Read Online Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes by Aimee Laine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aimee Laine
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limits until they finish their investigation.” Tripp pulled keys from his pocket. “So, for now, unless you have a better place, you can stay with us.”
“Thank you for the kindness.” She may not have agreed with her mother often, but Taylor believed in true southern hospitality.
“All right then, let’s go.” Tripp aimed an arm toward the courthouse doors.
The midday sunshine brought life to Taylor’s senses as the microphones and camera flashes, the questions and people in front of them prevented a quick escape. “Taylor Marsh, is it true you were convicted of murder in Alabama?” “Did you kill your former boyfriend?” The voices rushed over one another with dozens of questions she couldn’t decipher, and sent a throb to Taylor’s temple. “How can a two-time felon be let out even on a one million dollar bond? Do you think the justice system has done its job?”
One million dollars? Riley doesn’t have that kind of money.
The questions continued as Tripp and Ian pushed Taylor through the crowd toward a simple, black sedan. A series of large vans dotted the road behind it—their antennae spearing into the sky. Construction jackhammers broke into her thoughts and over the reporters crowding around them again. Their group moved slower than her pet turtle from fifth grade as they waded through the surge of people around them.
Ian pressed against Taylor’s shoulder, pushing her toward the car, a cocoon of bodies around her.
What seemed like hours took only minutes, the crowd thinning as the foursome stuffed themselves in the car, shut the doors, and Tripp pulled away from the curb, jostling Taylor into Ian’s shoulder for the second time.
He spun to her, his lips a mere centimeter away. Their gazes locked.
Heat spread to her cheeks, not in the form of embarrassment, but in a desperate need to touch him. She forced her hands into her lap, twisted away and reminded herself that the brush of a shoulder did not translate to an invitation for a sexual experience despite the tingling that shot straight to her core.
God, Taylor, you’re desperate for a man you barely know and who obviously wants nothing to do with you and don’t even have clean underwear on.
With a deliberate nudge, she pulled herself away and leaned into the cool, leather door on the other side of the car.
• • •
Ian had touched Taylor only one other time—at Tripp and Lexi’s wedding when Taylor had reached out during their conversation and brushed her hand along Ian’s arm. Since then, he’d wanted her like no one else in the world. Yet, something had held him back.
The brief brush of her shoulder again brought all the feelings back—the desire, need to keep her safe, the need for no one else. All of it.
Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his fingers move up to his forehead and press against his skin. His thoughts roamed to the how, the why, the what-the-fuck of the entire situation, and why on earth he had an instantaneous desire to kiss her nearly made him to do just that.
She’s a damn convict, not a conquest.
Ian turned away, staring at the passing scenery. All the while, his crotch twitched, his hands itched to touch her, and his brain went on high fantasy alert as he imagined taking her lips with his and how soft her tongue would be.
The more the ideas played out, the greater his need grew.
“Pull over, Tripp,” Ian said.
“Huh?” Tripp met Ian’s gaze through the rearview mirror.
“Just pull over. Now.”
Tripp did, into the parking lot of a walk-up burger joint. “What’s wron—”
Ian jumped out to the scents of grilled beef and greasy fries, in the midst of dozens of mingling college students. Shouts rang out from the kids as someone threw a football across the small, asphalt area. Ian strode along the sidewalk, cars outpacing him on his way forward and back.
“What the fuck,” he repeatedly said.
When no ‘aha!’ moments hit him, he turned toward the car.
Taylor perched
“Thank you for the kindness.” She may not have agreed with her mother often, but Taylor believed in true southern hospitality.
“All right then, let’s go.” Tripp aimed an arm toward the courthouse doors.
The midday sunshine brought life to Taylor’s senses as the microphones and camera flashes, the questions and people in front of them prevented a quick escape. “Taylor Marsh, is it true you were convicted of murder in Alabama?” “Did you kill your former boyfriend?” The voices rushed over one another with dozens of questions she couldn’t decipher, and sent a throb to Taylor’s temple. “How can a two-time felon be let out even on a one million dollar bond? Do you think the justice system has done its job?”
One million dollars? Riley doesn’t have that kind of money.
The questions continued as Tripp and Ian pushed Taylor through the crowd toward a simple, black sedan. A series of large vans dotted the road behind it—their antennae spearing into the sky. Construction jackhammers broke into her thoughts and over the reporters crowding around them again. Their group moved slower than her pet turtle from fifth grade as they waded through the surge of people around them.
Ian pressed against Taylor’s shoulder, pushing her toward the car, a cocoon of bodies around her.
What seemed like hours took only minutes, the crowd thinning as the foursome stuffed themselves in the car, shut the doors, and Tripp pulled away from the curb, jostling Taylor into Ian’s shoulder for the second time.
He spun to her, his lips a mere centimeter away. Their gazes locked.
Heat spread to her cheeks, not in the form of embarrassment, but in a desperate need to touch him. She forced her hands into her lap, twisted away and reminded herself that the brush of a shoulder did not translate to an invitation for a sexual experience despite the tingling that shot straight to her core.
God, Taylor, you’re desperate for a man you barely know and who obviously wants nothing to do with you and don’t even have clean underwear on.
With a deliberate nudge, she pulled herself away and leaned into the cool, leather door on the other side of the car.
• • •
Ian had touched Taylor only one other time—at Tripp and Lexi’s wedding when Taylor had reached out during their conversation and brushed her hand along Ian’s arm. Since then, he’d wanted her like no one else in the world. Yet, something had held him back.
The brief brush of her shoulder again brought all the feelings back—the desire, need to keep her safe, the need for no one else. All of it.
Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his fingers move up to his forehead and press against his skin. His thoughts roamed to the how, the why, the what-the-fuck of the entire situation, and why on earth he had an instantaneous desire to kiss her nearly made him to do just that.
She’s a damn convict, not a conquest.
Ian turned away, staring at the passing scenery. All the while, his crotch twitched, his hands itched to touch her, and his brain went on high fantasy alert as he imagined taking her lips with his and how soft her tongue would be.
The more the ideas played out, the greater his need grew.
“Pull over, Tripp,” Ian said.
“Huh?” Tripp met Ian’s gaze through the rearview mirror.
“Just pull over. Now.”
Tripp did, into the parking lot of a walk-up burger joint. “What’s wron—”
Ian jumped out to the scents of grilled beef and greasy fries, in the midst of dozens of mingling college students. Shouts rang out from the kids as someone threw a football across the small, asphalt area. Ian strode along the sidewalk, cars outpacing him on his way forward and back.
“What the fuck,” he repeatedly said.
When no ‘aha!’ moments hit him, he turned toward the car.
Taylor perched
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