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Then he sauntered toward the end of the table to snatch his shirt. He buttoned it slowly, and she couldn’t help but watch his nimble fingers work the small disks. Rafe had fantastic hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. He knew how to use those hands too. Lord, did he ever!
She stifled a moan. Without doubt, two weeks in the man’s commanding presence would test her restraint. But she’d committed to assisting him.
And, she had to admit that being back in San Francisco was a nice treat. She looked forward to seeing Rafe’s large and gregarious family—not exactly a normal yearning for her because Jenna didn’t do large and gregarious families. She preferred quiet, alone time. Yet the moment she’d finished her Maui job, she’d not thought twice about booking a flight here.
Dragging her gaze from Rafe—no easy feat—she crossed the room and stepped into her high heels. Her rollaboard sat next to them, along with her laptop bag. She grabbed both and turned to Rafe.
He asked, “Need a lift somewhere?”
“I have a suite at the Fairmont. I let them know I’d be checking in late. Or rather,” she added with a soft laugh, “really early.”
“You don’t have to stay at a hotel, Jen.” His expression was one she was all too familiar with, because he’d always encouraged her to think of the loft as her personal residence. But Jenna had never fully subscribed to the home-away-from-hotel notion.
“Thanks, but you know how I love my room service.”
“I’m not opposed to serving breakfast in bed.”
Her heart melted. But she stood her ground. “I’m already booked at the Fairmont. And I have a rental car.”
His jaw clenched briefly. “Miss Independent.”
“I’ve never needed to be rescued. That’s tough for you. I’m sorry.”
“As long as you’re happy. That’s what matters.”
“I am.” Though, as she said the words and stared him in the eyes, she felt a strange twisting inside her. What was that all about? Ignoring the sentiment and the peculiar sensation, she told him, “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven sharp, for the lunch crowd.”
“Yeah, thanks. I do appreciate it, Jen.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to be in the position to offer my assistance.”
“At least let me walk you out,” he said.
“Of course.” Not that they had far to go. She’d snagged a primo spot on the street that was close by.
He put her bag in the back of the car as she slipped into the driver’s seat.
Rafe told her, “Be safe.”
“Promise.”
He closed her door and she drove to the hotel. Her first order of business was to unpack and place everything except the dress she’d wear for the day in the laundry bag provided by housekeeping. She left it for the suite butler to tend to, for express dry cleaning. Jenna kept a light wardrobe for traveling. Her production crew stored the rest of her clothes and shoes, since Jenna didn’t maintain a permanent address. She never had as a kid, so it had not occurred to her as an adult to find a house and fill it with stuff she didn’t need…and wouldn’t see or use, anyway, given she was always on the road.
Her parents had kept minimal material assets as well. Just the necessities needed for their exploration of the country in their RV—and passports when they all ventured abroad. Jenna had learned not to collect any mementos of her life that couldn’t be tossed into her oversized tote bag or easily packed in her suitcase. She carried an old photo album with her, but thankfully with her iPhone, she could store more recent pictures without requiring extra space in her luggage.
She’d felt, as a child, that her lack of belongings meant she was missing out on something. But after so many years of owning the most basic of personal effects, she’d found she could live without most stuff.
There had, however, been two times in her life when she’d felt a tinge of interest in accumulating specific possessions. The most recent had been when she’d moved in with Rafe. He had a beautifully decorated loft in North Beach, and she’d envied how comfortable and intimate the place was, but also how it reflected his dynamic character.
Jenna had liked the loft. And her life with Rafe. But there were other things about being married to an Italian man with a ginormous family that had left her feeling abnormal and overwhelmed. Thus, leaving for her career hadn’t been terribly difficult. Although, she’d missed her husband every time she’d taken on a restaurant makeover gig. He’d missed her too, she knew. And she’d not been surprised when divorce papers had arrived one day when she was working a job in Des Moines.
It had pained her to sign them, but Jenna had known it wasn’t fair to Rafe to drag out their marriage, when she was so rarely in San Francisco…and had not been able to think of his loft as her home. She’d had to do the right thing for Rafe. He’d wanted—and had deserved—a real wife. Something Jenna could never be.
It was probably wisest to sever the ties entirely. Yet Jenna couldn’t bring herself to do that. And tonight’s smoldering kiss had spoken volumes. Clearly, Rafe was still hot for her, years after they’d split. She felt the same about him.
Making her wonder what sort of trouble her impromptu visit might incite.
Chapter Three
