Whiskey Sharp: Jagged. Lauren Dane

       CHAPTER ONE

      LINES ON THE PAGE. Each sketch, each movement created a world she was responsible for. A world whose rules she made. A world whose rules they obeyed.

      For a control freak like Rachel, it was as good as the talk therapy she’d been in for the last three years. It freed her. Gave her the ability to effect change on multiple levels.

      And she didn’t need to hunt serial killers or carry a gun to do it.

      It was also a hell of a lot safer.

      Sleep often eluded her, but the creative fire that had ignited into fierce existence in the wake of the events that had shattered her entire life four years ago rarely did. So when she couldn’t find rest, she could always find art.

      Her music wasn’t so loud she missed the ping of her phone, indicating a text.

      I’m in my driveway. Your light is on. Are you still awake?

      Her pulse kicked at the sight of his name on her phone’s screen. Vicktor Orlov. Heard the words in his voice in her head. That accent, a sexy Russian lilt though he’d been born in the United States. Growing up in a houseful of Orlovs and various relations with heavy accents had been close enough, she figured.

      And it worked. Like really, really worked. It didn’t hurt that he also happened to be gorgeous. Sinfully sexy. Funny. Super smart. He worked with his hands so he had great forearms. One of her favorite parts of a man.

      Over the years Rachel and Maybe had lived next door to his parents, he’d come to be an acquaintance. And since her sister had gone and fallen in love with his cousin, Rachel and Vic had gone from acquaintances to friends.

      And the door had been opened to something else. Something more. The possibility of what could be hung between them.

      She considered not replying. He wouldn’t know either way. He was messy. She couldn’t keep him in a tidy box marked Friend. Not any longer and certainly not if she went and texted with him at three forty-seven in the morning.

      Couldn’t sleep. Working instead. Why are you up so early? Hot date that went late? Just enjoying stalking my window like a creeper?

      It was a joke, or she wouldn’t have said it. His house sat on the curve of their street, so from his front window and driveway he could see the side of the house Rachel’s bedroom was on.

      I run a bakery. I’m usually up by four thirty most days. Today I switched with my mother so she could accompany Evie to a doctor’s appointment. I start work in about half an hour or so.

      Ah.

      He always smelled really good. Like bread and cake and just a smidge of vanilla. She wanted to take a bite. Or a lick. Something of the sort.

      Vic made her tingly and warm and sometimes he made her want things she didn’t need.

      And yet, she found herself responding because she liked him—more than she should—and around Vic she was less alone. And maybe closer to being a normal person again who did things like have crushes and went out on dates with hot bakers.

      Save me a loaf of black bread. I’ll drop by later this morning to pick it up on my way to work.

      Then she’d be able to get some food and look her fill at him while she did it.

      That’d