She slept beside him, the curves of her nude body outlined in the moonlight from the window enticed him to start all over again, but in truth, after last night she scared him. He’d had a hard on for her years ago and he obviously still did. She wasn’t that much older than him, but realistically she was so far out of his league that he tried not to think about it. He’d used the excuse that she slept around, just like Jocelyn, to keep his pecker zipped in the end—except her sleeping around had been lies. Deep down, he’d known that then, and he knew it now.
As he caressed down her side and over her hip with his hand, his heart leapt in his chest. He tried to calm himself before the panic could really well inside of him. The night would be all he’d allow with her.
Turning her onto her stomach, he tugged her bottom up into the air and spread her legs, his tongue waking her body…
* * *
10:30am
* * *
Saige had nerves in her belly that were caused by a mixture of fear and excitement as she waited beside Coulter to go through another security gate.
The thought of being locked inside the prison walls, never to have freedom, caused her breathing to hitch in her lungs. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
She turned and looked around them, even though there wasn’t much to see.
Coulter offered her a wry smile and squeezed her arm. “You okay?”
“Nervous.”
He nodded and led her through the door. “This part of the prison is a lot quieter. I think there’s only Quinten in this section right now,” Coulter tried to reassure her, but it didn’t work.
It made her realize that she walked close to where it would all end. She wanted to cry and wondered if she’d be able to hold it together until they left the dismal place.
“Peterson’s waiting for you,” a guard informed them as he opened a door at the end of the corridor.
Her steps faltered the closer she got to the door. Coulter entered first, and Saige slowly followed, keeping her head down.
Coulter wrapped an arm around her and ushered her into a chair. She couldn’t put it off any longer and lifted her head.
Quinten sat across the room with his eyes fixated on her with an intensity she knew that she’d only ever felt with him.
Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at him. His hair and beard had been trimmed. His shoulders and biceps filled out the orange t-shirt that spread across his chest. But her eyes kept moving back to his.
She wasn’t the only one with tears on her face and it hurt not being able to feel his arms around her, or to be able to offer him comfort—something that she didn’t think he’d had since the last time they were together.
“Ms. Lockwood.”
The man standing behind Quinten pulled her gaze away and stepped forward. “I’m Warden Jonathan Roscoe.”
Saige nodded, afraid to talk in case she burst into tears.
“As you probably imagine,” the warden continued, “I don’t usually meet with visitors, but I was curious about this meeting. You’re the victim, but wanted to meet with Quinten. We get this occasionally, but I’ve always wondered as to Quinten’s guilt.”
That got Quinten’s attention as he turned abruptly to stare at the warden before his gaze landed back on Saige.
“I know about your memory loss, but I have to ask you, is Quinten guilty, Ms. Lockwood?”
Saige ignored the tears that had started to run down her face, and shook her head, while her gaze stayed on Quinten. “No. Since I saw Quinten on TV—twelve days ago—I’ve been getting bits of my memory back. The man who took me had slim, white hands. No markings. Quinten’s hands were”—she glanced at his hands—“and still are, large, and he has the vine tattoos that wrap around his two middle fingers.”
The warden didn’t seem surprised. “Have you told anyone else? The governor?”
“Yes.” Saige wiped at her tears. “Detective Robinson, and Daniel Sterling, Quinten’s defense attorney. He’s writing a report for the governor to request a stay.”
Saige held her pleading eyes on the warden. “Can I...can I please move closer to Quinten.”
The warden looked between them, and just when she thought he’d refuse, he nodded. “For a minute, but Quinten stays seated.”
She nodded, and slowly stood on legs that she wasn’t sure would hold her up. Quinten didn’t move, but watched her intently as she approached.
When she was within touching distance, Saige dropped to her knees and reached for his hands. She slowly caressed over his tattoo on the back and felt his quiver in response. Her eyes moved back to his face that was covered with tears.
Her tears flowed freely as she reached up and cupped his bearded jaw. He leaned into her touch and, with her other hand, threaded her fingers through the soft hair of his beard. “I remember doing this,” she whispered, her vision going blurry with tears. “I remember.” Her hand slipped from his jaw to the nape of his neck as she leaned closer, her other hand grasping his.