A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  “Seriously?” But a crack of thunder ate up her words.

  She cowered at the booming sound, and then the air was forced from her lungs as his shoulder dug into her middle. Before she could do more than cling to his back, he’d hoisted her off the ground like a sandbag.

  “Put me down, this is crazy!” She squirmed, trying to get free, but stopped when he almost slipped. Gripping him tighter, she prayed they’d both make it to his truck without taking a mud bath as he struggled across the saturated ground and weeds to his truck.

  Opening the driver’s side door, he dropped her on the seat. She scrambled over as he climbed in beside her and threw the truck in gear and headed down the mucky, beaten road, his knuckles white where they choked the wheel.

  The truck jerked and bumped as they descended. Every tendon in his body was tight, every muscle flexed, intensifying the air in the small space. Madison clutched the door handle, staring at his profile, and her stubbornness melted as she tried to puzzle out the reason he was there. All she knew was the fear radiating from him alarmed her.

  She lifted a hand to give him comfort but stopped, afraid. She'd barely had enough strength to pull away the last time. It wasn't a battle she'd win twice. The safest place for her and her heart was on the other side of the bench seat. To reaffirm her conviction, she scooted closer to the door.

  His attention flicked her way. “I'm sorry.”

  The raw apology rose just over the engine and rain, and at least one thing became clear. Coming here in the storm had cost him a lot.

  Madison didn't know what to say. Her heart hurt for him. This was the Jase not many knew. It was the part of him outside all the glamour. This was why she could never ask him to publicize the Idaho project. Eric wouldn’t understand, but that couldn’t be helped. The horrific weight Jase carried each and every day from his past was one few could begin to fathom, and one she could never exploit.

  “It's okay,” she said. “But I'm blaming you if my car gets carried away in a mudslide.”

  “Deal.”

  His lips hinted at the lopsided grin that held so much power over her, but it faded to a tight line, and she reached for her seatbelt, needing a distraction. Only, too soon her attention ended up right back on his side of the truck, the questions over why he was there, torturing her mind again.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, he removed his tie with the other and threw it in the backseat, his biceps stretching the wet fabric of his dress shirt.

  The same sweet, delicious heat that crawled under her skin every time he was close spread now, and she let her gaze slip to his mouth. There had been a whole lot of attraction surrounding the kiss they’d shared, but only a part had been physical. With him, it had encompassed so much more. And, despite him pulling away, she knew he’d felt it, too.

  No regrets. That’s what we’d both said. Had those words been a lie?

  The raindrops on the windows all blended together, where they streaked out in no particular pattern, speeding like her pulse, and right there, Madison questioned everything she'd told him during that moment in her office.

  But it wasn’t only her vow, or his reputation. Natasha’s warning to him about how she used him had been as much a reason to draw a thicker line. Because, she couldn’t face that doubt and suspicion in his eyes again, like in Idaho.

  Tucking a few wet pieces of hair behind one ear, she studied a spot of mud on her jeans. Her mind was an open drafting pad full of scribbles, where none of the angles or lines matched up.

  Maybe that’s how he feels, too…

  Something close to drum beats tortured her heart as again the words asking why he was here begged to get out. Instead, she said, “I need to apologize.”

  “For heading into the mountains alone during a storm? Apology accepted.”

  His voice, though steadier, was commanding and caught her off guard.

  “That's not what I was going to say.” She rubbed her palms over her thighs to generate some warmth as she tried to gather her thoughts. “And Cowles Mountain is more a glorified hill than a mountain.” She let a smile curve her lips, showing she was only half-serious.

  “And what if you'd been hurt? Who would have been there to help you?” His face was ashen, the tendon’s in his neck tight. “Promise me you won't ever do something like that again?”

  “You don't need to worry about me. I've taken care of myself for a while now.”

  Her body hit the seatbelt, her hands bracing against the dash, as he ground the truck tires to a stop and shifted into park. A hush clung to the inside of his cab like the rain to the windows. Shifting in his seat, he hooked one knee on the bench and faced her. Drenched hair, dark as coal, curled over his forehead, his eyes brilliant in the storm’s filtered light.

  “Promise me, Madison.”

  “I…” She blinked, and for a second, only the sound of their breathing filled the cab.

  He tore his gaze from hers. “I can’t… You can’t crash into my life, put all of these thoughts into my head”—he raked his fingers through his hair—“and tell me not to worry about you.”

  His focus was on something she couldn’t see—a memory, a moment. A regret…

  She unbuckled and placed her hand on his arm. He flinched but didn’t shrug away from the touch, and she leaned in, letting her hand slide down to cover his.

  “It’s fine. I’m okay. Everything is okay.”

  Jase’s lashes lowered, making it impossible to read his eyes. “I don’t want us to be just okay.”

  His whispered confession sent a sweet chill through her, and she cupped his face in her open palm, loving the barely-there scratch of his whiskers against her skin.

  And then she kissed him.

  A noise, deep in his throat, urged her on, and she pushed her fingers into his hair, letting her kiss linger on his lower lip. As if reading her desire, he shifted in his seat, allowing her to pull him closer. His cold, wet shirt against hers had her shivering, but she only held him tighter, until the heat from their bodies soaked through. Even the windows felt the change and protested the heat, but she barely noticed the fogged-up glass or thick cab air…only his arms where they circled her back.

  His neck was warm against her lips as she pressed a single kiss there, then two. Another groan rose in the back of his throat…

  Then he pulled away, his hands going to her arms, keeping her at a distance. Panic, like she’d witnessed moments before out in the storm, flashed in his eyes where it burned to something close to resolution.

  “Don’t pull away.” She moved her palm to his chest. “Please. Tell me what you’re thinking?”

  The rain had lessened outside the truck, intensifying the hum of the engine, but his voice was clear. “Truthfully?”

  A laugh, light as a breath, fell from her lips, but she pulled her hands into her lap, her fingers turning her charm over and over. “Truthfully.”

  “I meant it when I said I was no good for this.” He faced forward and rested his hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t do personal. But not for the reasons you probably think… Or how the media makes it look.” He bent his head. “I’m probably not making any sense—”

  “You are.”

  It was his turn to breathe out a laugh, though his was rough at the edges. “You know my past. You know how messed up I am.” He tugged at his soaked shirt with both hands, shaking his head. “I mean, look at me after one thunderstorm.”

  “I am looking at you. And I see an incredible person, despite your past. Maybe even because of it.”

  He stared, unspeaking. Madison tried to unravel the thoughts in the creases of his forehead, and the thin line of his mouth, but, whatever he was feeling or thinking, he guarded closely.

  On instinct, she reached out and smoothed his collar, ignoring the warmth that gathered on her cheeks at the feel of his solid shoulders beneath her touch. “When I submitted a bid for the restoration, it was in hopes of being a part of a grand-scale project. Chasing my dreams and all
that.” Madison chose her next words carefully. “I didn’t plan on Idaho. And I never planned on…you.” She gestured between them. “On this.”

  A flicker of hope crossed his features, but his jaw flexed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She glanced away from the pain in his eyes, stealing the moment to navigate her heart. Through the windshield, patches of sunlight lit the road ahead, glistening off the rain-soaked foliage and undergrowth at the sides of the roadway. The sight stole her breath. It was as if the fiery ball mocked the clouds for trying to hold it back, and she clung to its boldness as she turned fully in her seat. “And I don’t want to fight against this anymore.” The lines around his eyes softened, encouraging her further. “Dinner. Tonight. You and me.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go on a date, Mr. Cutter.”

  His lips lifted at one corner, but his eyes narrowed.

  “And then let’s go on another. We’ll do this right. See where it goes. No pressure. No regrets.”

  “No regrets?”

  She moved her head slowly from side to side as her crazy idea settled, loving it more as each piece fell into place. “Only possibilities.”

  He framed her face with one hand and traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “You’re sure?”

  The simple question seemed as much for him as it was for her, and her heart ached at the depth of pain he’d carried for years. Pain he still held. She thought of her vow, of Eric’s warnings, but as the sunlight beyond the truck grew its reach, she knew the only regrets she’d have about the man in front of her would come from not exploring those possibilities.

  “Absolutely. But…” She straightened and reached for her seatbelt. “First date’s on me.” Madison held up a hand when he protested. “It’s my fault we’re even in this mess. And soaking wet.”

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It totally is.”

  She smacked at his arm then pointed to the gym bag in his backseat. “Got any dry clothes in there?”

  His gaze followed hers. “I do.”

  There was no fighting her smile at the way he dragged those two words out with uncertainty. “Perfect. Dinner’s at my place.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jase stood in Madison’s living room, where he’d picked up a magazine to keep his mind out of the bedroom where she’d gone to change. But eco-friendly ceiling panels held nothing to the girl on the other side of that wall.

  From the outside, her home wasn’t overly fancy, but statelier on a smaller scale. By contrast, the inside was thick woven, multi-colored rugs, mismatched throw pillows, and worn leather couches that promised to swallow you up in a good way.

  The coffee table looked like one you could kick your feet up on, unlike the glass table at his place. Where his wall art was intriguing cityscapes and black and whites, hers were finger paintings and pastel chalk works—all originals, by the signature scrawled across the bottom. The chunky letters spelling out her name on the stick figure family portrait hanging next to one of the tall windows had him grinning.

  Dropping the magazine back onto the table, he walked over to her mantel. More than a handful of photos sat there, the various-sized frames only interrupted by an occasional conch shell or enormous starfish. In the very center, next to an orange-tinted shell, was a thick glass jar three quarters of the way filled with sand. Inside the jar, buried not quite halfway, was a scrolled piece of paper.

  Odd.

  Turning back to the photographs, his attention fell to an eight by ten of her as a baby near the end of the row, and a low chuckle escaped.

  “What’s so funny?”

  With a joke on his lips, he glanced over his shoulder. Madison stood across the room, barefoot in dark skinny jeans and an oversized gray T-shirt with the words “Beaches love me” across the front. And just like that, his head buzzed with only serious thoughts—like wooden rocking chairs on the porch and fifty-year anniversaries.

  He swallowed. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she said.

  That blush he loved so much kissed the sweet curve of her cheek, and his muscles relaxed for the first time since heading toward Cowles. He shoved his fears aside like the unwanted hitchhikers they were and chose to live in the moment. In the possibilities.

  “You okay?”

  He rubbed his jaw, wishing he’d shaved that morning as he mentally traced the tempting lines of her mouth. “Better than.”

  “So. Hungry?”

  Jase caught his laugh in a cough behind his fist. “Starving.”

  With her fingertips tucked into her back pockets, she nodded toward the kitchen. “You’ll have to trust me, but I think you’re gonna love it.”

  I think I’m already there…

  He missed a step as the thought slammed into him and had to clear the thickness from his throat. “What can I help with?”

  “Want to get the electric griddle from that cupboard down there?”

  He opened the door to the cabinet she pointed out and grabbed the griddle, grinning at the simple domestic task. “Where do you want this?”

  “Oh, here.” She scooped up a pile of papers that looked like a few days’ worth of mail from the counter. “Right here’s good. There should be a plug underneath the counter. Shoot…”

  Papers and envelopes scattered across the tile where they slipped from her hands. He set the griddle down and knelt to help her pick them up.

  “Sorry. And no judging the clutter. I didn’t know I’d have company.”

  He soaked in her adorable smile while stacking papers, the last of which was a bubble gum pink sticky note with last Wednesday’s date scribbled across it with Channel 2 underlined twice at the bottom next to the name Kit Gentry.

  “I can take those. Sorry,” she repeated. “I’m such a klutz.”

  Jase handed them over, his mind on the familiar name.

  “One or two?”

  “One or two what?” He leaned against the counter.

  “Sandwiches. I’m making us grilled cheese.”

  The lift of her chin dared him to protest, and he held up his hands, laughing out loud. “One is great.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but her lips twitched. “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He straddled one of the barstools as she pulled some bags out of the refrigerator. When one of those bags contained green leafy things, curiosity had him scrunching his nose. “Are you putting a plant in our sandwiches?” He held up the bag with two fingers like it might bite him.

  “Basil. It makes the sandwich.” She yanked the package back from him. “Where’s the last fancy place you ate?”

  “Restaurant? Or, does a catered event count?”

  “Either.” With expert precision, she began slicing the various cheeses she’d set out. “What did they serve?”

  “Shrimp kabobs, lettuce wrap thingies, grilled pineapple—which should be its own food group by the way. I know. It’s childish.”

  Her answering snort was adorable, and he almost disobeyed her order to sit just to feel her in his arms. “Let’s see, I’m pretty sure there was also lobster. Your typical coastal feast, if I remember right.”

  “So, you’re telling me,” she began as she leaned over the cutting board, “that a country boy can eat lobster, calamari and, who knows what other ocean creature, but not a grilled cheese sandwich?” Her head tipped to the side in a silent challenge.

  He stood and leaned his forearms on the counter, bringing his face within inches of hers. “Excuse me? I eat grilled cheese sandwiches. Probably more than I should. But I never put leaves on them.”

  “Herb. Basil is an herb.”

  “It’s still a leaf.” His fight to keep a straight face faltered when her gaze flicked to his mouth.

  “What happened to trusting me?” The blue in her eyes darkened, and several seconds passed between them before she straightened, breaking the spell.

  He caved to a grin and gestured for her
to continue, happy to watch her move around the kitchen in those bare feet and yellow sunflower painted toes. But when she reached for a wooden cutting board on the wall next to her sink, a need to erase all distance had him caving again.

  In two steps, he was behind her, his hands on her waist, his lips next to her ear. “You know you’re killing me over here, right?”

  “Sorry?”

  Her breathless voice had his arms snaking around her middle and bringing her back flush against his chest. “I’m trying to play by the first date rules, here. Help a guy out.”

  “Hey, I told you to sit. Don’t blame me.”

  He skimmed the tip of his nose across the top of her ear, her damp hair hinting of blossoms. “Give me something to do. Anything.”

  She laughed. “See those bottles up there? Grab those for me.”

  “On it.” He hugged her closer before lightly pushing her aside and went to work pulling down over ten bottles of Italian syrup. He read the name on the last bottle. “Somebody has a sweet tooth.”

  “Don’t make fun.”

  He lined the bottles up on the counter as she put two sandwiches on the grill, their sizzle filling the kitchen. This time his mouth watered from real hunger, and he closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar aroma.

  “Okay, so here’s the game.” She set a pair of tall, fluted glasses on the counter between them, her eyes dancing. “You get up to two syrup flavors, any combo of the drinks you want, but the twist is, you’re making it for the other person. The goal is to stump them. Don’t make it nasty, though, because that’s just mean.” She searched in the fridge again, this time pulling out club soda, cola, three different kinds of fruit juices and heavy cream. “Any questions?”

  “Hmm, any two flavors? And you have to guess them both?”

  “Yep.” She lifted one corner of the first sandwich, checking its progress.

  He flipped one of the bottles in his hand, catching the long neck. “Easy.”

  She didn’t comment, though he could swear he caught a smirk just before she turned around.

  “All right, me first. And I’d better not catch you cheating,” he said.