risky, but it’s the fastest way. If we plan everything out and coordinate with the police in advance, it won’t really be that dangerous.”
“No.” Jamison’s refusal was ironclad. He got up and strode out, heading for the bedroom.
The last time Emma had taken a little girl hostage, Ivy had risked her own life to save her. She’d fallen from a high–rise–barely surviving–and Jamison had been left traumatized ever since.
Now, the mere suggestion of Ivy putting herself in harm’s way made his heart race in terror. He didn’t even want to imagine it.
“Jamison-” Ivy called after him as she stood up, but he didn’t look back.
She sat in the living room for a while, glancing at the clock. It was already past eleven. With a weary sigh, she finally got up to head to bed.
Just as she was about to turn in, her phone rang.
She pulled it out and saw the caller ID: Boyd.
“Hey, Boyd…”
“Ivy, am I interrupting you guys?” Boyd sounded apologetic. “I tried your husband’s phone, but couldn’t get through. I’ve got an urgent situation over here, so I had to call you.”
Ivy hurried toward the bedroom, hearing the shower running and putting two and two together. “Jamison’s in the shower–probably didn’t hear his phone. What’s up? Did you track down that guy?”
She turned on the speaker as she walked toward the bathroom.
“Still no sign of Hawley,” Boyd said, “but we’ve identified all those bikers from tonight. Two of them are punks from the orphanage–they grew up with Hawley. We’ve still got them in custody, and I’m thinking of going over in person.”
Ivy, phone in hand, pushed open the bathroom door without hesitation.
Inside, Jamison was rinsing off, head tilted back under the spray. At the sound of the door, he turned sharply, expecting–just maybe–that Ivy was making an uncharacteristically bold move to join him. But when he saw her holding up the phone, and heard Boyd’s voice, he instantly understood. He shut off the water, leaving the room silent except for Boyd’s voice on the speaker.
They listened together as Boyd finished his report.
“You go ahead and see what you can get out of them,” Jamison said, his tone low and serious. “If you need to apply a little pressure, do it.”
“Uncle Jamison? Weren’t you in the shower?” Boyd sounded surprised to hear his voice, then laughed. “Ah, Ivy brought the phone in, huh?”
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Chapter 793
Ivy didn’t reply. Her cheeks warmed, and she kept her gaze firmly averted, but out of the corner of her eye she still saw the soap suds sliding down his muscular body.
It was distracting, to say the least.
“Alright, I’ll handle it. You just got back from your trip, so I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” Boyd had called to see if Jamison would want to meet the punks in person, but now remembered his uncle had only just returned–and after time apart, he figured Jamison had other things on his mind tonight. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning.
After the call ended, Ivy turned to leave–well, it was more like she was trying to escape.
But before she could take a single step, a strong hand caught her wrist and pulled her back.
“What are you doing?” she protested.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was just heading out-”
“Out for what? You’re already in here. Might as well shower together.”
Before she could object, Jamison took her phone and set it on the shelf.
“Come here.”
Ivy thought back to Boyd’s teasing on the phone, then looked at her husband, standing there slick with soap and radiating masculinity. Something inside her gave a jolt, like a long–buried longing suddenly breaking free.
But no. They still had a few months left on the doctor’s timeline, and she hadn’t had her antibody check–up lately. No matter how she felt, tonight was out of the question.
Trying to resist, she pleaded softly, “Don’t start. It’s late, and you barely slept last night. Let’s just shower and get to bed.”
“I am showering,” Jamison said, towering over her with a teasing grin that melted away his earlier frustration. “If you cooperate, we’ll be done even faster.”
Ivy knew she was probably doomed. Logic said this was a bad idea, but with all those hormones and dopamine flooding her system, and the way he was looking at her like she was his for the taking…
No. Absolutely not.
She tried again. “I’ll shower with you, but you have to promise not to start anything.”
Jamison arched an eyebrow, grinning wickedly. As he reached for her clothes, he asked, “Start what, exactly? You’re my wife. I’m your husband. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
They were as close as two people could be. Whatever happened between them wasn’t just natural–it was their right, maybe even their duty.
Ivy looked at his hands–just two, like hers. So why did it always feel like she was hopelessly outmatched?
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Shield the top, and the bottom is exposed.