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“You don’t seem fine.” I state the obvious, knowing I’m entering dangerous territory.
Fallon’s warm chuckle makes my insides clench. He concedes a nod. “Fine.” We turn onto the long, winding, wooded road that will eventually open up on the Boss Baker compound. “I was having very selfish thoughts that I’m ashamed to say out loud.”
Another thrill stabs me through the middle. Is he thinking about me? Does he feel the electricity in the car? Does he feel the night pressing in on us, shrouding us in this little bubble inside the vehicle?
My voice is scratchy when I finally manage to speak. “You should say them out loud, then.”
Fallon pauses, his body tense. As if he’s holding himself back. When he speaks, his voice is low. “That seems counterintuitive.”
“If you say them out loud, they’re usually not as bad as you think.”
He snorts, shooting me a quick glance. “I can assure you, what’s going on in my head is very, very bad.”
Heat spears through me. I gulp. “Oh.”
The car has slowed, and I wonder if he did it so the drive would last just a bit longer. “Okay, Dr. Jen. You first. What thoughts are you ashamed of?”
“That’s easy,” I answer immediately. “My constant failure. The fact that I can never quite live up to my potential, no matter how much I try. The fact that my perfectionism is like a cancer inside me, and it pretty much guarantees I’ll never be happy with anything I achieve. I’m ashamed of the fact that I’m in my mid-forties and I’ve never had a long-term boyfriend, apart from one guy at college. Which was literally more than twenty years ago.” I stare at the passing trees as my eyes grow unfocused.
“Jen…”
I blink, glancing back at him. “See? Easy.”
“Why haven’t you had a boyfriend?” Did his voice just get deeper? He looks almost…pleased?
I snort. “Look at me.”
He looks at me—and doesn’t snort. His eyes flick from my face down my body, and heat flows wherever his gaze lands.
Oh, my.
“I’m not seeing anything wrong,” he growls.
My mouth grows dry, and when Fallon turns back to the road, I try to release the breath I’d been holding without him noticing. Being in his presence is becoming too much. How am I supposed to focus on the competition when all I can think about are his lips, his body, the way his voice skates along my skin like silk?
I force myself to look out the window. There’s so much that I could say. How about the years and years as a child that I tried to be enough, only to be torn down by the two people who were supposed to prepare me for the world? How about the fact that in my mid-forties, I still feel inadequate?
This is my life. I’m good at baking. I’m good at taking care of plants. I have a deep need to be the best at what I do. I hate failure. I hate compromise.
Does that sound like nothing is wrong with me? Does that sound like someone a man like Fallon would be interested in?
“I’ll never be the woman you think I am, Fallon.”
The car swerves onto the shoulder and jerks to a stop. Pain snaps across my torso where my seatbelt catches me. In an instant, Fallon is unlatching his seatbelt, then unlatching mine. Hands wrap around my waist, and Fallon is dragging me over to sit across his lap.
I freeze, eyes wide.
I’m sitting across Fallon’s lap, my side to his chest. My feet are stretched out across the center console, the gear shift between my knees. And he’s so close I can feel him everywhere. His hands around my waist. His strong legs beneath my ass. His impossibly broad chest against my shoulder.
Fallon’s hand moves from my waist to my cheek. The roughness of his hands sends tiny shivers racing over my skin, down my neck. I gulp, my hands having somehow moved to cling to his shirt. His touch feels so damn good.
“You’re already the woman I think you are, Jen,” he growls. “And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” His eyes are dark, searching mine.
I swallow. “Oh.”
“I should never have left,” Fallon rasps. His fingers tighten over my cheek, sliding back to tangle into my hair. My own hands curl into his shirt, feeling the tenseness of his shoulders beneath the soft fabric. I’m pinned between him and the steering wheel, and when he slides his other hand up under my shirt, I nearly come apart.
“Why…” I gulp, trying to gather my wits enough to speak. His hand starts sweeping across my bare skin, and it’s hard to push out the words. “Why did you leave?”
