Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  The admonition reverberated through the air like someone had banged a spoon against the rim of a hand-blown glass. Jaye’s stomach twisted in shock. All her life, she’d been on the lookout for gold-diggers. Never once had she been accused of coveting someone else’s assets.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mitch muttered.

  “Fine. Go ahead and let her ruin you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Jaye could hear the ragged hurt edging Tara’s sharp words and felt an unexpected spurt of sympathy. Clearly, Tara felt for Mitch. Facing his indifference probably stung. To defuse the tension, Jaye lowered her gaze and headed for the garage. Footsteps followed, hard and fast.

  “He might not care who you are, but I do,” Tara hissed.

  A hard shove landed between Jaye’s shoulder blades, propelling her forward. She lost her footing and fell like a kid on an ice rink, face first. A sharp sting pierced her cheekbone.

  Heavy footsteps thumped toward her. Two big hands gripped her shoulders, urgently helping her sit. Mitch touched her cheek and gazed at the streak of red along his fingers. His eyes narrowed into two forbidding slits.

  Catching sight of the anger swirling among the navy flecks in his eyes, she gripped his wrist. “Don’t blame Tara. She’s in pain.”

  “What about you?” He frowned, searching her face. “Aren’t you in pain?”

  “I’m fine. The snow cushioned my fall.” Splaying a mittened hand on the ground, Jaye scrambled to her feet.

  Tara gasped and stared at Jaye’s face. “Oh, God. You’re bleeding. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Get out of here, Tara. Don’t come back.” Mitch scooped Jaye up like she weighed little more than a child and carried her into the house. After lowering her carefully onto the living room couch, he ripped off his coat. “I’m getting the first aid kit.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen. A cabinet door slammed.

  Outside, the Corvette roared. The throaty purr of its engine faded from earshot.

  Tara’s departure didn’t ease Jaye’s mind. She’d left her ex-boyfriend to escape all the drama, but had she stepped into another soap opera? It seemed so, considering the small drip of blood on the sleeve of her new coat. She swiped a thumb over the spot and created a rusty smear on the dark fabric.

  Mitch knelt in front of her. He squirted antiseptic on a gauze pad and frowned at her cheek. “A rock nicked you. I need to clean the cut.”

  “Let me.” She reached for the gauze.

  “No, Jaye. Don’t fight me.” He caught her chin in his warm hand and pressed the gauze to her left cheekbone.

  The feel of his skin on hers hurt more than the medicine. She didn’t want him to touch her, not until she figured out if he was like David. Pulling back, she held up her hand. “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Really, I’m fine.” She plucked the gauze out of his fingers so he’d stop doctoring her and tried to take off her snowy boot.

  Mitch took over, pulling her left foot free. “Talk to me.”

  She didn’t want to voice the feelings swirling inside her. Better to ignore them, stuff them deep inside, and pretend they didn’t exist. A quiver touched her mouth. She bit her bottom lip to kill the damning tremor and slid her foot out of the other boot. Without the heavy shoes weighing her down, she could sprint to the safety of her bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Wait.” Mitch shaped his palm against the outer edge of her thigh, tracing the seam of her jeans with his thumb. “Let me take care of you.”

  “No need. I’m a big girl.” Almost as an afterthought, she brushed the gauze across the cut. Pink lymph stained the white bandage. “The bleeding has stopped. This cut is nothing. I’ve been hit harder when I played college lacrosse.”

  His steady gaze poured into hers. “Your cut isn’t the only thing hurting.”

  Pretending she had no idea what he meant, she stared in wooden indifference at his rigid jaw.

  The muscles on either side of his mouth tightened, forming hollows in his rigid cheeks. “Tell me what the hell you’re thinking. I can tell you’re pissed. You haven’t looked into my eyes since I carried you inside. How can I fix things if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

  “I won’t be ready to fix things until I figure out what I’m feeling.” For good measure, she popped a brief glare into his blue eyes.

  He leaned back on his heels and rubbed a knuckle along his chin.

  Jaye jerked her head toward the hallway. “It’s been a long day. I want to lie down.”

  With a brusque nod, he stood. “Give me your keys. I’ll pull our cars into the garage so they don’t get covered in ice.”

  She dropped her keys into his palm, fighting the impulse to call him back when he walked away. Talking this out would be the mature thing to do, but a sharp tingle of tears silenced her. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone since she was a kid—a record she wanted to maintain.

  Rising on unsteady legs, she walked out of the living room. She tried not to think of Tara’s possessive hold on Mitch, the kiss Tara claimed Mitch bestowed, or the ex-fiancée waiting for his call.

  A spike of heat clawed across Jaye’s skin like long manicured nails. The room spun back and forth, throwing her off balance. Recognizing the symptoms of an oncoming panic attack, she propped her backside against the foyer wall and stripped off her coat. She hadn’t felt such nauseated anxiety since she discovered the naked brunette in David’s living room.

  She wasn’t good enough for her father or for David. Was it only a matter of time before she failed to live up to Mitch’s standards and found a naked redhead lounging in his living room?

  Bracing both hands on her knees, Jaye stared at the polished hardwood floor and took slow, even breaths. A pair of scuffed work boots came into view. Jaye prayed she wouldn’t barf. Gathering her frayed nerves, she murmured, “I’m fine.”

  “You keep saying those words, but I don’t believe you.” He touched her back. “You’re teaching me a valuable lesson. Until now, I had no idea how frustrating it is when someone won’t tell you how they feel. A number of women will thank you for giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

  Jaye snorted. “This isn’t a good time to bring them up your girlfriends, since one of them just shoved me to the ground.”

  “Tara isn’t my girlfriend.”

  “She kissed you, didn’t she?” Jaye squinted at him. “We city girls call that a girlfriend. What do you country boys call it?”

  His lips parted. “Are you…jealous?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to slap a pair of blinders over his steely blue eyes so he couldn’t look at any other woman but her. She wanted to claim his smile for her own and be the only one who could make the corners of his eyes crinkle with happiness. She wanted to keep his big, skilled hands on her and no one else. He was the only man who wanted her—not for her money or connections—but for who she was. She needed that. She needed him.

  Afraid she’d say that and more, she straightened with a hard jerk. The floor tilted and she stumbled.

  “Whoa.” Mitch grabbed her around the waist and picked her up.

  The abrupt swing into his arms worsened Jaye’s dizziness. She clamped both hands over her stomach. “I’m tired of being slung around like a sack of groceries.”

  “Hell, you’re pale as a ghost. I’m putting you to bed.” His long legs gobbled up the length of the hallway in three purposeful strides and he shouldered his way into her dark bedroom.

  They were headed for disaster. She clutched the front of his shirt. “Stop.”

  “I’m taking care of you whether you want it or not.” He bumped into the bed and fell backward onto the mattress.

  Jaye landed on top of him with a sick moan. Her nausea flared, fueled by out-of-control emotions threatening to turn her insides out.

  “What the hell?” He hoisted himself up on one elbow to look around. The milky light from the front porch threw a yellow square on the empty floorboards
. “Why is the bed in the middle of the room?”

  The darned man wouldn’t stop moving. She straddled him, lost her balance, and kneed him right between the legs.

  “Not again,” he groaned in agony, latching his hands around her thigh.

  “Stop moving.” Terrified she’d empty her stomach, she dug her fingernails into the soft cotton T-shirt stretched across his torso, tempted to tie him to the bedposts so he’d stop moving…and never leave.

  “Ouch. You’re ripping the skin off my chest.”

  Her grip loosened, numbed by memories of her first panic attack. She was just twelve years old and her father insisted she attend a summer computer camp a hundred miles away. Halfway there, she begged him to pull over to the side of the road. Panicked about leaving home, she got sick all over the back seat of his new car. Her father yelled at her for losing it.

  Ever since then, she’d done everything in her power to control the needy impulses he despised. She never begged him to attend her lacrosse games. She stuffed her fascination with photography aside and studied computer science, just like he wanted. She ignored the instinct to break up with David just to win her father’s hearty approval.

  A bead of sweat trickled down her nape, disappearing between her shoulder blades. She was so tired of shaping her life for men who didn’t love her.

  “Move your knee, Jaye.” Mitch nudged her leg, nearly tipping her over.

  She shoved his chest, hard. “Stop moving, damn it!”

  He lay flat on his back and opened his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I won’t budge.”

  His willingness to give in—with no explanation required—tightened her throat with gratitude. Jaye concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths to regain her composure. Slowly, she moved her knee a few inches away from his crotch. Staring down at the Blake Glassware logo on his T-shirt, she waited for the nausea to pass.

  When she felt better, she sat in the middle of the bed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and muffled a soft whimper of despair. Letting Mitch witness her massive panic attack made her feel vulnerable. Weak. Worthless. She’d been trained to be stronger than this.

  Jaye looked up and swept the bangs out of her eyes. “Tell me about you and Tara.”

  “Fair enough.” He tilted his head toward her. “Mind if I sit up?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Moving with slow, deliberate care, he removed his work boots, set them on the floor, and leaned against the headboard. He stretched his legs along the edge of the mattress. “Tara and I grew up together. Right before I went to college, I ran into her at a party. She was a little drunk and pulled me down for a kiss. Like any eighteen year-old boy, I was happy to oblige. I stopped before things went too far. The attraction was hormonal, nothing more. By the time I finished my degree, I heard she got married.” Mitch pressed the heel of his hand against his temple and winced. “Every time a husband leaves, she sniffs around to see if I’m available. She thinks I’m capable of supporting her lavish lifestyle. Apparently, her last husband ran off a few weeks ago. She showed up at the factory on Wednesday night, kissed my jaw, and invited me out for a drink. Her invitation didn’t appeal to me.” He drew his hand down his face and gazed at Jaye. “I wanted to come home to you.”

  Jaye rested her chin on her hand. “So, you let her believe you weren’t interested in dating anyone right now.”

  “No. I let her believe I was punishing myself for hurting someone a few years ago, because it’s the truth.” He tilted back his head to stare at the ceiling. “I destroyed a relationship by saying things I shouldn’t have said. Cruel things. Been alone ever since.”

  Jaye had a flash of insight. “You’ve punished yourself by withdrawing from every close relationship you have.”

  He shook his head. “You make me sound more noble than I deserve.”

  His admission troubled her. “Are we talking about your ex fiancée, or someone else?”

  “Both. My ex wasn’t the only woman I hurt.” His gaze landed on the scrape on Jaye’s face. “Now you’re hurt, too.”

  The grim look on his face compelled Jaye to state the obvious. “This cut isn’t your fault. Tara is the one who pushed me, not you.”

  “I should’ve known she’d try something stupid.” The muscles along his brow bunched. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her in time.”

  The poignant regret in his voice loosened the tension coiled around her waist. “You said Tara was unpredictable. I didn’t realize how right you were.”

  He took a deep breath. “Do you believe her? Did she plant any doubt in your mind I’d choose her over you?”

  She thought of the naked waitress she’d found with David. “Every woman has doubts. I’m no different.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, I think you’re entirely different. No one else would be so kind to Tara.” His Adam’s apple rose and fell in a deep swallow. “Or me.”

  The last muscle clenching her ribcage loosened, allowing Jaye to take a deep breath. “If Tara has any sense, she’d find the tools in your garage more fascinating than your bank account.” She pointed to the decorative wood along the top of her bedroom walls. “Few women can find a guy who can put up crown molding.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “Try finding a pretty woman who likes snowball fights and football.”

  The hoarse warmth in his voice melted her misgivings, tempting her to believe he wanted her and no one else. “Will your ex fiancée show up when she hears about me?”

  “No. She’ll leave us alone.”

  Jaye plucked at a loose thread on the blue bedspread. “What about the other woman you hurt? Will she come back?”

  “No, but meeting her would answer a lot of your questions.” He paused for a moment. “She’s my mother.”

  He stared at her like a man waiting for his prison sentence, but Jaye couldn’t hand down a conviction. “I imagine whatever you said was fueled by frustration and hurt because your mother stopped talking to you.” Jaye felt a sudden flare of anger. His mother’s selfish actions had condemned Mitch to years of isolation and guilt. “You’re a good man. You deserve to be happy.”

  He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headboard. “You’re the only one who makes me happy.”

  Damn. There it was.

  Proof.

  Mitchell Blake would keep talking—and keep hounding her to talk—until he got into her bed. Yet here he was, taking up most of the mattress even though he’d taken care to position himself along the edge, and he made no move to seduce her. No, his only goal seemed to be one simple thing.

  To say she made him happy.

  Shock clamped around her chest, immobilizing her lungs. She caught her breath with a joke. “Think of how happy you’ll be when I stop hitting you in the groin.”

  His handsome mouth tilted into a grin. “You’ll never hear me complain about the way you touch my groin, even if it’s with your knee. Or flashlight.”

  She laughed and reached for his hand.

  He brushed his thumb over her knuckles and met her gaze. “You scared the hell outta me a few minutes ago. Are you okay, pixie?”

  “Yes. I, um, had a little trouble processing what happened. I’ve never been the other woman before.”

  “You’re not the other woman. You’re the only woman.” He pulled away his hand, slanting her a rueful grin. “I promised not to touch you when we were in this part of the house. Keeping that vow while I’m in your bed is damned difficult.”

  “Good thing I never promised the same thing.” Jaye hugged him tight, loving the rich burst of heat coming off his chest. He exhaled against her neck, the hot rush of air a poignant testimony he’d been holding his breath.

  He gave her a slow kiss, his mouth soft and tender, and rested the bridge of his nose against hers. “I’ve got to ask. Why did you move the bed into the middle of the room?”

  “There was a draft from the window. I was cold.”

  “I know how to fix that.” He kissed her again,
lowering her to the mattress. Pulling a blanket over them, he spooned his body behind hers and tucked her close to his chest. “Don’t worry. I remember the rules. No sex while we’re working together…but if you’ll let me stay, I’ll keep you warm.”

  Warmth radiated into her back from where his torso pressed against her spine. Relaxing under the comforting heat, she snuggled into his arms. His determination to behave like a gentleman beguiled her as much as his ardent passion. Jaye had the feeling her heart would have been in much finer shape had she met him instead of David, who always gave into his baser impulses. She spent a few blissful moments musing what her life would’ve been like if she’d met Mitch first.

  The warm bridge of his nose nuzzled the back of her neck. “You said yes.”

  “Hm?”

  “I asked if you were jealous, and you said yes.” He slid a caress along her blouse, cupping his palm around her breast in a tender, possessive hold. “When I saw Brad coming on to you, I was jealous as hell. Slammed my knee into the coffee table in my rush to get to the bar, but the pain went away when you reached for my hand.”

  Warding off Brad’s advances seemed so long ago, and so pointless. Mitch was the only man she wanted. Jaye placed her hand on top of his. “I like holding your hand.”

  “Don’t let go, pixie.”

  And she didn’t, not until she left for Syracuse the next morning.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Jumbo shrimp.” The man in the buffet line put a number of large shrimp on his plate and turned to smile. “An oxymoron I can sink my teeth into.”

  Jaye returned the smile, glad for a friendly gesture after spending the morning stuffed inside a conference room with hostile software programmers. “I’ve always been partial to hot chili.”

  “Oh, good one.” He placed the serving tongs beside the shrimp and opened his hand. “How about a vegetarian hamburger?”

  “Only if I can have some white chocolate for dessert.”

  He laughed. “I prefer sour candy to top off my oxymoron meal.”

  “If you get thirsty, you might need a plastic straw.” Jaye handed one to him, enjoying their exchange. “What better way to sip your iced tea?”