Half Buried Hopes – Jupiter Tides Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

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“No!” I whisper-yelled. “That is absolutely not going to happen.” My body prickled with unease and need just thinking about it.

“Right,” Cole sighed. “The lingerie was a gift for you—because you don’t need to wear it for anyone but yourself. Though the less progressive version of me was hoping you could wear it for a hot single dad, absolutely desperate for you…”

My heart rate doubled at the mere thought of wearing the silk for Beau…

Nope. Never going to happen.

“Cole—"

“But…” he continued. “The vibrator was the main gift since I had an inkling you hadn’t fucked him yet, and you were about to burst from the female equivalent of blue balls. I’m sure you’re making things work the old-fashioned way, but that is the Porsche of vibrators. So I’m told, at least.”

I was about to open my mouth to argue with him further, but he didn’t give me the opportunity.

“Got to go,” he said. “Fuck the hot single dad. If not, use the vibrator.”

Then he hung up, leaving me staring at a vibrator that did indeed look sleek, interesting, and expensive.

I shook my head, shoving it away in a drawer.

Until that night, when I was unable to sleep, frustrated, tense, and … horny.

Then I used the vibrator.

It was the Porsche of vibrators.

I thought of Beau as I used it, which was totally wrong and inappropriate. Using it with him sleeping down the hall made it all the more sordid and exciting.

And afterward, I never slept better.

Despite feeling a wisp of embarrassment while entering the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, the vibrator worked to take the edge off the worst of my sexual frustration.

Not all of it, though.

And the next night was even worse. I couldn’t relax.

Beau was late. Later than he usually was. Not that he kept strict hours, they varied. Sometimes he left before the kitchen closed, but that was rare. He usually stayed until the kitchen and the bar were closed. It was torture, never knowing when he’d be home. Not knowing when I could breathe again. Because even though Beau’s nearness made my hormones go haywire, I never felt completely safe until he was home.

It was after midnight. The rain had gotten heavier, thunder so loud it rattled the panes of the windows.

My jaw hurt from how tight I was holding in my worry. Panic.

What if he’d gotten into a crash? Perhaps his car was in a ditch somewhere, and there was no one to miss him until tomorrow morning? Except me. And I didn’t. Miss him. Didn’t miss his quiet, bursting, menacing presence. Nope.

But worry formed a knot in my stomach as I read over the same line of my book at least ten times. Who did I call if he didn’t come home? His father? Elliot? But maybe he wasn’t coming home on purpose. He could be with a woman.

The very thought had bile singeing the back of my throat.

What if I panicked about him being dead and made a big scene by calling his family when he was just getting laid?

But Beau would’ve told me if he was going to be gone the entire night. Surely.

I paced back and forth, worrying and fuming in equal measures. How dare he make me worry like this. How dare I care so much about the man.

I exhaled in relief when his lights illuminated the driveway. Not dead in a ditch. Just late. He was allowed to be late. Maybe there was a fire in the kitchen. Whatever the reason, it was not for me to know. I didn’t ask questions. Not about him. That wasn’t in my job description.

It was time for me to scuttle off before we had another awkward interaction, loaded with all the lines we’d crossed then retreated behind in the past few months. But the knot in my stomach hadn’t unwound. My body was still tense, a feeling of wrongness creeping up my spine.

There was no reason for the feeling. Yet I stayed. On the couch. For no other reason than I wanted to lay eyes on Beau, to make sure he was okay.

For Clara’s benefit. That was it.

The door opened and closed, the rain pounding as loud as my heart. Boots thumped on the floor, then Beau took up what looked like the entire doorframe.

My heart dropped the moment I saw him. Something was wrong. I knew Beau. Had memorized every expression on his face, had come to understand how a simple furrow between his brows meant worry. How when his eyes went far away they were thinking of Clara in a hospital bed. I even knew the all-encompassing hunger that shrouded his gaze when he lost control and looked at me.

But his face was painted with an expression I’d never seen on it. Grief. Fear. A mix of them both, maybe. I couldn’t quite understand it, but it terrified me.


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