A Taste of Honey (7 page)

Kit cut her off. “Actually I’m glad you called. I need some help brainstorming column ideas. I have to stop writing about Jake.”

Tina was completely silent for several moments. “No, Kit, you can’t stop now. That’s why I called. An editor from Hardin Publishing just called me. She got a hold of your column and wanted to know if we—that is, you and Bustout—would be interested in putting together a collection of columns for a ‘Stripping It Down’ book.”

The handset slid from her numb fingers.

“Kit? Are you there?”

Kit fumbled on the floor for the phone. “A book? Are you serious?”

“Not only that,” Tina said, “she said she has a friend at
Bella
magazine who might be interested in buying the rights and giving you a monthly spot.”

A monthly column in a national magazine? And a book? This was better than she’d ever dreamed.

“I’d hate to lose you,” Tina was chattering, “but if they buy the rights we can expand the editorial staff. The only thing is”—Kit braced herself for the catch—“she wants to see more. She really likes the work you’ve done in the six months that you’ve been writing for us, but she thinks the last month’s worth has been really stellar, and she wants to be sure you can keep writing at that level.”

Kit squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach clenched. The last month. The Jake Chronicles, as she’d started calling them in her head.

She looked at the door of the bedroom, behind which he slept in blissful ignorance, having no clue that to thousands of readers, he was the anonymous, brainless dick attached to a body being sorely used and abused by one C. Teaser.

He’ll never know. That’s why you came up with the pseudonym in the first place.

But how was she going to keep the truth from him once she had a book published?

You know damn well he’ll be gone and out of your life long before it ever hits the shelves.

That thought stopped her cold. But who was she trying to kid? Jake was leaving soon, and the fact that she’d come to care for him was irrelevant. She certainly wasn’t about to sacrifice her career for him.

“Tell her to keep reading,” Kit said. “Tell her the next week’s column should be my best ever.”

J
ake glanced up as his e-mail whistled, relieved to have an excuse to stop reading the business plan spread out on his desk. Normally he could skim through these things in five minutes and absorb all the pertinent details. Lately his concentration was shot, and he knew exactly who to blame.

He clicked open the message from Michael, a forward of some column he’d found on the Web. Michael had added his own forward,
Makes you glad we caught a couple of the nice ones, huh?

Jake usually ignored the jokes and things forwarded by his friends, but he found himself immediately engaged by the author’s lacerating wit and undeniable flair for humor. He read the column with a combination of amusement and horror. Entitled “Stripping It Down” and written by a woman with the oh-so appropriate moniker C. Teaser, it was like an extra-harsh version of
Sex and the City.
This C. Teaser apparently had some schmuck by the short and curlies, leading him around by his dick until she tired of him, which, she assured her readers, would happen very soon.

Whoever the guy was, Jake felt sorry for the poor sap.

Oh, like you’re one to talk.

He shook his head. Four weeks. Four weeks in San Francisco chasing Kit around and he wasn’t any closer to having any sort of permanent relationship with her. Christ almighty. He had sex with her every night, had essentially moved into her apartment, and he was still afraid that if he referred to her as his girlfriend she’d run for the hills.

What an ass. For a guy who had a reputation for aggression, who was known for his ability to turn a no into a yes, he sure was acting like a pussy.

Of course, he’d never in his life faced the possibility of a rejection that had the potential to make or break the rest of his life.

Makes you glad we caught one of the nice ones.
Honestly, Jake wasn’t sure he had. After all this time, he still didn’t know what to make of Kit. Sure, the sex was amazing, explosive, and while he was inside her he knew she wasn’t holding anything back, knew that she was giving him everything she had.

And afterward she’d look at him, and for a few brief seconds there was no wariness, no distance, no wall in place to keep him from seeing what she really felt. And in those seconds he was sure she loved him as much as he loved her.

But inevitably the wall went up. She’d roll out of bed to take a shower or catch up on work. Anything to distance herself from the intimacy they’d just shared. Then he’d wake up in the morning with her nestled up against him like she couldn’t get close enough.

This is bullshit,
he thought angrily as he picked up the phone. He had to go back to Boston in a week, and by this time he’d fully expected to be planning a permanent move here to San Francisco, or hers to Boston. He’d even gone ring shopping the other day. But he, Jake Donovan, the guy who never let anyone or anything keep him from getting exactly what he wanted, had chickened out. Holding the three-carat diamond solitaire in his hand, he’d imagined proposing to Kit. And instead of immeasurable joy, maybe even a few happy tears, he’d imagined her eyes widening in horror as she gently patted his hand and told him that, while she appreciated the gesture, she simply didn’t feel “that way” about him.

And like a wimp he’d handed back the ring that would look perfect on her slim, long-fingered hand and skulked out of the store.

Frowning, he picked up his phone and punched in Kit’s number. Enough of this crap. He was sick of pussyfooting around trying to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted. Tonight they were going to sit down and have a good, long talk, and he was going to show some balls and actually admit how he felt. No more game playing. No more pretending that this was nothing but sex simply to keep her in her comfort zone. Tonight he was going to make Kit face some hard truths about the true state of their relationship.

And if she hit the ground running? At least he’d know he tried, but the mere thought of her dumping him pinched like an icy fist in his gut.

Kit answered on the second ring.

“Meet me for dinner tonight,” he said curtly. “We have some things we need to discuss.”

He was met with silence. Maybe he should have tried for a friendlier tone.

“I can’t,” she replied. “I have other plans.”

“Other plans?” It stuck in his craw that after all this time, he still had to make plans with her in advance, that she didn’t check in with him before making plans on her own like she would if they were actually a real couple.

Until now, he had purposely avoided questioning her, not wanting to cramp her style or give her reason to bolt. He had no such reservations now. “What kind of plans? Why didn’t you check with me?”

“I didn’t realize I had to check in with you, Daddy,” she said, sarcasm oozing through the phone lines.

“What plans?” he repeated.

She paused. “A work thing,” she said finally.

In the month he’d been here, she’d remarked several times that unlike his own job, she was grateful that her job at the
Tribune
required almost no work-based socialization. “A work thing,” he said skeptically.

“It’s for a freelance project, something I’ve been working on.” Her voice was uncharacteristically flustered.

“Fine. I’ll see you back at your apartment.” He hung up, glaring at the phone as though it were her face. Something wasn’t adding up. She’d been acting evasive for the past week. Just last week he’d gone to her office to invite her to lunch, only to find that she was out. When he’d asked her about it later she’d told him she was out with a friend. Two nights she’d arrived home late, offering sketchy details about where she’d been. And more than once he’d interrupted her working at home, only to have her immediately close whatever she was working on before he could see.

Was it possible she was seeing someone else? The mere thought of another man’s hands on her, touching her, caressing her, having unbridled access to her smooth, tan skin and silky wet warmth, made him want to puke. Jake, who’d never been jealous over a woman in his life, struggled to contain the rage that surged at the mere thought of another man so much as looking at the woman he’d claimed as his.

Kit slowly unlocked the dead bolt of her front door. It was past midnight and she prayed Jake was asleep as she tiptoed into the room. Her head throbbed with a combination of guilt and frustration. She’d spent the last several hours with Tina and the editor from Hardin Publishing, who had flown out from New York specifically to go over the book deal she was putting together for Kit.

But instead of feeling elated over her soon-to-be-skyrocketing career, she felt ill. For the past week she’d walked around feeling like venomous snakes were nibbling her insides. In addition to her regular columns, she’d written several extra pieces for the book, all about Jake. She’d cried as she’d sent the most recent one last night, in which she’d written the biggest lie of her career.

The truth was, she was dreading Jake’s departure but didn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t mentioned anything about what would happen once he went home to Boston, and she’d been so busy and so consumed with guilt that she hadn’t been able to work up the courage to bring it up herself.

Still, she was pretty good at reading people, and every look, every act, every touch told her Jake cared. Any uncertainty about their relationship was entirely her fault. She was the one putting it at risk with her skittish, and lately sneaky, behavior.

And judging by his tone earlier today, he was obviously irritated, suspicious of her sudden spate of meetings and plans that had nothing to do with him.

What was she going to do? Though she’d vowed not to let whatever it was she and Jake had interfere with this amazing career opportunity, she could no longer deny that she cared for him. Deeply.

Somehow, that naïve, unrealistic, idealistic teenager had taken over, reminding her of all the reasons she’d fallen in love with Jake then, and why she really, really liked him now.

Yet if they did get serious, what would she tell him? She couldn’t keep her book and her new column a secret forever. What could she say? “Oh, by the way, Jake, I write this really mean-spirited column and I’ve completely exploited our sex life and made you look like a complete boob. And you better get used to it because I’ll probably have to mock the most amazing relationship I’ve ever had for the foreseeable future.”

For a woman who prided herself on avoiding male-related complications, she’d somehow managed to land herself in a huge, freaking mess.

Kit didn’t turn on the light as she entered her apartment, hoping she could sneak in and slide into bed next to Jake and pretend for a few more hours that she hadn’t completely screwed up her life.

The lamp clicked on, and she shrieked and dropped her purse. Jake sat in her overstuffed leather club chair, a glass in his hand.

“A little late, isn’t it?” he asked in a voice so cold she expected to see icicles forming off the tip of her nose.

Cornered, she struggled for her usual bravado. “You’ve been sitting here in the dark like some modern-day Mr. Rochester? How very gothic of you.”

He pushed himself up, tossing back the last of whatever liquor remained in his glass before setting the glass down on the side table. “Where were you, Kit?” He walked toward her slowly, and she got the uncomfortable sensation that she was being stalked.

“I told you, I had a meeting,” she snapped. At least that much was true, and she hoped he didn’t press for details. She could bullshit over the phone, no problem, and had no compunction about embellishing for effect, but she had a really hard time maintaining her poker face when caught in a bald-faced lie.

Finally he was so close she could smell the familiar musk and sandalwood scent of his skin, mixed with the smoky aroma of scotch on his breath. She wanted to lick the taste off his lips, but his demeanor didn’t exactly encourage affection.

“Are you cheating on me?”

She took a step back, stunned. Part of her was so relieved that he wasn’t pressing her for details about her meeting that she nearly laughed. But that urge was overtaken by irritation. What kind of person did he think she was? Did he really think she could have him living in her apartment, have crazy, unrestrained sex with him every single day, all while fooling around with someone else?

She ignored the little whisper that said he had a right to be suspicious, given the way she’d been scurrying around lately.

Instead, she did what she always did and copped an attitude. “Cheating? Cheating would imply we have some sort of exclusive relationship,” she pointed out dryly, “which we don’t. But if you want to know if I’m screwing anyone else, the answer is no.”

Kit’s body language—head and shoulders back, arms crossed firmly over her breasts, one dark eyebrow raised imperiously—screamed “Don’t touch,” but Jake grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her firmly against him. Relief coursed through him. Kit was still hiding something from him—of that he had no doubt—but it wasn’t another man. She’d been a terrible liar as a kid, something that hadn’t changed in the past twelve years. He knew she wasn’t lying about being with somebody else.

So what was it, then?

He pushed the question aside. Now wasn’t the time to care.

After all his patience, maneuvering, and attempts to manipulate, it had come down to this. He was going to have to bare his soul. Tell Kit that he’d fallen head over heels all over again in Mexico, and he’d come out to San Francisco with some ridiculous scheme to get her to fall in love with him. And pray that she didn’t either laugh in his face or run screaming for the door.

“Kit, I have to go back to Boston soon,” he began. Her blue-gray eyes were unreadable as he fumbled for what to say next.

“And?” Her hands had dropped to her sides, and though she didn’t pull away from him, she didn’t embrace him back either.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, releasing her to plow frustrated hands through his hair, “no reason to beat around the bush.”

She regarded him warily, and no wonder, since he’d started to pace and was muttering to himself like he was some kind of psycho.

“Jake, I know what you’re going to say, and—”

“I love you, Kit.”

His stomach dropped to somewhere around ankle level when he was met with stunned silence.

Finally she managed to croak out, “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, cradling her face in his hands, seeing the raw panic in her eyes. “I didn’t come out to San Francisco for business, Kit. I came out for you. I fell in love with you in Mexico—hell, I think I loved you when you were still in high school. But when I saw you in Mexico last month, I just knew. I knew you were it. I know I hurt you a long time ago. I acted like a complete jackass, and I’d do anything if I could go back and change what happened. But that was years ago, and this is now. And I’ve tried to be patient, tried to give you space to figure it out on your own, but I’m running out of time, and I love you, Kit.” He stopped to take a breath, feeling a faint tremor course through his entire body.

Or was it her? Her hands, as she lifted them to cover his, were shaking too, and in her eyes he saw naked vulnerability and fear. And underneath it, some fierce emotion that sent the first tendrils of hope radiating out from his chest. “This is it, Kit,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on hers, “no more games, just the truth. I’m laying it all out, and I need you to do the same.”