Wild Fling or a Wedding Ring? (7 page)

Jake tossed the towel toward the treadmill, where it caught over one of the rails, and turned back to flash a wide grin. “Come on. I’ll carry this box back to your place and then let you get some rest.”

B
Y
S
ATURDAY
morning the bulk of the MetroTrek delay had been resolved, but Cali was suffering. She’d worked until nearly two a.m., only to be awoken four hours later with a phone call from the movers. An hour and a half later, twenty-two boxes had been delivered. By nine, the pressure in her head—a slow, radiating throb behind her eyes—was enough to make any sane person curl up into a ball on the floor of a dark closet.

But Cali wasn’t sane. She was a week behind schedule on getting her living space in order, and now that her belongings had finally arrived no amount of sleep deprivation was going to keep her from it. As with everything else even remotely tied to this stint in Chicago, she’d found herself off track and out of sync with a plan she’d lived by for the last three years. She simply couldn’t stomach the idea of letting it go for even one minute longer. So, exhausted, she hung up her clothes, put the linens away, and now was up to her elbows in an eruption of newsprint and bubble wrap.

Shifting her weight from her groaning knees, she rolled onto the balls of her feet into a crouch, wiped at her forehead with the back of an ink-darkened hand and glanced out over the lakefront and the waves glinting in the late-morning light below.

She should have felt good about her progress, only the
slow-going drag and monotony of her task was weighing on her as never before. It didn’t make sense. This was the routine. It worked. So why the restlessness?

Gathering an armful of packing paper, she folded the mess into a recyclable bag. She’d break to dump the trash, stretch out her limbs, and then get back at it.

The lobby doors were propped open, allowing for a hint of the day’s fresh, early-summer air and sunshine to circulate within the otherwise dark lobby. Jake strode through the open doors, following the parquet past the iron-railed stairwell toward the elevator. Catching the doors as they were sliding closed, he stepped into the car to find Cali—an adorably dirty Cali—peering up at him. He stopped short. Dark smudges streaked her skin from cheek to chin and ear to brow, and her auburn curls sprang in wild disarray.

“Wait, don’t tell me. Mud-wrestling—and what happened to my VIP pass?”

Even her answering laugh sounded exhausted, but her smile was genuine as she wearily answered. “Hi, Jake. My stuff came this morning.”

“My second guess. That’s great. How’s the unpacking going?”

Her head tilted back against the corner of the car, exposing the slender length of her neck. “About half done. Maybe a little more.” She blew out a breath. “I just can’t wait to finish. I’m ready to be settled in, you know.”

“Yep. I get that.” He remembered the frustration of a life in limbo all too clearly, and imagined that with the frequency Cali moved the stability of a home environment was even more important to her.

As she rested against the wall, the thumb she’d hooked into her front pocket slipped free, and she jerked as if she’d been
three-quarters to sleep already. Jake’s focus narrowed on the smudges around her face, the shadows beneath her eyes. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. Late-night working.”

He reached out and brushed a streak of dirt from her cheekbone, letting his thumb run slowly across the delicate rise. No reaction beyond the sluggish shifting of her gaze to meet his. This was beyond tired. “That’s it. As a professional courtesy to the ER doctors on duty today, I’m taking you off box-cutting duty before you take off a digit.”

Her nose crinkled in confusion.

“I’m going to help you,” he clarified, in his most unyielding tone.

She was beat, all right, without any fight left to muster. Too tired to shield the relief and gratitude that flooded her eyes. Too tired to make up some lame excuse to try and keep her distance. “Really?”

Jake nodded as the elevator doors opened on seventeen. He took her arm, leading her down the hall to his door. “Quick pitstop here for some emergency rations.”

Letting her in to his place, he went straight for the fridge and grabbed a couple of cans of soda. “Caffeine boost,” he said, handing her one. “Drink up.”

Cali tipped the can back, taking a long swallow, and then followed him down the hall.

“Jake, you’ve got to have more exciting things to do than sit around and unload boxes with me.”

As a rule, most anything was more exciting than unpacking someone else’s stuff. Except this someone was Cali—and she happened to have a four-inch smudge of dirt peaking out of her cleavage. But even without that tantalizing attraction he liked being around her. Liked getting a rise out her and watching her frantic retreat when he got just that much too close.

“I don’t know. I could get lucky and score the box with your racy panty collection and your dirty tell-all diary.”

A reluctant smile spread over her lips as one fist settled on her hip. “Hate to rain on your parade, but neither exists.”

“Then I’ll just have to settle for this being my good deed for the day.”

“By keeping me out of the emergency room?”

“Like you’d even make it there. One glimpse of the blood and you’d be out on the floor, your A-positive staining the hardwood. Really, my generosity is selfishly motivated.”

She snickered behind him, sounding more alert already. “The cleaning and all?”

“Exactly. Now, let’s get a move on.”

Within a few hours they’d finished unpacking, and Cali’s apartment had begun to look like a home. Pictures of her family sat out on a corner table, books and knick-knacks filled her shelves. They’d even hung a few black and white framed prints on the walls. She’d tried to shoo him out over those hours, but Jake wouldn’t give and they’d ended up working and talking through the early afternoon.

It had been easy. Fun.

Being with Cali was unlike being with anyone else. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite get enough of. She’d asked him about his marriage and, to his surprise, he’d actually told her. Given her the nutshell version of his biggest failure. The “high school sweethearts getting hitched too early” song and dance. He’d been able to own up to the fact that he hadn’t had the slightest clue as to how to be a good husband, and Cali had seemed to understand.

When she’d asked what had finally happened to end things, he’d told her about Pam’s affair in one concise sentence. He didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t like to think about it, but for some reason he’d been as close to revealing the details to Cali
as he’d ever gotten with anyone. There was just something about her that made him curious, made him want to talk—made him want more than that. If he examined it long enough, he imagined that that
something
had a lot to do with the fact that she was a temporary attraction in his life. Nothing quite as safe as a woman who couldn’t even commit herself to a single city, let alone one man, and would most likely be living across the ocean within a few months’ time. He didn’t have to trust her for life, just a few weeks or so. No time for failed expectations or betrayals. No time for anything to get deep enough to regret. He could relax around her, and it felt good.

Now the dishes had been run through the washer, and they stood in the kitchen, emptying the racks. The last leg.

Jake pulled out four slender stemmed glasses, still warm from the heat cycle, then slid them into the ironwork rack suspended above the sink. There were a few circular slots reserved for wine bottles. He’d bring over a Santa Margarita he had at his place, and maybe a Fiddlehead too.

Behind him, Cali was muttering to herself about the shelves. “Salad and dinner plates. Bowls….”

He grabbed a stack of plates and handed them over, falling into the easy rhythm of working side by side with her as naturally as breathing.

“Thanks. I love getting this stuff put away.”

“It looks good in here,” he said, nodding to the half-filled cabinets. Then, taking in the dark circles under her eyes—the ones that hadn’t washed off when he’d brought a damp cloth out for her—he added, “Cali, you need some rest.”

“I’m too excited to rest.” Then she smiled at him. “So, you know you really
are
my hero, don’t you?”

The things she did to his ego. “Finally—some recognition.”

“We’re done after this one.” Shaking her head with a laugh, she grabbed the last item from the dishwasher. Jake slid the
empty racks in, then closed the door, sharing her sense of completion. Leaning a hip against the sink, he turned to her, surprised by the peaceful satisfaction in watching the line of her body extend to house the last dish.

It was nice—only suddenly it wasn’t.

His mouth drew down as he recognized the familiar sense of companionable domesticity for what it was. His gut tensed as he tried to ignore the niggling unease settling over him. It was five minutes and didn’t mean anything. Probably nothing more than some kind of emotional muscle memory, wired to sharing space in a kitchen. Nothing a little reprogramming couldn’t handle. Some whipped cream, ripe berries and two days of sweaty sex against every available surface and he’d be able to unload the dishwasher without getting caught up in some rubbish warm, fuzzy contentment trap. Mental note to get on that—ASAP.

“I need to get a step-stool in here.” Cali went onto her toes with a serving plate in hand.

Perfect. He focused on the sweet, heart-shaped curve of her bottom, letting his gaze linger at that vee between her legs before moving up to the sexy stretch of bare skin between the hem of a tee-shirt that clung to her curves and the top of her jeans.

Playtime was over.
This
was what he wanted.

“I’ve got it.” Jake’s voice was closer than she’d expected. She turned to find him right behind her. He set one hand at her waist, crowding her, as he took the platter from her grasp and, reaching over her, stowed it in the uppermost cabinet.

Her fingers gripped the countertop at either side of her hips as Jake lowered his deep blue gaze to hers, smiling that lazy, smooth smile.

This man had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen. And she didn’t have to imagine or guess what those firm,
chiseled lips would feel like rubbing against her own. She already knew. Ecstasy.

Flashes of the phone booth came in quick succession as her back pressed into the counter behind her and her torso absorbed the heat of Jake’s body.

Oh, God, she could barely breathe.

His chest was right there, and he smelled so good, and her mouth was suddenly dry. She tried to conjure Amanda, hoping the mental image of her boss getting all breathy about
Jackson
would be enough to douse the flames licking low in her belly—get her to stop this mind-traveling back to that night in the bar.

Slow jazz. The seductive, gliding caress of his tongue against hers. His ragged groan, “Tell me to stop.”

Only it didn’t work. She was alone in her apartment with Amanda’s Jackson, standing there watching him tempt her into seeing him as just Jake. The truth was he’d been tempting her all day. Longer, even.

He
was
just Jake. He’d been with her all day. Making her laugh. Making her think. Talking about life and—and she was making a mistake letting herself think that way for even a second. Only she couldn’t stop.

A shiver ran the length of her spine, skirting around to tighten the skin across her chest, hitching her breath to a halt. There was no stopping it, this desire that built within her every minute they were together, that jumped and flared at every innocuous touch. He read it in her eyes. He had to. She needed him to.

His pupils dilated, roiled with turbulent emotion. He was going to kiss her, and this time—

“Turn around and lean forward over the counter.”

“Wh-what?” Cali’s eyes flared wide, but Jake took her by the shoulders and steadily turned her away from him. Her
heart slammed a staccato beat against her ribs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t voice a word of protest as his wide, strong hand spanned her lower back, then skimmed up her spine, using a gentle but firm pressure to bend her over.

He gathered the hair that hung heavy down her back, parted it at her nape and, twisting the untamed curls, pushed them to fall forward over her shoulders. And then those long fingers were sifting through the weighty mass, tugging at the strands so tiny sparks of pleasure flared at the roots. The tingling sensation of shifting follicles had her fighting a groan, only to lose the battle when his hands moved with steady pressure in a downward stroke from the base of her skull across the slope of her shoulders.

“Jake,” she gasped as his thumbs pressed into the taut tissues astride her spine, circling slowly until her worn muscles succumbed, releasing their tension to his ministrations.

He worked the muscle groups, large and small, his every touch and murmured comment—“Hard? Like that?”—melting her resolve.

Making her want more.

Need more.

Warm breath bathed the exposed skin of her neck as he worked the joints of her shoulders, her upper arms, traps and deltoids. His fingers walked the path of delicate bones that collared her neck. Touched on the tops of her pectoral muscles, making her breasts peak and ache for the attention that remained just out of reach. Dipped lower in an elusive caress, still inches from her nipples, before retreating to the spread of her shoulders.

His skilled hands followed around her ribs, moving over her in confident, deliberate strokes. Easing lower. Locking around her hips as he kneaded the small of her back.

“You’re so tight.”

Cali’s teeth sank into her bottom lip at the gruff sound of his provocative words—words that conjured erotic images—used in a context to torment her.

“You like that?”

Her belly knotted as her body went liquid beneath his touch.

“Jake,” she gasped again, his name riding a quivering breath. “Please….”

The heat of him radiated over her, so close, but not quite touching.

“Tell me what you want, Cali.” His voice was rough velvet at her ear, making her knees weak. Her body burn. “Tell me. And I’ll give it to you.”

She was lost. Her mind spun, trying to grasp onto a solid reason she shouldn’t, but there was nothing beyond this aching need. No sense. No reason. No more resistance.