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“I hate snakes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing Enzo handles all the landscaping because the minute I see one I go all Indiana Jones.”
Jake bit his lip and shook his head.
“What?”
“Just picturing you draped with snakes and wielding a whip. Director’s curse.”
“So you like things a little kinky?” Pleased that she’d made his dimple reappear, she turned the question back on him. “Tell me something about you, Jake Ryland.”
“I hate carrots?”
“Uh-uh, something good. I’ll remember the carrot thing though.”
“Why? You gonna cook me dinner?” He leaned closer into her space, bringing his expensive-smelling cologne that much closer. She couldn’t help her deep inhale, filling her senses with his scent.
“In your dreams, or maybe your nightmares. I hit my culinary peak the day I mastered Easy Mac. It’s three minutes forty-two seconds on my microwave, FYI. Come on, what’s your deepest fear? I told you mine.”
“Stage fright.” His voice softened, letting her hear the vulnerable little kid pushed into the spotlight too early.
“No. That’s… That’s awful. How long were you an actor?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Did it ever get any easier?”
“The closed-set shoots were manageable, but live audiences or public events only got worse. And my parents didn’t seem to care. No one else on set knew except my tutor because she saw me throw up once.”
Frankie scooted closer so that her hip pressed against his thigh, even as their legs dangled over opposite sides of the bar. Her family liked to razz her about stupid stuff like troll toes and snakes, but they would never actually make her do anything she was truly afraid of. Imagine having parents who cared more about fame and a paycheck than about their son's well-being… No wonder he didn't talk much about his past. What else was lurking under his polished surface?
Going on instinct, she wrapped her arms around his chest and hugged, tucking her head into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. It sounds awful.”
“Well, you did ask my deepest fear. It wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, but I expected ‘I hate spiders,’ or ‘Fucking glitter.’”
He laughed and she leaned back. He halted her retreat this time, a firm, warm hand gripping her forearm. “Thank you. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever laughed about it.”
They were so close. She focused on his lips instead of his whole face as he spoke. This time the scent of coffee and starch joined his woodsy cologne as it teased her nose.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, mesmerized.
“Are you thinking about kissing me again?” he teased.
“Yes.” She nodded, unable to look away. His perfectly trimmed beard framed his plump lips, making them stand out like a target.
“Fuck, Frankie.” He exhaled hard. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
“I didn’t just say it. You asked. Areyouthinking about kissingmeagain?”
“Yes. I am now,” he whispered, his hot breath tracing her cheek as he leaned over to place a kiss on the sensitive patch of skin right below her ear. She ran a hand down the front of his shirt, the buttons bumping under her palm, his chest solid and unyielding.
"I think I need a second kiss. The first one didn't work right."
"Technically, this would be a third, but if at first you don't succeed…" He leaned in with a confident smirk, but she straightened her arm between them, pushing him back into his space.
