Fallen Angels 01 - Covet by J.R. Ward Read Free Book Online Page B

the upholstery and the arch of a female neck in the dash lights and the feel of a soft body beneath his.
    He was such a shit, taking advantage of her like that, and yet, after it was all done, she'd smiled up at him as if he'd given her exactly what she'd wanted. Except that couldn't be true. Sex between strangers was just a temporary reprieve from loneliness. How could that be enough for someone like her? Christ, he didn't even know her name. When the deep breathing had passed, she'd kissed him and lingered on his lips; then she'd pulled the top of her dress up and the bottom of it down, and left him.
    With a curse, Jim threw open the driver's-side door and took his lunch around to the back bumper It was warmer out in the sun, but more to the point, the air smelled like fresh pine boards, not perfume. As he turned his face to the sky and tried to wipe clean his mind, he lost interest in the sandwich, putting it aside on its Saran Wrap and focusing on the Coke instead.
    The dog appeared a moment later, peeking out from behind a stack of felled trees that were due for removal. The thing was the size of a small terrier and had a coat that looked like mottled steel wool. One ear was flopped over and it had some kind of scar on its muzzle.
    Jim lowered his Coke bottle as the two of them locked stares.
    Damn animal was frightened and using the grizzled stumps as cover because they were far, far larger than he was, but he was also starved: Going by the way that little black nose was sniffing the breeze, clearly the smell of the turkey was calling him.

    The dog took a tentative step out. And then another. And another.
    It walked with a limp.
    Jim reached to the side slowly, putting his hand on the sandwich.
    Popping off the top of the roll, he pushed aside the languid lettuce and the Styrofoam tomato, and picked up a slice of turkey.
    Leaning down, he extended the meat. “Don't taste like much, but it won't kill you. Promise.”
    The dog circled, closing in with that gimpy front paw, the spring wind lifting its wiry coat and showing sharp ribs. The thing had its head extended as far as the neck would allow, and its back legs were trembling as if they were ready to leap into a retreat at any second.
    Hunger, however, pushed it to go where it didn't want to be.
    Jim stayed still and let the animal inch closer to him.
    “Come on, son,” Jim said roughly. “You need this.”
    Up close, the dog looked exhausted, and when it took the turkey it was with a swift snap and a back-away. Jim got another piece ready, and this time the animal came more quickly and didn't move away so fast. The third piece was accepted with a delicate mouth, as if the animal's innate nature were not what its experiences had turned it into.
    Jim fed the thing the roll, too. “That's it.”
    The dog planted its butt in front of Jim, curling into a sit and tilting its head to one side. There were smart eyes on the thing. Smart, old, tired eyes. “I'm not a dog person.”
    Evidently, the dog didn't understand English. In a leap that was surprisingly graceful, it propelled itself up into Jim's lap.
    “What the...” Jim lifted his arms out of the way and stared down.
    “Jesus, you don't weigh much.”
    Duh. Probably hadn't eaten in days.

    Jim put a tentative hand on its back. Christ. All he felt was bones.
    The whistle blown meant lunch was over, so Jim gave the dog one stroke before putting it back on the ground. “Sorry...like I said, not a dog person.”
    He grabbed his tool belt out of the cab and strapped it back on as he walked away. The look over his shoulder was a bad idea.
    Shit, the dog was under the truck, behind the back tire, and those old eyes were on Jim.
    “I don't do pets,” Jim called out as he went off.
    The purring sound of a car approaching rolled across the job site, and when the men who were lined up on the lip of the house looked over, their expressions fell into a collective fuck-me —which meant Jim didn't have to pull another