Chapter 20
20
Jake
Shit.
Shit. Shit shit.
I snag the champagne bottle with one hand before it drops to floor and catch the woman with my body, lean up against the flimsy wooden door, and just hold her.
“That’s it,” I whisper when she takes her first deep breath after what was one hell of a detonation. “That’s it, baby.”
I reach down to tuck a stray lock of dark red hair behind her ear and just look at her—face flushed, handful of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. That stubborn jaw loose, her lips wet from where she licked them, and so goddamn soft I want to test them with my own.
“Wow,” she whispers without looking up at me.
I squeeze her. “Think that’ll do the trick?”
Her reaction is a light, unselfconscious laugh that I want to hear again as soon as it ends. Slowly, though, tension creeps back into her body, her breathing slows, she nudges me away and peels herself off the door.
“That was…” She casts an embarrassed glance up at me and to the side, her cheekbones a dark, angry pink. “Thanks.”
There she goes again. Thanking me for services rendered.
Hell if I know why it annoys me so much, when I’m the one who offers, every damn time.
Now, here I am again, standing here like a dick, hard as wood, and aching for more.
“Should we go to the bedroom?”
She stiffens instantly.
“Or not.”
“Sorry, I could use a break.” She throws me a side-eye. “You’ve got skills.”
Shutting down a fresh blend of pride and exasperation, I hold up the champagne, and take what feels like my first ever look at something besides her. “You got glasses for this?”
After a brief hesitation, during which I can feel her trying to figure out my mood, she leads the way through the living room, back into the kitchen.
“This matches the outside,” I remark as she opens a yellow-painted cupboard and pulls out two shallow champagne glasses.
“You mean the paint job or the time period?”
“All of it.”
“Needs updating.”
“It’s got its charm.”
“Only so much charm you can squeeze out of chipped Formica and this monstrosity.” She kicks an oven that’s got those electric coils on top.
“See this?” I show her an old scar on the meaty part of my thumb. It’s a faint dark ring now, barely there, but just the sight of it sends a shudder through me. “Had a run-in with one of these stoves when I was a kid.”
“Oh my god, Jake! That must’ve been bad.”
“Yeah.” I don’t mention that the run-in involved my stepdad. I edge away from the stove. “It was an antique even back then.”
The smile she gives me feels like a prize. “It’s an ancient artifact now.”
“Guess with everything you got going on a new kitchen’s not a priority.”
“Not really.” She shrugs. “Divorce is expensive.”
“Restaurant doing okay?”
“Actually, yeah. Better than ever. But there’s also…” She looks down at her belly, flushing hard, and finishes up polishing the two glasses. In silence, she reaches for the champagne.
The entire kitchen smells like sex and that lavender balm. My cock’s aching, hard and ready.
“I got it.” I tear off the foil, relishing the fresh spark of annoyance in her eye. The woman doesn’t like to be coddled. If she could do everything herself, she would. Including the obvious. How messed up is it that her irritation turns me on almost as much as those pink lips and her heart-shaped ass. Not to mention the musky scent of her pussy on my fingers. “IVF must cost a bundle.”
“You have no idea.”
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” she says, sounding doubtful.
“Why do you want a kid?”
Her eye avoids mine. There’s a pause, like the room just breathed, and then she meets my look. “I want a family. Other than that, I’m not sure I can explain it.” Her sudden smile’s lopsided. “Not right this minute anyway.”
“Fair enough.” I ease the cork out with a light pop and pour golden liquid into first one then the other glass. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a good mom.”
“Yeah?” Her gaze goes still on mine. There are little brown dots in the hazel-green of her irises. No, the dots are yellow. She lifts her drink and I realize they’re the exact same gold.
Her eyes are warm and expansive. Sweet and so fucking sad it’s all I can do not to drop my fancy etched glass and take her in my arms.
“Definitely.”
“Thanks.” She reaches out for a toast. “To, um… To getting it right this time.”
I can’t bring myself to agree to something that would end these sessions for good, so instead I tap my drink against hers and say, “To having fun trying.”
Her unexpected laugh—uncomfortable though it may sound—makes me wish for things I’ve never once considered.
I shut it all down quick, slug back the drink and set the glass on the little chipped, green-painted kitchen table. The pockmarked wood makes me think of farm kitchens and potting sheds and growing things. Settling down. Family. Kids, warmth. Love.
Fuck. What am I even doing working this hard to seduce this woman when I’m the guy who doesn’t stick around?
Ever.
This is Frank’s sister, for Christ’s sake. The way he talks about her, she’s a saint or an angel. At the very least, a holy virgin.
And I’m the creep who pushed her up against a door and made her come so hard she saw lights.
Frank would kill me. And it’s important to remember that killing, for Frank, isn’t just theoretical.
With that thought hardening my insides, I look around, knowing damn well that I should go.
“Show me your room,” I say instead. I’ve got to get this woman out of my system, once and for all. “Let’s do this.”
Or maybe I’ve just got a death wish.