Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(40)

Jamie’s stress level was floating somewhere close to the ceiling. A night alone in a room with Michael Brody. Hormones had been bouncing between them since they met, and now they were going to be trapped in a small space with a bed?

Wait a minute. What the hell was she worrying about? She took a few deep breaths. She was a grown woman, not a teenager. This man had been flipping all her switches into the on position for the last two days, and now she had a chance to be alone with him. This was an opportunity, not a situation to run from. She needed to look at this differently.

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw Michael was pleased with the arrangement. Why didn’t this sort of situation stress men?

She needed to start thinking like a man.

If she wanted something from a man, she needed to show him. Or ask him.

What’s he gonna do? Say no?

She doubted it.

“Well,” said Chuck slowly. “I do have the attic room. I don’t rent it out during the summer because the air-conditioning doesn’t—”

“That’ll work. We’ll take it, too.” Jamie exhaled as her argument with her inner vixen suddenly became meaningless. She had her own room. Disappointment surged, surprising her. An opportunity had slipped through her fingers. But more so, she was missing out on taking a chance. She rarely risked anything. But she’d nearly talked herself into risking…risking what? A moment of embarrassment when he refused? Losing out on one of the hottest nights she’d ever experience? How often did men like Michael Brody come along?

This was the first time in her life.

Would there be a second chance?

God, she was confused.

Beside her, Michael’s shoulders shook in a silent chuckle, as if he knew what was going through her mind. She glared at him. “Michael will take the attic.”



Chuck was cool. Michael liked the old man a lot. He’d given Michael a wink as they’d headed up the stairs to the rooms.

“I need a few minutes to check out the attic room,” said Chuck. “I’m gonna let you guys wait in the first room. I’ll go open the windows up in there, but it’s gonna be hot. You better give it some time to cool off.” He handed Michael the key. A real key. Not a key card. “I was just putting a bottle of wine in here when you guys showed up. It’s still cold. Enjoy.” Chuck closed the door behind him, and Michael heard his uneven steps trudge up another set of stairs.

“Perfect,” said Jamie. “I need some wine.” She picked up the bottle, glanced at the label, and deftly used the opener to slide out the cork. She poured a large glass and raised a brow at Michael in question. He nodded and she poured a second glass, handing it to him.

The room was clean, and the king bed looked comfortable. The decor was dated and faded, but Michael could not care less.

Jamie’s wine vanished. She refilled her glass and disappeared into the bathroom. Michael could hear her banging little makeup jars and brushes and shampoo bottles and whatever else women traveled with. She would probably come out in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, even though it was ninety degrees outside. And then send him to his hundred-degree room.

Michael sighed, set down his wine, and flopped on the king bed, tucking his arms under his head. Tomorrow they would talk to Chris and hopefully find out some leads on what happened to Daniel. There was nothing more he could do about it tonight. Thinking endlessly about it wasn’t helping; time to put it aside and pay attention to what was in front of him.

Jamie.

What did he want from this woman?

Sex.

Was that all?

He frowned. No. Not even close.

His body was craving sex. That was obvious. He simply had to be in her presence and he felt his hormones hit overdrive. But he wanted more than that. Michael studied the ceiling. He wanted that part that came after, too. The part where you wake up the next morning and roll over to pull the woman closer to you, knowing neither of you had to leave. The part that sits on the back deck and drinks coffee together, sharing the Sunday newspaper, and discussing where to vacation next.

He could still hear that overpowering voice that’d spoke in his head the first day he’d seen her. The one that’d told him to hang on to this woman. End statement.

Now…how did he let her know? Without her walking out on him or laughing in his face?

Aw, f*ck. He was in deep.

And she had the shovel.

He couldn’t blow it tonight. He patted his pocket, checking for his cell phone, feeling an urge to call Lacey and get her advice.

How would it look to Jamie if she came out and he was on the phone with another woman? Not cool.

Think, Michael. WWLD? What would Lacey do?

Lacey would talk. She’d say exactly what was on her mind to Jamie.

He could do that. Just filter out the sex stuff.

He wanted to know what Jamie was thinking. They’d had several moments where he felt like she’d let her guard down and spoken to him like she’d known him forever. And several moments where the hormones were off the charts.

Lacey would tell him to simply ask Jamie how she felt.

No problem. He sat up, feeling clearer in the head, ready to talk.

The bathroom doorknob turned.

Michael took a deep breath.

Why hadn’t Chuck left a bottle of vodka?



It’s now or never.

She’d had a second chance dumped in her lap when Chuck said he needed to check the attic room. Only a stupid girl would ignore it. Jamie held her breath as she reached for the bathroom doorknob. She’d spent the last five minutes arguing with herself—and finishing that second glass of wine—as she changed into the black bra and matching thong that she’d coincidentally packed.