Page 16 of Under His Control

It’s possible. I couldn’t moderate my volume or my tone after the agent delivered the bad news.

The wooden floor gently creaks as he comes into view. His expression is unreadable, which is better than the open hostility on his face last night. He almost sneered when he forbade me from using his nickname and dismissed my genuine apology as “meaningless.”

Although, after we both grabbed the plate, his dislike dimmed and a strange moment passed between us. I was surprised that I liked the faint pine scent on his skin, and he looked down at me with an intensity that made my stomach flutter.

Jacob should be about forty, but he looks a bit younger. The gentle lines at the corners of his eyes and the two patches of grey in his facial hair hint at his maturity.

When I was a kid, I was aware he was handsome in an abstract, dismissive way. I’m fully aware of it now as an adult.

He has the sort of face worth studying and committing to a canvas. I’d return to it often if it were in a picture, lingering on different aspects each time.

Like the small scar over his left eyebrow that he got as a kid when a friend threw a rock at him, his deep blue eyes that seizes attention, his strong nose, his nice lips—

Yikes! Too far.

He eyes my temple. “Are you still in pain?”

I’m pleasantly surprised by his concern like when he brought me the painkillers last night.

“Just sore like the doctor warned.” I roll my stiff shoulders. “Would it be OK if I grabbed a quick shower before we leave?”

Jacob turns and disappears down the hallway without response. A short moment later, he returns and hands me a folded powder-blue towel with a grey washcloth on top.

“I’m going to brush the snow off my car and shovel the driveway. Be ready to leave by the time I get back.”

He goes to the wooden bench by the door and grabs a pair of large black boots. I clutch the towel to my chest as he puts on his shoes. Should I tell him about the latest episode in my ongoing saga?

What’s the point?

It won’t change his mind. He was pretty clear last night that he won’t help me. My pride won’t let me beg either. I turn away from him and head to the bathroom with my handbag.

Most of this house has an old-timey vibe with wood panelling and faded wall paper. The only modern parts are the shiny appliances in the kitchen, the brushed metal fixtures, and ceramic tiles with a marble pattern in the bathroom.

“How long are these going to stick around?” I say under my breath, making a face at my ugly purple bruises in the mirror. I wince and hiss when I poke the one at my temple.

My hot shower works wonders for the soreness but not the worry. I return to the living room with my unluckiness weighing on my shoulders. After I fold the sheet Jacob lent me last night and set it aside with the pillow, I go to the window to calm my mind.

The storm is over, the sky blue and cloudless. It’s beautiful outside with the fresh snow blanketing the ground, the tree branches, and the roof of the small well on the left side of the lawn.

Jacob flings shovelfuls of snow onto a growing hill to the side of his driveway. It looks like a lot of work, but he makes it seem effortless. Not surprising because he’s visibly fit.

He finishes clearing the driveway and strides toward the house with the shovel. I gather my bag by the bench and put on my boots.

There are a couple of thumps on the porch outside, then the front door swings opens as I’m putting on my jacket. Jacob steps inside and we both pause. We’re barely a few feet from each other.

I’ve never been slim like my mom, much to her vocal displeasure. She fought her genes with kale salads and fasting while I accepted my Italian grandma’s plump blessings.

But I’m practically petite in Jacob’s presence as his imposing frame fills the doorway. It would be easy for him to scoop me up and fling me around like he did to the snow.

That’s not something you should like or even think!

“Ready?”

I force a smile. “Almost.”

Jacob stares at me while I finish putting on the rest of my winter wear. God. This man puts my body on high alert. I’m tense under his gaze, struggling to do simple tasks like properly coil my scarf around my neck because my hands are shaking.

He turns and steps out onto the porch when I’m done. I follow him and shudder.