“Jane,” he greets deeply. I’m only a few feet away. My bones ache for him. I want to feel him inside me. I want the emotion, and I barely see concern tighten his eyes. Climb him, Jane. “I want you,” I whisper. “Jane.” “Thatcher.” I’m a drunken fool, but Flirty Jane doesn’t give a damn. I’m one second from straddling Thatcher when hands clasp my waist. Farrow pulls me back,
