Page 10 of Fight from the Heart

“I’ve told my family and Mae I work for a man who has a job that I can’t discuss, but I’m safe working with him.”

Jacob’s head pops back up, and his eyes focus on mine. “You feel safe with me?”

The question startles me. Shouldn’t I? Jacob has never done anything to frighten me. He drinks too much. He works out intensely. I’ve learned from his sister, Ella, he has a temper, and it stems from his childhood, but I’ve never seen it. I’ve always assumed he works things out in boxing exercises or by writing his novels.

“Of course,” I assure him, and his brows pinch while he bites his lip.

Okay, maybe he’s scaring me just a little right now because he’s giving me a look like he wants to pounce. Like he wants to toss me back on the pillows and have his way with me. And that’s not frightening in the least bit. What I should be afraid of is my own imagination and projecting it on a man who would never do such a thing to me.

I’m so ridiculous. It must be the fever.

“I’m done with the soup,” I say, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat.

“You only took two sips,” Jacob admonishes, staring at my lips. “Finish the bowl and then you need a nap.”

I’ve slept so much in the past two days I don’t know if I can sleep any more, but my body does feel like mush. Jacob seems to sense the war within me, so he makes a suggestion.

“Let me finish the chapter I’m working on. You eat your soup, then we can watch a movie or something in a little bit.” He speaks as if he’s pacifying a child, and I want to punch myself in the face for loving it so much. Other than reading his manuscripts on occasion at his house, I don’t spend time with Jacob directly. We speak often via text or email, and somehow that morphed into the other things I do for him, like finding him a live-in cook and house cleaning services. He claims he asks me to do these things because I know this town. I know who to trust, and he trusts me. However, the day he asks me to pick up his dry cleaning is the day I quit him regardless of the pay.

I nod to accept his present offer, and he stands, leaning toward me. Again, the fantasies take over, the one where he’ll lean down and kiss my temple. He hesitates a second, and then straightens as if reading my thoughts. Quickly excusing himself, he disappears behind me, through his sitting area and out the entrance of his room. Neither his room which is the entire north end of the house nor his sister’s room on the south end has a door, just an opening to their private spaces. A loft bridge connects the two sides, but the siblings rarely entered each other’s bedrooms.

I consider myself a friend to his stepsister. Ella has had a rough couple of years, and I know the feeling. She needed to find herself—outside of Jacob, outside of this town, and even outside of Ethan Scott, her one true love. I helped her with that when she escaped to New York. I didn’t think Jacob would forgive me at first for helping her leave, but he came around, apologizing for overreacting toward me. It might be the one time he’s truly been angry with me and asked my forgiveness afterward. I finish the soup with additional wandering thoughts. I’m curious about Jacob’s surprise that I hadn’t told my mother about him.

Mary Carter is what everyone would call good people, and I admire her for raising four kids and surviving the death of my father, who was the love of her life. His passing was difficult on all of us in our own way. My father and I were close. He knew how lost I was in my early thirties, and it’s something I like to think I recognize in Jacob. He has a put together look on the outside, but he’s dying on the inside. His dungeon door is locked tight, and I’ll never have the key to understanding him.

+ + +

To my surprise, I nap for three hours after the soup and eventually wander down to the entrance of Jacob’s office again.

“Jesus, I thought you would never rise,” he teases, glancing up at me over the rim of his glasses. These are relatively new to him and give him a sexy professor appearance. With rumpled hair, the flannel shirt, and bare feet, Jacob takes sexy to a new level of torture for me.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I question.

“Because you’re sick, Lilac, and you need the rest. But I’m starving.” He stands and pats his rock-hard belly, which thuds in response. I’ve never seen him without a shirt, not even the other night when he laid behind me in bed, but I have a strong imagination of the tightness in those lower stomach muscles as I’ve seen him in fitted tees.

“I don’t think I can handle pizza,” I warn him. Jacob has an obsession with frozen pizzas.

“What do you feel like?” His voice drops when he asks, as do his eyes to my legs. The sweats he gave me are too big, and a ripple of something unwarranted seeps through my body under his gaze. I hate when he speaks in that seductive manner because he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s only teasing me.

“I’d love scrambled eggs and toast.” A little protein and some bread sound divine.

“Coming right up, breakfast in bed.” He winks at me, and I grin. He’s such an ass in an adorable way. As he nears me, he stops at my side. “Back in bed, Lilac.” His voice drops even lower, and over my shoulder, I look up at him. He’s so close to me, closer than necessary for a man heading to his kitchen. His fingers brush the back of my hand. Another ripple of excitement quickly turns into a tornado whirling through my midsection.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper. Jacob bites his lip, his eyes dropping to mine once more. There’s a tic in his jaw, and the vein in his neck strains.

“Lilac.” A warning resonates in the nickname. For the first time ever, I’m deliciously frightened of Jacob. Not for the first time, I imagine what it would be like to kiss him. To have the lip he’s chewing press against mine. To feel his tongue slip past my lips and tangle with mine. To have his body over me.

Heat rushes my face while Jacob stares at me.

Without a word, I roll from the doorjamb and turn to the staircase, slowly taking it upward and sensing Jacob watching my retreat. There’s nothing sexy about wearing his too large sweats or his oversized tee, so I have no idea what he’s looking at other than the expanse of my backside, probably noting it isn’t tight like Malibu Mandi.

Chapter 5

And The Oscar Goes To . . .

[Jacob]

She’s going to be the death of me. It’s evident watching her climb my stairs she isn’t wearing underwear under those sweats, and I want nothing more than to tug them down and take her right there on the steps. Not to mention, she’s not wearing a bra under the T-shirt I gave her, and I want to lift the shirt and place my mouth over one of those weighty globes. Pam has a lush body, and she just does it for me without even knowing it. And dammit, I’m hammer stiff again, and I’ve already taken care of business in the shower once this morning.