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After midnight, he’d told her about his dream house.
She stared up at it with new eyes. “It’s exactly how you described it, down to the blue shutters. You got what you wanted. Didn’t give up on your dream. You even have the swing you wanted, and the red roses. It’s beautiful,” she said softly, resting a palm on his arm. “I don’t know what that feels like. To plan something out, and actually achieve it like that.”
All her life, she had kind of gone from one thing to another, no real goals set. Living life each day, trying not to die of boredom and loneliness. Sure, she had gone through her share of relationships, but none of them had stuck. She’d never been in love. Never really cared about anyone the way she’d cared about her parents.
Although…if anyone qualified as someone she cared about, it would be Jake. After eight years, he was the only one who stood out to her as a man she could have loved with all her heart. How sad was that?
His gaze met hers, and for the first time they weren’t hard and unflinching. For the first time…he looked like the Jake she remembered. The same one she’d once been half in love with.
He lifted his arm and smoothed her hair off her face, his touch as gentle as it had been rough moments before. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do.” She squeezed his biceps. His very hard biceps. “I remember everything you told me.”
For a minute, he watched her as if he believed her. But then he shook his head and the softness disappeared. So did his touch. As if that wasn’t enough, he backed out of her reach, too. “Enough walking down memory lane. Let’s go inside where it’s secure.”
She headed for the door. He followed her closely, not touching her but blocking off her only escape route…through him. Stepping to the side of the door, she waited for him to unlock it, noting he still used a good old-fashioned key.
As she entered, he reached around her and flicked on the switch. Blinking, she scanned the interior. Hardwood floors, pale yellow walls, and an arched doorway led to the kitchen straight ahead. A staircase with a white railing was to her left. To the right, the living room.
It was sparsely decorated. Not many family pictures. There were a few scattered pictures of Christine here and there, and one of his parents. That was it.
Walking slowly, she headed into the living room. He had a painting over the fireplace—she’d been right about him having one—and a big flat-screen television. Leather couches and a coffee table with files scattered all over it finished off the room. It was clean. Professional. Impersonal. Safe.
Yep. He was drowning in his docile life.
She turned in a circle and found him directly behind her. For a second, her breath caught in her throat. From underneath lowered lids, he watched her, his green eyes piercing through her. His shirt was tight around his biceps, almost as if it couldn’t fit over all that hard muscle. It was painfully obvious he worked out now. That he took good care of himself.
His gaze dipped down. Her body tingled and came to life, and he hadn’t even moved. She rested her palm on his chest and leaned in, inhaling the scent of his cologne. His heart sped under her touch, and she lifted on tiptoe. She wanted to show him how to have fun again. It was perfectly clear that he’d forgotten how, and she was the best person to show him. Fun should have been her middle name.
It’s all she knew.
“You live here all alone?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He stiffened, but didn’t back off. “I told you, I like being alone.”
“I’m sure you do.” She licked her lips and shot him a seductive look. Or, what she hoped was a seductive look. “So. Now what?”
“Now you tell me how to fix the code. We’re on a strict time limit.” He let go of her without a second’s hesitation and peeled her fingers off his chest, his touch lingering. He sat down, removed a pen and notebook from underneath a huge file, and flicked open the pad. “Once you’re finished helping me, you’re free to leave.”
She clucked her tongue. “I told you, I don’t remember how I did it.”
“Well, try harder.”
He clicked the pen open and closed, holding it against his irresistible chin dimple as he watched her. She could see the scar from the time his foster dad hit him with a pipe, right on his jawline. He’d gotten stitches. She’d gotten mad. “I am.”
“The quicker you remember, the quicker you get to leave. And if we don’t figure it out in time, you’ll—”
“Go to jail. Yeah. I know.” She took her sweatshirt off, pulling it over her head slowly. He watched her the whole time, but glanced away when she caught him looking. “How long do we have?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “A day. Two at most.”
She sat down next to him, close enough that their legs touched. He gave her a dark frown, but she smiled back innocently. Dude, if she had a halo, she’d be polishing it right now. “Are you that eager to get rid of me?”
“It’s not my deadline—it’s my boss’s. If it were up to me? Things would be different.” He ran the tip of the pen up her thigh, inching closer and closer to where she ached for him most, his gaze locked on hers in a silent challenge the whole time. “What can you tell me about the code, Tara?”
She covered a yawn, doing her best to hide the arousal he brought to life with nothing more than a withering stare and a ballpoint. She couldn’t get caught up in the moment. This was only a lesson that he couldn’t control her with sexy threats of domination. That she wasn’t the same gullible girl she used to be. “The only thing I can tell you is that I’m tired and want to get some sleep. So who gets the couch?”
“It’s only…” He checked the time, ending his teasing play. She noticed his watch had the Marine emblem on the face, and a gold band. That had cost a pretty penny, no doubt. She’d put it at three hundred, maybe four. “Eleven thirty. Surely you can last a little bit longer.”
