Read Online Hunting for Curves (BBW Erotic Romance) by Juliane Reyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliane Reyer
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to read his mind, peel back his layers and see who he really was. But she had to settle for trying to interpret his stoic mannerisms. Truthfully, she might not even see him again. Especially after this night.
Reality sucks , she decided.
As they reached her car, she turned and gave Evan a warm hug. His arms enveloped her in the embrace, crushing her against him for a moment. The bruising in her breasts brought back memories from their night together. Part of her had hoped for another chance, something slow and sensual so she could enjoy the men a little longer. But that train had left and she resigned herself to the lingering warmth from his body.
Evan watched her as she got into the driver seat. Then she turned the key and nothing happened. Oh, no.
She turned it again, this time with more force. The engine made a pitiful groan and clicked into silence. Evan's eyes squinted back at her and she couldn't tell if he was concerned or disgusted. Heat boiled up her neck as she frantically pumped the key. No, please, God. Why now?
Tears welled in her eyes as Evan approached the side of the car. She didn't want him to see her like this: frustrated, emotional, embarrassed. Crying. Poor. But she swallowed back the tide of tension as she rolled the window down.
He set the cup on her hood and bent down to the side window, a neutral expression on his face. "I can give you a ride home."
She tried to refuse. "No, I—I—" Then she choked. And there was nothing she could do as the flood spilled over.
She jerked, turning away as a sob shuddered through her body. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. My makeup! The thought forced another round of involuntary spasms. She quickly hunched over the steering wheel in a futile attempt to hide her face. He can't see me like this. Why doesn't he just leave?
The door squeaked open and her sore eyes widened. From the shelter of her arms, she watched his hand reach around to retrieve her keys. Then his other hand wrapped around her back, bracing her as he urged her to stand up.
"W—what—what are—" Jasmine stuttered as she stumbled to her feet.
"I'm taking you to my place," he said in a stern voice. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
The door slammed shut behind her but she couldn't look up. Not yet. Instead she buried her face against his chest and sobbed into his expensive suit. And sobbed. All of her problems, Rodney, her job, her low self-esteem, flowed out of her in a violent torrent, resonating deep into her aching bones.
Evan held her through the entire ordeal, his arms tightly wrapped around her back. And the harder her muscles jerked, the more he crushed her against him.
Eventually, the rush of frantic emotions ebbed, and her breathing became easier. Like a salve, the manly smell of his shirt invaded her senses, soothing the acute pain in her chest. He was warm, comforting, and for once, his silence set her mind at ease.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be."
He gently turned her, guiding her with one arm as they left her dead car and the melted yogurt behind. Her head remained against his shoulder as they walked and a light breeze chilled the wetness on her cheeks. Like a child, she let him take the lead as she stepped numbly across the dim parking lot. Through blurry eyes, she watched him open the passenger side door of an expensive-looking sedan. But she hardly noticed any other details as he revved the car into motion.
The drive was not as long as it seemed. And Jasmine spent the entire time berating herself for her outburst. Evan had been a perfect gentleman, which made things worse for the roiling conflict of her thoughts. He was wealthy, stable, and in a committed relationship. He shouldn't be babysitting a failure like myself.
But she remained silent as he pulled up to a multistory, beachfront house and an automated security gate opened wide. He parked next to dark, wide windows, the headlights shining briefly over the pale beach before he
Reality sucks , she decided.
As they reached her car, she turned and gave Evan a warm hug. His arms enveloped her in the embrace, crushing her against him for a moment. The bruising in her breasts brought back memories from their night together. Part of her had hoped for another chance, something slow and sensual so she could enjoy the men a little longer. But that train had left and she resigned herself to the lingering warmth from his body.
Evan watched her as she got into the driver seat. Then she turned the key and nothing happened. Oh, no.
She turned it again, this time with more force. The engine made a pitiful groan and clicked into silence. Evan's eyes squinted back at her and she couldn't tell if he was concerned or disgusted. Heat boiled up her neck as she frantically pumped the key. No, please, God. Why now?
Tears welled in her eyes as Evan approached the side of the car. She didn't want him to see her like this: frustrated, emotional, embarrassed. Crying. Poor. But she swallowed back the tide of tension as she rolled the window down.
He set the cup on her hood and bent down to the side window, a neutral expression on his face. "I can give you a ride home."
She tried to refuse. "No, I—I—" Then she choked. And there was nothing she could do as the flood spilled over.
She jerked, turning away as a sob shuddered through her body. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. My makeup! The thought forced another round of involuntary spasms. She quickly hunched over the steering wheel in a futile attempt to hide her face. He can't see me like this. Why doesn't he just leave?
The door squeaked open and her sore eyes widened. From the shelter of her arms, she watched his hand reach around to retrieve her keys. Then his other hand wrapped around her back, bracing her as he urged her to stand up.
"W—what—what are—" Jasmine stuttered as she stumbled to her feet.
"I'm taking you to my place," he said in a stern voice. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
The door slammed shut behind her but she couldn't look up. Not yet. Instead she buried her face against his chest and sobbed into his expensive suit. And sobbed. All of her problems, Rodney, her job, her low self-esteem, flowed out of her in a violent torrent, resonating deep into her aching bones.
Evan held her through the entire ordeal, his arms tightly wrapped around her back. And the harder her muscles jerked, the more he crushed her against him.
Eventually, the rush of frantic emotions ebbed, and her breathing became easier. Like a salve, the manly smell of his shirt invaded her senses, soothing the acute pain in her chest. He was warm, comforting, and for once, his silence set her mind at ease.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be."
He gently turned her, guiding her with one arm as they left her dead car and the melted yogurt behind. Her head remained against his shoulder as they walked and a light breeze chilled the wetness on her cheeks. Like a child, she let him take the lead as she stepped numbly across the dim parking lot. Through blurry eyes, she watched him open the passenger side door of an expensive-looking sedan. But she hardly noticed any other details as he revved the car into motion.
The drive was not as long as it seemed. And Jasmine spent the entire time berating herself for her outburst. Evan had been a perfect gentleman, which made things worse for the roiling conflict of her thoughts. He was wealthy, stable, and in a committed relationship. He shouldn't be babysitting a failure like myself.
But she remained silent as he pulled up to a multistory, beachfront house and an automated security gate opened wide. He parked next to dark, wide windows, the headlights shining briefly over the pale beach before he
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