by Robyn Thomas
His crazy need to drop to his knees and skim his lips across her midriff was so powerful he cursed. Looking up at her unfettered breasts from that angle would mean touching for sure. Her top would be easy to push up, and those pants with their elasticized waist would slide all the way down to her ankles with a single tug.
Snatching her starchy apron off the counter, he tossed it at her and hoped she’d have the sense to put it on. He turned away, tossing a bored comment over his shoulder to disguise his interest.
“Don’t quit your day job, Beth. You don’t have the moves to be a stripper.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m trying to be sexy.”
He spun so fast, the room whirled around him. She thought she had to try to be sexy?
“Do me one favor. Hold that thought.” He grabbed her hand and strode toward the door, then marched her all the way to the bathroom at breakneck speed. The shaving mirror was next to useless. “Tell me you have a bigger mirror. Full-length?”
She frowned. “Sure. In the hall closet.”
His instincts warned that she’d bolt as soon as got a look at herself, so he took precautions once they’d arrived at the closet.
“Face me.”
“Quit mucking about, Jake. I’ve got food everywhere that needs to be put away.”
“The sooner you comply—”
She leapt onto his feet, her body dangerously close to his as her hands clasped fistfuls of his shirt for balance.
“Like this?”
He sucked in a deep breath, his chest expanding to brush against hers as his hand flattened between her shoulder blades and pressed her closer. Oh yeah, like that.
“Jake?”
Stifling a sigh of regret, he swung the door beside them open and admired her rear view in the mirror. “Turn slowly.”
He clamped his arm around her to keep her close. She needed to know the value of the cards in the deck she was playing with, needed to appreciate that he wasn’t a benign presence in her home. But the brush of her body against his as she turned had him biting back a groan. Who knew there’d be such a fine line between showing her she was sexy on her own and demonstrating how sexy they could be together?
The fine white cotton of her tank top revealed the curves of her breasts in stunning detail. They looked like they were supported by invisible hands, lifted high and pushed together as if each longed for the other’s softness.
“Do you see what I see? A complete fail in the nonsexy stakes.”
She squealed and flung her hands up to conceal the pert tips of her breasts. The urge to cover her hands and guide them in aslow circular motion was so strong that his hands were more than halfway to their destination before he called a stop to the idea.
Leaning his face close to her ear, he forced a chuckle. “Shall I tell you what caught my attention first?” When she shook her head, he shifted the arm he had around her, using his forearm to nudge her breasts higher so they swelled above the neckline of her tank top. “What’s a famous guy to do when this is the woman he finds himself engaged to?”
She didn’t react. She just studied his face.
He nuzzled his lips against the side of her neck. “I should probably tell you that I still have a privileged view.”
She blushed and made a hasty adjustment to the fabric before pushing away from him and crossing her arms across her chest.
She took several steps back and choked out a reply. “I Googled you while the soup cooked earlier. The media say you seduce every woman you meet, and it looks as if they got that right.”
He hadn’t been seducing her. If he had, they wouldn’t be angry and frustrated and facing off across the hall. Seducing a grieving woman whose private life was about to be picked apart by scavengers would be unforgivable, but he might not be able to help himself if she was half-dressed.
“Put some clothes on, Beth. You’re sharing your house with a man who’s accustomed to getting whatever he wants.”
The lie left a sour taste in his mouth, but Beth would believe it. His trumped-up reputation as a player preceded him.
“Gotcha,” she said. “If it’s up to me to make sure you’re not tempted, then I’ll put my chicken suit back on straightaway. Nothing could be less enticing than that.”
She couldn’t be more wrong, but he didn’t correct her assumption. “Put the apron on and I’ll give you a hand getting the food into storage. Dawn’s approaching fast and we could be in for a busy day.”
…
Beth slid the last foil container into the cool room and stifled a yawn as she removed her disposable food-handling gloves.
She kept forgetting that the diligent worker in her kitchen was Jake-freaking-Olsen. His earlier arrogance in the hall didn’t gel with the man standing before her now. She yawned hugely and handed him a dinner plate. “Can I get you something to eat before I turn in?”
Setting his plate on the cleared counter, he motioned for her to turn her back to him. “Food can wait. Sleep can’t.” He undid the ties on her apron and let it drop to the floor. “This is the warmest room in the house,” he said as he pulled her pajama top off the floor. “You’ll need long sleeves once you leave here.” His voice was calming, almost hypnotic, and since he hadn’t appreciated her taking her clothes off, it made a strange kind of sense that he’d want to dress her. “Straighten your arm, put it through the sleeve.”
He held up her pajama top.
She tried to do what he said, but anything more strenuous than breathing was a struggle. Mmm, sleep. It had been so long since she’d had enough of that. Jake had to be tired too, but he hid it well.
“You caught a plane here today. Why aren’t you jet-lagged?”
“I’m used to traveling, but I lost out on sleep last night because someone I met recently inspired me to write a song.”
He couldn’t mean her, it wasn’t possible.
“I haven’t slept worth mentioning in more than sixty hours.”
“I can relate. I think I’m closer to sixty days without proper sleep.”
She made a show of grumbling when he pulled her into his arms, but she was more than happy to snuggle against his chest.
“Want your jacket?”
“Nope. No more clothes.”
He eased her away from him, steadying her when she swayed.
“Can you walk?”
His question cut through the fog. Being close to someone, even Jake who’d already picked on her PJs, beat being alone, hands down. “If I say no, will you tuck me in after you walk me to bed?”
He set her farther away from him. “No. I’ll bring you a blanket and let you sleep here.”
She leaned closer, wishing he wasn’t so full of himself, wishing they could simply sink to the floor. Despite his occasional rock-god attitude, he was like a sun-warmed rock on a winter’s day.
Hot. Solid. And steady.
“I don’t need a blanket. I’d much rather sleep on the floor here with you than all by myself down at the other end of the hall.”
“You’re too tired to know what you’re saying.”
If there was anything guaranteed to give her a shot of adrenaline at the crack of dawn it was being talked down to. “I know I can’t bear to be alone tonight. I know Brad and Skyla would stay close to me if they were here.” Her voice wobbled but she’d gone too far to stop now. “I know I wanted the text I sent to Brad to be true.”
“You’ll be okay if you just go to sleep.”
When I’m alone, I miss my mother so much I can’t breathe. Don’t make me go through that. Just sit nearby and let me feel you. Please.
“You’re right, of course. Sleeping’s usually straightforward.” She turned to go but his voice stopped her.
“You need to rest and prepare for whatever the day brings.”
He exhaled long and slow, his frustration so seemingly out of place it made her hands curl into fists. “The media will camp outside your front gates. They’ll wait for me to arrive and when I
don’t they’ll begin to wonder if I’m here with you.”
She faced him and huffed out a sigh. “I don’t care what they conclude. It’s all supposition and it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” His voice held a chill and he assessed her as if she were a particularly heinous bug in his coffee. “If my team aren’t able to get me out of here unseen, then the privacy and solitude you usually take for granted will disappear.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. You should take care to enjoy every moment, in case that happens.”
This again! “No need. I’m of no interest to anyone.”
“Don’t be naive. You’re engaged to a commitment-phobic Alister who considers anything beyond morning a relationship.”
She almost choked on the irony because morning wasn’t far away. “Is that true?”
“No, but it’s a well-used headline. Other than music, I’m known for two things: dating once only, and never allowing my lovers the luxury of waking up beside me. If you’re seen as the woman who cured me of those habits, then the whole world’s going to want to know how you did it.” His voice dropped lower and carried a mocking edge she didn’t care for. “What makes you so damn irresistible?”
“Clearly I don’t have an abundance of brains or beauty, so I guess I must have a killer personality?” She rubbed one temple as a tension headache began to take root. “It’s not going to be enough, is it? What a mess. What will happen when they realize I’m too ordinary to be irresistible?”
A low growl emanated from his throat. “They’ll have proof that you are. I will have broken the habits of a lifetime for you: proposed, moved in, and tried to keep our association secret.
They’ll tear apart your life trying to establish how and when I met all of the lottery candidates, and what tipped the scales in your favor. When they can’t verify anything they’ll speculate instead.”
She snorted and glared at him, oh-so-tempted to roll her eyes.
“Try to keep a lid on the melodrama and employ some common sense before you say anything else. They’ll take one look at me and realize the whole thing is a farce. As long as they’re gone before Brad and Skyla’s wedding there’ll be no harm done.” She dusted her hands together. “Easy.”
He leaned in, his face so close to hers that she thought he might kiss her. “The media are probably setting up camp outside as we speak, and trust me, if there’s any chance of this story being true, they’ll be relentless in their coverage of it. You were supposed to be so grateful I’d made Brad move out that you wouldn’t care about the media attention.”
His exasperated tone made her laugh. “Should I apologize?”
“No, but you should try to appreciate the gravity of the situation and brace for impact. By this time tomorrow, you could be anything from a saint to a stripper, depending on what they can dig up or what they choose to invent in lieu of facts.” The banked fury in his eyes would’ve made her take a step back if the counter wasn’t already there.
“Beth,” he heaved out a breath and swiped his open palm over his face. “People always fall in with my plans. I ask for something and it’s done without question. You’re an exception, and without immediate backup, I can’t be sure what will happen. I expected you to be housebound with a sick mother when the story broke.”
He hesitated, and she sank her teeth into the inside of her lower lip. “I’ve asked my manager to assemble a damage-control team and have them fly in from London.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
His lips opened to reveal his teeth for a fleeting moment, but it wasn’t even close to being a smile. “They’ll ensure you don’t feel like you’re facing this alone. You can count on them to act in your best interests, and they’ll live here until our engagement is dissolved.”
She curved her hands around the edge of the counter behind her and squeezed, her tired mind trying to make sense of the contempt in his tone. “Fair enough. Some pleasant company might make a nice change.”
“Pleasant?” His arrogant manner suggested that she ought to be glad he’d deigned to ring her doorbell with his lottery news.
“Tell me, Jake, how famous do you have to be before you stop
caring about anyone except yourself? I didn’t ask for you to come here on one of the worst days of my life. I haven’t leaked your private details to the media or trapped you in a public engagement or accused you of adultery or insulted your clothing choices or checked you out and then passed because you weren’t up to my usual standard.”
In the space of a heartbeat he braced his hands atop the counter on either side of her hips, his jaw tight as he leaned his head down to her eye level. “That’s not what happened.”
“Sure it is. You said you could have anything you wanted and then you walked away.”
“Beth—”
“And now”—she swallowed, unsure if she wanted to quantify her current needs—“now, when all I want is for someone vaguely human to hold my freaking hand for five minutes while I fall asleep, you won’t do it. You’re so famous that you’re willing to soak up the ambience of my home while I cry myself to sleep in the next room.”
His mouth met hers almost before she’d finished speaking.
It was a kiss unlike any she’d ever had, so achingly gentle that she felt her lips trembling beneath his. She held her breath and locked her knees. Jake’s fingertips played over her temples before drifting through her hair in a barely-there caress, the backs of his hands circling her ears. She gasped at the spear of heat that arrowed though her when his thumbs and forefingers closed over her lobes and tugged in a gentle rhythm.
“Ssh,” he said against her lips. “Relax for me.”
She nodded in a daze, her head angling as her mouth moved over his instinctively. Her invitation for him to deepen the kiss went unanswered, but he didn’t pull back, and the freedom to explore his mouth was enough to satisfy her. Being in control and sampling only the pleasures that appealed in her current state of exhaustion was like heaven on a stick.
When he slid one hand down her back and pressed her hips forward, her eyes drifted closed and she sighed with pleasure.
His body’s honest response was exactly what she needed, a confirmation that she wasn’t alone in this, despite them both being almost catatonic at six in the morning. Snaking her arms around his neck and leaning into him made more sense than anything had in a long time. Weeks of sleeplessness caught up with her, and even kissing was a stretch. She nestled her face against his chest and inhaled, letting the subtle hint of cologne that clung to him muddle her senses. “Mmm, I can smell the ocean.”
He eased away from her and smiled. “Listen to you, calm and relaxed and ready for sleeping. And I didn’t need to hold your hand.”
She extended her hand to him, needing to maintain contact until sleep claimed her. “You’re not off the hook yet.”
…
Jake stared at sleepy-eyed temptation in a chicken suit. He was dead tired, but being tortured by proximity he couldn’t capitalize on would ensure he didn’t sleep now, either.
Beth would, though.
He slipped his hand into hers. “You’ll have to direct me to your room. I wouldn’t want you sleeping in the laundry just
because your fiancé mistook one door for another. I’ll stay close until you drift off, but you should plan to wake up alone.”
“I try not to make plans that aren’t in my best interests.” She tugged on his hand. “This way.”
To his surprise she provided a commentary as they walked down the hall. “Both sides of the house are exactly the same, and they’re both freezing at this time of the night. First door, dining rooms. The tables are long enough to stretch out on but I always seem to wake up with a crick in my neck. Second door—”
This one he knew. “My room.”
The quick dip of her brows would’ve been easy to miss, but somehow he’d known to look for it. Beth eased her hand free and moved forward to the next set of doors.
The hopeful note in her voice propelled him to her side. He nudged her shoulder with his. “What makes this couch more comfortable than the fold-out bed I slept on earlier?”
“This one comes complete with a super-soft chicken.”
He chuckled and opened the sitting room door. “Another opportunity for a farmyard headline.” He walked past her and struck a match beneath the haphazard pile of wood in the fireplace, then sprawled in the center of the L-shaped couch, stretching his legs out and folding his arms behind his head to gauge the comfort of his newfound bed. “It’s good, but there’s no sign of a chicken.”
Beth walked toward him, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not all chickens are instant.”
She produced a handmade quilt from inside the ottoman and offered it to him. He tensed and closed his eyes, his fingers fisting in the soft fabric as he clutched it to his chest. When he and his brothers were small, they had watched weekend cartoons wrapped in their mother’s heirloom quilt, a quilt he hadn’t seen in years because he’d alienated his family.
He’d caught his father in bed with a television news reporter in town to do a story on Jake’s sudden rise to fame. After the woman had left the motel room their father-son argument had gotten pretty heated, and someone had recorded it. It went viral and caused irreparable damage to his family. His mother was mortified but she’d stood by her husband, and she had been furious at Jake for inflaming a sensitive situation. Intervening the way he had was a decision he’d regretted every day for eight long years, but presented with the same circumstance he’d make the same choice again in an instant. Heck, if he was as wrong about
Brad Hall as Beth seemed to think, and if his interference messed up Skyla’s chance at happiness, he was already well on his way to repeating his worst mistake.