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She pops a hand on her hip, her smile turning down when she averts her attention to Jake. “When I told you to make the most of a night to yourself, I didn’t mean for you to pick up strays.”
Ouch.
“Rein it in,” Jake warns.
She leans closer, lowering her voice so only we can hear, and glances at my bandaged forehead. “What did you do? Ram her through the headboard?”
Okay, where’s the nearest exit?
“It’s not what it looks like,” I start, but Jake rests his hand on my back again.
She blows out a long breath, and places her hand on my arm. “Sorry, I’m a bitch by nature, but now I have a toddler and eight-week-old twins. I could cry just standing here. My emotions are in a blender. My tits are killing me because I’m basically a dairy cow. I haven’t gotten a period yet. My hair is falling out, and the babies sound like air raid sirens when they cry. But please join us for breakfast. There’s more than enough.”
Wow!
“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Thank you.” It’s all that comes out. It’s impossible to produce any other words. It’s not very often I’m rendered speechless, but here I am, with my mouth hanging open as she walks away.
Jake gestures for me to take a seat at the breakfast counter.
I look at him, pleading, saying, “Do I have to?” without actually saying it.
His breath is in my hair when he demands, “Sit.”
I do.
I sit.
We eat.
We talk.
I don’t hear a word of it.
I drink too much coffee.
Nobody mentions my bandaged head again, and I only hope Jake will explain.
It’s normal.
They’re a family.
They laugh, they tease each other, and I smile as I watch.
He’s attentive to every word his son says.
Sharon eyeballs me a couple of times, and I can’t help but feel like I’m sitting in what is usually an empty chair, or one she wished was filled by someone else, but she doesn’t ignore me.
Every so often, I feel Jake’s eyes on me. I nod, letting him know I’m only dying of shame and not my concussion.
Chapter Ten
“Ms. Russell.” My name rolls off his tongue like forbidden fruit, amusement dancing around the letters, making my stomach clench, and my shoulders square in annoyance.
I should have known it was him. His power fills my office with raw masculinity, and I haven’t even bothered to look up from the floor.
We’re back to being formal. I woke in his bed and had breakfast with his family, yet he’s still calling me Ms. Russell.
