Free Make Me Lose Control by Christie Ridgway

silvering his hair. “How old are you, England?”
    “Seventeen,” she replied, without a single betraying quaver in her voice. It didn’t matter that it was a lie; it was her next foray into the life she’d been waiting to begin.
    Fifteen-year-old London, who’d lost her mother and only just met her father, was an outcast, that freak she’d always felt like. But London, nicknamed “England” by a handsome, soon-to-be high school senior, was the master of her fate and the captain of her soul.
    And surely, surely seventeen.

CHAPTER FIVE
    S HAY BUSIED HERSELF at the sink, swishing the dishcloth in the soapy water contained by one of the mixing bowls she’d used in preparing the evening meal. The chicken enchilada dinner had gone okay, she supposed, and she was relieved that she and Jace—his real name—seemed to be of the same mind.
    The mind in which the Deerpoint Inn didn’t exist.
    Or, at least, of the mind that they weren’t the same two people who had spent a night there together.
    If the three of them were going to share the house for the summer, Shay’s relationship with London’s father needed to be polite, professional and impersonal. Surely she could manage that.
    Then, even with her hand buried in the warm water on a warm night, a cold fingertip trailed down her spine. She froze, her prey-sense kicking in. Someone was behind her.
    Lifting her gaze to the window over the sink, she saw a man reflected in the glass. His height, his breadth, the very masculine mass of him seemed to press the air from the room. Her heart skipped as he strode inside on silent feet until only the expanse of the stainless-steel-topped island separated them.
    Calm down
, Shay admonished herself.
He’s no predator. He’s nothing to you, not even that attractive man at the bar who was so charming at dinner and so blissful in bed.
    As a matter of fact, he was the kind of man she wouldn’t find appealing at all. Upon learning of his ex’s death, he’d made exactly one phone call to his daughter and then left her in others’ care—without another word for weeks. Sure, Shay was self-aware enough to know she had a chip on her shoulder when it came to paternal issues, but anyone would agree that Jace should have maintained tighter contact since becoming London’s sole guardian.
    “Where’s the kid?” he asked now, his voice low.
    The sound of it—damn—reminded her of the night before. His voice, both rough and soft in the darkness as he murmured against the skin of her throat, as he whispered in the hot shell of her ear.
Your breasts fit perfectly in my hands. Open your mouth for my tongue. Spread your thighs. Let me feel your wet heat.
    “Shay?”
    She jumped, and shook herself free of the memories. That man was not this one. The lover had been attentive and generous. This...stranger was neither of those things. “London is in her room, I believe.”
    “Look at me, will you?” he said. “We need to talk.”
    No, they didn’t. And looking at him, looking into those lion-gold eyes, wasn’t going to put them on that all-important professional footing. Maybe tomorrow, with more time and distance since they’d shared kisses, breath, a bed, she would have her armor intact and her memories safely locked away.
    Maybe she could fully face him then.
    The harsh screech of the bar-stool legs against the polished concrete floor scraped her nerves. He was sitting instead of going away, she thought with a grimace.
    But there was an odd heaviness to the sound of his body dropping into the chair. Without thinking, Shay swung around, only to see Jace sprawled in the seat, his elbows on the island, his head in his hands.
    “What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
    “I’ll be all right in a minute.”
    “Is it the elevation again?” She hurried to get him a glass of cold water. “Drink this down.”
    He didn’t move. “No.”
    “Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “If you’re afraid I’ll think less of you if your machismo