Hunger's Mate by A. C. Arthur Page A

elevators, to the floor where Jewel’s room was located, because despite the warning in his head—the spiritual one that he’d vowed like hell to fight—he needed to know what the hell was going on with Jewel Jenner.
    *   *   *
    Don’t cry. Don’t break. Don’t panic.
    Jewel recited these words over and over again as she paced back and forth in her room. She was overreacting, she was sure. There had been nobody following her. If there had, why wouldn’t they have approached her in the parking lot? Why not come for her at the nursing home? She’d been alone at each instance and nobody else had been around. It would have been the perfect opportunity. For what? For Larry to make good on the threat he’d repeated to her time and time again.
    She dropped down onto the couch, her legs screaming for mercy after she’d run up four flights of stairs and straight down the hall to her room. She hadn’t stopped even when she’d almost knocked down one of the room-service attendants and the tray he was holding in the hallway. She’d kept right on running until she’d slammed the door to her room, slapped the two latches against it, and lodged a chair beneath the handle for good measure.
    Now she sat trying to get control over what was going on in her mind and with her damned traitorous body. Her fear had been palpable, lodged in her throat like a knot and yet the moment Ezra had touched her she’d melted into a simpering puddle of desire. She’d wanted his mouth on her, all over her. The way his tongue dueled with hers had lit a flame long since blown out. Her breasts had instantly swelled, her juncture quivering with need. And as if he’d sensed that need he’d zeroed in, touched her there and with an immediate rush of arousal anxiety surfaced.
    Sex was not good. Not for her. It had been a necessity, yes, but it had never been good. And she’d sworn if that was the way it had to be, she would simply forego it altogether. The exposure of her most intimate self, the vulnerability it produced simply wasn’t worth it. Not to her, not again. So with hands still shaking, body still alive with the basic physical reaction she’d decided to ignore, she figured it was time to strategize once again.
    Her shower had been quick because, allowing the fear to take precedence over the arousal, the last thing she wanted was for someone to come for her while she was naked and dripping wet. The last thing Jewel wanted anyway was for someone to come for her. She’d been safe so long, they’d both been safe, but now, now she felt like that might be over.
    Running her hands through the damp curls she tried to think of what she would do, where they would go. It had to be someplace far. She knew she hadn’t gone far enough when she’d settled here in Sedona. She should have left the country. Dropping her head, she whimpered, then cut off the pathetic sound. No crying. No whimpering. No turning back.
    She stood again, went into the bedroom area, and fell to her knees on the floor. Pulling the largest of her luggage from beneath the bed, she opened the flap and looked inside. Fleece blankets, some with lovely canyon designs, others with brilliant colors. She’d been collecting them since she’d arrived here. One, her favorite, in the rich golden hues of her father’s favorite sunsets, was wrapped around a safe. She held the cool metal of the small box in her hand and let her nervous fingers work the lock until it clicked free.
    The velvet bag inside was warm when she lifted it out, holding it in the palm of her hand. She clasped her hands together, bringing them to her forehead as she closed her eyes and prayed for more time, for another location, for the peace she’d had for three years but was probably no more. Opening her eyes she unworked the rope holding the bag closed and poured the contents into her open palm.
    They