by Cathryn Fox
“Ho-ly shit,” he whistles.
“What?”
“Jessica Cohen—are you upset about something?” The incredulity in his tone suggests that the very idea of this is impossible. I’m kind of pleased that I’ve managed to fool him into thinking I really am some kind of superwoman, and also immediately depressed that one of my best friends has no idea I have any emotional depth at all.
“Mind your own damn business, Marcus.”
His expression grows serious, and he leans even closer to whisper, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Things are clearly not fine,” Marcus says, frowning. He glances down at my hands, and I realize I’m tapping the table. I stop, but as soon as I do, my knee starts to bounce.
“Seriously, Marcus, leave it,” I whisper back to him, but the words come out as a half growl, half hiss, and he winces.
“Okay, okay,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. Just then, the doorbell rings and my heart is suddenly beating so hard and so fast I feel a little faint. I have butterflies in my tummy, and in my back. That’s not normal. Maybe I need medical attention.
Isabel squeals and stands.
“That’ll be Jake!”
And off she goes to answer the door, while I try to figure out just how upset Isabel and Paul would be if I tell them I can’t stay for their rehearsal dinner. But what would be big enough an excuse to justify such a dick move? I can’t say it’s a date. That would make me a bitch. What else is there? Why didn’t I come up with an excuse earlier?
Aaaand… Now it’s too late.
My stomach drops. I stop tapping my knee, but now my hands start to shake, so I fold them together and hide them on my lap.
Jake Winton strides into the room wearing jeans and a plain gray T-shirt that stretches over the bulky muscles of his arms and his chest. Goddammit, I hate how good he looks. Unlike his brother, Jake is very broad and very tall—far too large for my tastes, really. I like a man I can look eye to eye in my heels, and Jake is six foot six. I’m good, but even I couldn’t manage thirteen-inch heels.
Jake is just a veritable giant in every way. Yes, including that one. Men spend a lot of time worrying about size, but frankly, I’d take a skilled guy with a sensibly sized appendage over a horse like Jake any day. I want a man who can get in there, get the job done, then walk away—leaving me able to walk away too…as opposed to limping away. Maybe it’s just me, but I like to enjoy a guy’s company and not need an epidural if I want to go to spin class the next day.
Not that I was complaining all that much when Jake and I were together. Probably because he was a skilled guy. In fact, I do remember relishing that sometimes-morning-after tenderness because it reminded me of the hours I’d spent with him. I was so lust-addled at the time that I actually thought that was a good thing.
But sex is better without complications like that—delicious memories, emotions, huge dicks. So yes, in hindsight, his is definitely too big. And he’s definitely too tall and broad. And too compassionate. And too…argh… These days he’s just too West Coast. He looks so relaxed, and I can’t miss the light tan on his skin and the way that his muddy-blond hair has brightened up several tones. Then again, Jake always loved surfing and hiking. Even when he lived here in Manhattan, he was forever planning trips away to commune with nature or some shit. When his job gets too much, he heads to the outdoors to decompress.
Yes, Jake Winton was and is all wrong for me, in pretty much every way.
I look away, and I plan to continue looking away—but my eyes are drawn back to him and I find myself staring again immediately. I’ve just missed him so much, and it’s been two and a half years since I saw him—apparently that separation has left me weak and hungry. I note the smattering of gray at his temples and just for a moment I wonder if I put it there. Then I do the calculation and realize he’d be thirty-nine now, so I guess a hint of silver makes sense. Also, I’m really not into salt-and-pepper guys, so that’s excellent.
Except that it suits him. He is a doctor, after all…a specialist at that, and there’s something about the hint of gray that makes him look even more distinguished. And the horn-rimmed glasses? They’re new too. He used to make fun of my reading glasses in that flirty, melt-my-panties way of his. He always said they made me look like a sexy librarian.
Seriously, who has sexy librarian fantasies?
Me.
Right now.
I’m fantasizing about a very broad, very tall, very sexy male librarian who’s actually a doctor with a huge dick and horn-rimmed frames on his brand-new glasses.
“…glad to be here. Marcus, congratulations on the engagement and the twins and—oh! Hey there, Abby! Wow, you look amazing. When are you due?” Jake’s going around the table greeting everyone and by the time I check back into the conversation, he’s already up to me. His gaze lands on me, and after a split second of panic I force my brightest smile. “And Jessica,” he says, then he returns my smile with a very tight smile of his own.
There’s barely disguised antagonism in his gaze, and it seems I’ve made a critical error here. I knew I was at real risk of throwing myself at him like some kind of lust-sick idiot tonight, but I figured he’d be on his best behavior. I mean, come on: Jake’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. It really didn’t occur to me that he’d ever look at me like…this.
It seems that in all of my wasted hours over the last few weeks, worrying about seeing Jake again, I have neglected to consider one very important thing: I’m the villain here. It was my idea to hide our relationship from our friends. My idea to end things. My idea to “give one another some space” after we broke up.
It was his idea to pack up and move to California to get away from me, and I probably should have given a little more thought to the level of hurt that might have been behind that decision. I just told myself the job offer at Stanford must have been too good to be true, and that he was probably ready for a change after living his whole life in New York. It was easier to believe my own lies than it was to think about what might actually have been going on for him.
“Hello,” he says now.
“Hi, Jake,” I say. My gaze lands on the almost-empty bottle of champagne in the middle of the table. “We need some more bubbles!” My voice is a little too light and a little too high. I glance toward the kitchen, where Marcus’s brother-in-law and a pair of apprentice chefs are preparing our meal as part of his wedding gift to Paul and Izzy. “I’ll just—”
“Sit down, Jess,” Isabel says, laughing. She waves at me, playfully dismissive as she rises. “I’ll get it. You guys can all catch up before we talk through the plan for tomorrow.”
“I need to walk a bit,” Abby says, and she stands with some difficulty. Didn’t she just get back from the bathroom? I move to rise, but Marcus is right beside her and before I’m even on my feet, his arm is around her waist and he’s leading her away from the table.
“Let me come, Abs,” he says softly. “Want to go outside for some fresh air? How’s the heartburn?”
“All good.” She flashes a smile that’s just a little too bright. “Fresh air sounds great.”
That leaves me, Jake and Paul. I mentally beg Paul to stay but because the universe hates me, he stands immediately.
“Sorry,” he says, then he gives us a cheeky grin. “I’ve been waiting all night for Isabel to get distracted. I’ve organized a surprise for the honeymoon and I just need to check some details.”
They’re going to New Zealand for their honeymoon. I’m pretty sure the “surprise” is tickets to a rugby game—Isabel is sports-mad. In any case, Paul leaves the room, and… Now I’m alone with his brother.
I down the last of my champagne in one gulp, then glance hesitantly at Jake. He’s staring at me, his gaze hard, and I try to force myself to be polite and to make an attempt at small talk.
> “How have you been? It’s been too long,” I say. It’s possibly the stupidest thing I could ever have said to Jake Winton. Jesus. I don’t know even why I said it. It’s just what people say, isn’t it? My voice is all wobbly. Where’s my supposedly endless confidence when I need it? Where are those “balls of steel” lovers and business rivals have accused me of having? Oh God. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
Jake sits. He leans back in his chair and surveys me for a moment, then he sighs impatiently.
“We have to play games when the others are around because that’s how you wanted it to be. But when we’re alone, let’s not pretend this isn’t uncomfortable.”
Even as I nod in agreement, I feel my heart sink. There’s no mistaking the disdain in his tone. I usually don’t give a flying fuck what other people think about me, and I’m still not sure what makes Jake so different… But he is different. And I hate the idea that he might hate me.
I’m saved by the return of Izzy with the champagne, and she immediately launches herself into rapid-fire chitchat about the meal. Everyone else returns soon enough too, and at first, I figure the tension between Jake and me will dilute, at least a little, as we settle into the company of our friends.
But I’m wrong about that too. Jake is polite enough to ignore me in conversation, but tense enough to narrow his gaze every time our eyes meet.
Copyright © 2020 by Lantana Management Pty Ltd
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ISBN: 9781488062025
Under His Touch
Copyright © 2020 by Cathryn Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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