“It’s in the
stalactite
cave,” Harper whimpered the obvious. The mountain lion’s shriek had echoed and rolled like thunder across the cave walls this time, the sound terrifyingly close. He could feel her shaking against him. He pulled her closer, and she smashed her face against his chest.
“What’d I tell you about the fire. Harper?” he prompted, and she knew she was listening with dread for the approaching cat.
“That it’s not only for warmth, but for safety. And that mountain lions don’t like it?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“That’s right,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head and peering toward the entrance of the second cave. “He’ll lose patience when he sees he can’t get to us. He’ll go hunt somewhere else when his hunger pains get the better of him.”
“Really?” she asked in a quavering voice, her nose still pressed against his chest.
“Really.” The bully cat shrieked again, seeming to rattle the whole cave. Harper shuddered.
“Jake—”
He stroked her hair, never taking his eyes off the back entrance. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got the fire. Trust me. Tell me about The Lord of the Rings.”
“What?” She sounded a little incredulous at his request.
“Yeah. Like a campfire story. We’ve got a fire. Tell me about it.”
He sensed some of her terror receding slightly at that. If he was urging her to tell stories around the fire, maybe things couldn’t be that bad. She started talking in a muffled, quavering voice about something called hobbits, which sounded to Jake like these easygoing, fat dwarves who lived in the woods. Just as she mentioned someone named Frodo, Jake saw it: the eyes of the mountain lion glowing at him from the cloaking darkness. The cat was about twenty-five feet away from their fire.
“What kind of a name is Frodo?” he muttered, still stroking her hair, subtly urging her to keep her face against his chest.
“It’s a hobbit’s name,” she scolded, sniffing. “Just listen to the story, all right?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. She resumed the shaky telling of her story. He held her against him all the while, never flinching from the demon cat’s stare.
Present Day
She was bringing everything up to the surface. Jacob was frustrated as hell at her for that.
He was also wary, not to mention so damn curious, he thought he was going to lose it sometime soon.
Did
she remember? Or didn’t she?
Sometimes, it felt like all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her and demanding she tell him the truth about what she recalled about the August before her seventh-grade year. What did she remember about a sociopath called Emmitt Tharp, about being kidnapped, of escaping with scrawny Jake Tharp? She’d say things sometimes that seemed like echoes from their past: her onetime phobia for dogs and knives, her wistful musings about someone from her past helping her get over her fear of heights, what she’d said tonight about the fire being for security, not just warmth. Those things, and so many other small mentions on her part, made him wild with speculation and curiosity.
And yet . . . he’d searched her expression each time, and there would be no connection he could discern in her eyes between whatever hint she’d dropped and
him—
Jacob—the man present with her there in the moment. It was as if everything he’d told her about him remaking himself new every day was the literal truth, as if Jake Tharp and Jacob Latimer really were two different beings . . . that there was truly no connection for him to
find
in Harper’s beautiful eyes. That rattled him nearly as much as the idea that she
did
remember him.
Maybe he really
had
killed off Jake Tharp in his single-minded mission to become Jacob Latimer. That concept used to reassure him. It’d been the only reason he allowed himself to indulge in a relationship with Harper. But increasingly, he searched for that connection not just because he dreaded it. He
wanted
her to remember Jake, to acknowledge that past connection and their shared history . . .
If only a little.
And that alteration in his attitude had him seriously on edge as they left Geb, and he opened the limo door for her. Because there was no
a little
in this scenario. She either remembered, or she didn’t. Either he resolved to promote Harper’s apparent amnesia, or he prodded her to recall more, tainting and altering his present-day world. Because it wouldn’t just be the sweet, poignant moments of their time spent together that would jump out of that Pandora’s box of memory. So many ugly, shameful secrets would spring out of the past as well, truths Jacob vigilantly guarded against. He’d figuratively killed off Jake Tharp so that Jacob Latimer could live and thrive.
And he’d been doing it so well, until she’d walked into his life again.
It wasn’t just his concern about what Harper would do with those memories in regard to his life, either. He was worried for
her
,
and that concern rose every minute he spent in her company. If her father had truly been successful in making her forget a traumatic kidnapping and assault at age twelve, then Jacob should be doing whatever he could to make sure those ugly memories stayed buried. He knew all too well what effect Emmitt’s foulness had had on a victim less fortunate than Harper had been.
The conflict raged in him. The push-pull he experienced toward her mounted, the friction of it becoming unbearable.
The atmosphere in the private enclosure of the limo was almost as stifling and charged as it had been last night, after the opera, Jacob realized with a frown. They’d finished dinner soon after Harper’s comment about the fire and Jacob’s sharp questions and comments. They’d both skipped dessert and coffee, and had been polite enough with each other while Jacob took care of the check. Still, their former intimacy and warmth had vanished, only to be replaced by a growing, taut strain.
They rode in silence for twenty minutes. As Miguel, his driver, maneuvered them through tight Saturday evening traffic, he found himself unable to restrain his volatility any longer, however.
She sat on the seat across from him, staring out the window, the passing lights glimmering in the stones of the earrings he’d bought her. Her pure, striking profile was what drew his gaze, however, not the precious gems. He clenched his teeth.
God, he wanted her.
“There are times that I feel like you know more about me than you’re letting on.”
His words sounded harsh, cutting through the billowing silence of the dim, hushed limo. He recognized that a portion of his volatility stemmed from her aloofness at that moment . . . her untouchable quality. Because despite all his ambiguity and uncertainty toward her, the need to touch, to assure himself of her reciprocated need, never once waned. If anything, his hunger seemed to be growing exponentially in the face of his doubts.
She turned to face him. He saw incredulity written large on her face
“Why in the world would I know more about you than I’m telling you?” she demanded. He saw understanding slowly dawn on her face. “Do you think I’m putting on a show? To get a story about you? Did you talk to Cyril? Did he tell you I was asking questions about your background this afternoon?”
Cyril hadn’t told him anything, but Jacob’s expression didn’t shift. His heartbeat began to thrum in his hears. “Cyril and I have been friends for years,” he replied neutrally. “We don’t keep a lot from each other.”
She exhaled, shaking her head, the motion causing her long, lush hair to slide across her pale shoulders and arms. Desire and confusion clashed inside him, making his muscles tense hard.
“I told him I wasn’t asking questions about you to get fuel for a story, or to use the information in any way that was harmful to you. I
told
him I was just trying to understand you better. Then he ran to tell you everything, apparently. You have him trained well,” she stated bitterly, staring again out the window, her jaw tense. She suddenly made a desperate, disgusted sound and whipped her head around. “Why are you so convinced I want to hurt you?”
“Because you can.”
She started. He, too, felt a little taken aback by his honest answer. He’d just admitted point-blank that he cared enough for her that she had the power to hurt him. After a stretched moment, she inhaled slowly.
“Because I have access to your homes? To your world? To you? Don’t kid yourself. You haven’t given
that
much away, Jacob. Besides, you’ve asked me to take risks for you,” she breathed out coldly. “Maybe you’re going to have to decide once and for all if you’re willing to do the same for me. Oh . . . and once you make your choice, stop getting pissed off at me every time I remind you of someone else, or make you feel in the tiniest bit vulnerable. That’s just the way being . . . with someone else works.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. He sensed her disgust at him, but also at herself. “I almost said ‘being in a relationship.’ Imagine me, saying that to Jacob Latimer.”
“Harper—”
He cut himself off when the limo came to a halt. He realized in mounting frustration that he wasn’t sure what he would have said to her, anyway. What he
could
say. He felt blocked at every turn.
They didn’t speak as they approached the Sea Cliff house, and he keyed in a security code. She walked ahead of him when they entered, and headed directly for the stairs. He followed, his agitation swelling at the vision of her elegant, stiff back and shoulders. She was pissed, and good. But he wasn’t exactly pleased at learning she’d been trying to pull answers from Cyril about him, either. They entered his suite and he slammed the door after him. His frothing frustration spilled over when, without pause, she walked briskly toward the guest bathroom.
He lunged toward her, grabbing her upper arm and spinning her to face him.
“You’ve got me twisted in every direction, Harper.”
“I’m
so
sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But
I’m
not responsible for your pissy moods.”
He gripped her upper arms tight. “I haven’t spoken to Cyril since I saw him with you this afternoon. I wasn’t saying that you could hurt me because you have access to my life. I was saying it because I care about you. Too fucking much.”
He saw her eyes widen slightly before he swooped down and kissed her. She stiffened at first, but he was so far gone, he didn’t care. He required her taste, her scent, the sensation of her soft, firm lips moving against his. He bit at her lower lip, demanding she join him in this boiling lust. Instead, she bared her teeth, pressed closer to his body, and nipped him back. He saw red. Her hands clutched hard at his shoulders, and her fingers delved into his hair. The feeling of her nails scraping his scalp made savage arousal tear through him. He opened his hands along her sides, encompassing her slender torso, and plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Need assaulted him. He lifted her several inches off the floor and walked with her pressed tight against him. He set her on the edge of his bed, still feeding hungrily from her hot, responsive mouth. Everything seemed to be striking him in sharp, bullet-like flashes of awareness, like his brain was overloading with sensation. Her hands moved anxiously along his shoulders and neck, pulling him to her, urging him onto the bed. Before he came, however, he reached around her neck and unbuttoned the collar of her dress. He broke from their kiss, snarling at the deprivation of her mouth.
He jerked her dress down, baring her breasts. They felt so soft in his hands, so firm and sweet, the tight, coral-colored nipples killing him. They were his to touch—for now—and that knowledge unleashed a desperate excitement in him. He heard Harper’s whimper through the blood pounding in his ears. The next thing he knew, he was pushing her back on his bed and coming down over her, clutching a condom in his hand.
Everything was cast in a haze as he fed again from her mouth, and her supple body writhed beneath him, fueling his lust.
Another flash of clarity came to him. He held his throbbing cock in his hand and was shoving her dress roughly up to her waist. There was a ripping sound of cloth, and he stared at the heaven of her pale, parted thighs and pink sex. He dipped a finger into her, growling at the sensation of her tight, lubricated sheath.
His groan ripped at his throat as he entered her a moment later. He thrust, his eyes rolling back in his head at the slicing pleasure of being submerged to the hilt. The haze cleared as he stared down at her tense, flushed face, reddened lips, and eyes that were shiny with lust. She was stunning. So gorgeous.
Harper.
Supporting himself on the mattress, he used his free hand to reach for her wrists. He pressed both her hands to the mattress above her head, his gaze fixed on her bare, vulnerable breasts rising and falling as she panted. He kept his hand there, restraining her and bracing his weight at once.
There was so much feeling inside him, he thought he’d explode from it. He wanted to feast on her breasts and her mouth. He wanted to taste every square inch of her skin. His hands itched to grab fistfuls of her lush, sexy hair. But he
needed
to take her now . . . to be buried deep inside her surrender.
“You make me so crazy,” he grated out before he started to move.
His bed shook. She did. He knew he took her hard, and that he was ruthless. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like something else drove him, some savage force that insisted he drown in her submission. He felt only a single-minded goal to possess her utterly.
At some point, he heard her cry out. He’d paused with his cock sunk deep and pressed his testicles and pelvis against her outer sex, circling his hips subtly, demanding that she burn for him. He registered her flushed face, saw it tighten even as her sex convulsed around him. She cried out his name. Heat rushed around his cock, and he was pounding into her again, fucking the core of her unfurling pleasure, slaking himself like a satyr on it.
Then he was kneeling over her, panting, shucking the condom off his pulsing, rigid cock. He jerked viciously. The sweet pain in him swelled and broke, and he was coming on her pale thigh as wave after wave of pleasure shook him.
His harsh breathing entered his awareness. Slowly, the haze began to recede. He looked down at the bed. Harper lay there, panting, her dress shoved down below her breasts and up to her waist. He fisted his cock hard. A stream of ejaculate still clung between the damp head and Harper’s thigh. He noticed something black clinging to the top of her leg. It was wet with his come. He realized it was Harper’s thong. He hadn’t ripped her panties all the way off her, but just tore through the fabric at one hip before shoving it partially down the opposite thigh. Once the heaven of her had been revealed, nothing had mattered but being deep inside her.
His lungs burning, he dared to look at her face. Her eyes were damp, and her cheeks and lips were flushed. She looked thoroughly debauched . . . and incredibly beautiful. She looked like a woman who had just survived a brutal storm.
He inhaled raggedly at the thought. He’d been that storm.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. She appeared to be holding her breath.
“Jacob . . . what
is
it?” A single tear trickled out of one eye. “What’s haunting you? Please tell me.”
Her pressured whisper cut straight through him. He felt completely transparent. He came off the bed. His pants and underwear were bunched above his knees. He flinched. He hadn’t even taken off his suit jacket or tie, for Christ’s sake. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Let me get something to clean you up,” he muttered, hitching his pants and underwear up before he walked away.
* * *
Harper had never been so shaken. She watched him walk toward his bathroom. How could he be feeling so much, and yet keep it locked deep inside the impenetrable shell of his everyday persona? It’d been like he was exorcising his demons when he’d made love to her just now. Harper had been only too glad to be the target of his angst. Even in the midst of his anguish, he hadn’t failed to excite her. Pleasure her. In fact, her arousal had been sharp and urgent. She’d looked the true Jacob Latimer in the face there for several pleasure-infused minutes, and witnessed the full extent of his power . . . of his pain.