Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page B

pleasure of his touch. She felt as if she had died and been reborn. Life, awareness, sprang from a place deep inside her; a small sigh wrenched from that same space.
    The breath shuddered past Hunter’s lips. “This is going to be tough, Slick. A lot tougher than I thought.”
    Slick. It had been his nickname for her. They had laughed over it because she had been anything but. Now, hearing it hurt. It brought all the foolishness she’d felt—over her silly dreams of Hunter and her own future and invincibility—scrambling to the surface.
    The tender place inside her snapped closed; anger rushed over her in a cold, galvanizing wave.
    She jerked away from his touch, reminding herself of the months of pain she had endured after their separation, of the months spent wishing—praying—Hunter would come after her. Reminding herself that Hunter wanted neither her nor their son.
    â€œIf it’s going to be so tough, stay away from me. There is nothing between us now.” She shook her head for emphasis. “Nothing.”
    Hunter drew in a deep breath, moving a fraction away from her. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s everything between us. History. Hurt. Sex. I look at you and remember everything we shared.”
    Aimee swore softly. He was right. There was too much between them for indifference. It would be a battle to stay away from him. A battle she would win if it killed her.
    â€œFine,” she said stiffly. “Remember all you want, just keep it to yourself.”
    Turning, she pushed through the screen door and stepped out into the night. The darkness enfolded her, comforting in its blackness. She hurried into the yard and toward her house, fighting the urge to run. The urge to look back.
    Hunter watched her. She felt his gaze upon her as an almost palpable thing, compelling her to come back to him. Heat stung her cheeks, and she shook her head, scolding herself, her imagination. And her weakness when it came to Hunter.
    Hadn’t the past taught her anything?
    Of course it had, she assured herself. Hunter had been right, there was so much between them, so much history, it would be difficult at first to keep from being swept away by those potent memories. After all, wouldn’t every ex-couple experience the same?
    Aimee slowed her steps. But had they ever been a couple, in the traditional sense of the word? They’d been together. They’d been intimate. But had he ever felt a part of her or as if she belonged to him?
    She thought not. And that hurt. Still. After everything she’d been through and after all the time that had passed. It shouldn’t hurt; she didn’t want it to.
    She reached the house and climbed the steps to the gallery. She paused then and looked back, knowing Hunter could no longer see her. He stood in the doorway still, a strong, dark silhouette against the rectangle of light. Always an island. Always alone.
    From behind her came the gravelly cry of an egret as it roosted in a live oak at the water’s edge. The bayou lapped against the shore; a nutria or some other small animal scurried from the brush into the cool, dark water. Time inched past. Hunter didn’t move.
    Aimee drew her eyebrows together, feeling his loneliness, his self-imposed exile as she always had—deeply and in a place with an infinite capacity for love. And hope.
    And for self-delusion.
    She shook her head and turned away from him. Crossing the gallery, she let herself into the house. Empathy for Hunter had brought her nothing but heartache. Believing she could change his life, believing he would love her had hurt even more.
    She was done with believing and hoping and deluding. She was a grown-up now; she would do what was best for her and Oliver, no matter the personal toll.
    Aimee flipped off the lights, then went to check on Oliver. He sprawled across his small bed, his covers a tangle at his feet. Smiling tenderly, Aimee reached down and