“Says the woman who always warned me against him.”
“My warning is redundant since you never listened to me. Anyway, I think Jake has changed.”
“Since when are you a fan of Jake?”
“This isn’t about Jake. It’s your best interest I have at heart. Plus, a few days to yourself can’t hurt.”
Rubbing my forehead, I walk to the window and stare at the dull landscape. “How’s Noah?” My heart clenches as I envision his sweet, little face. “I miss him.”
“He’s great. Nothing to worry about.”
“Will you call me if anything—?”
“I promise.”
“I’m not going to forgive you for this.” I don’t tell her about Luan and my job. There’s no point in stressing her about something she’ll blame herself for but can’t change.
“That’s what mothers are for. Got to go. I’m late for work.” She blows a kiss into the phone and cuts the call.
How am I going to survive three weeks with Jake in the middle of nowhere? I glance over my shoulder. I’m still alone. Quickly, I pull up Nancy’s name from my list of recent calls and press dial.
I interrupt her cheerful greeting with, “I need your help. Jake kidnapped me.”
Before she can reply, a big hand folds around mine from over my shoulder. Yelping, I fling around and bump into Jake’s chest. Nancy’s, “What?” sounds in the space as we fight over the phone, me struggling and Jake tightening his grip. It doesn’t take much effort to take the phone from me.
A strangely sympathetic look plays in his eyes as he holds my gaze while pressing the phone against his ear. “Hello, Nancy. It’s Jake.”
Her voice is so loud I hear every word. “What’s going on? What are you doing with Kristi?”
“Kristi is fine. Call Gina. She’ll explain.”
“But—”
He hangs up. “You’ve just lost your phone privileges, ginger.”
“Give it back,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, but I obviously can’t trust you with a phone.”
“Can’t trust me?” I utter a little hysterically. “Says the man who kidnapped me.”
“You need coffee.”
Claustrophobia suddenly envelops me. The walls close in, and the vastness is too small a space. “I need to go home.”
He grips my shoulders firmly and steers me out of the room and into the hallway. “You need to calm down.”
“I am calm!”
I try to dig in my heels, but I’m no match for him. He easily maneuvers me to an island counter and pushes me down onto a stool.
“Stay,” he says in an authoritative tone.
“I want to go home.”
His touch disappears from my shoulders. It’s both a relief and disconcerting. For some crazy reason, I feel less grounded.
A moment later, he puts a steaming mug down in front of me. “Careful. It’s hot.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to register the smell of the coffee. All I want is out. “I want to go back to Noah.”
He grips my shoulders again and starts kneading my aching muscles. “You’re full of knots. Don’t worry. Tonight, you’ll sleep in a comfortable bed.”
I try to twist in the stool, but he grips me harder, holding me in place.
“Don’t pretend not to hear me,” I hiss.
“I hear you fine.” He rubs a thumb along the column of my neck, finding another sore muscle. “Here?” he asks, applying gentle pressure.
“You can’t massage your way out of this.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.”
His words grind on me. I can’t stomach them. They hurt. When I needed his care, he wasn’t there. It’s too late now. “Stop.”
At my harsh tone, he pauses.
“Take your hands off me.”
Another second, and he obliges. My shoulders relax only marginally because his body is still pressed against my back.
“Step away.” Thump. Thump. My heartbeat falls like an axe on wood, but then his warmth disappears. I breathe easier.
“Drink your coffee,” he says.
I sit like a statue, ignoring him as he unpacks groceries from a box and fills the cupboards and fridge.
When he’s done stocking the kitchen, he stops in front of me with his hands on his hips. “Feel like having a bath?”
“No.”
“There is hot water.”
“Isn’t that good to know?” I say sarcastically.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going for one.”
“Do whatever you want. You don’t report to me.”
He hovers for another moment, staring down at my face, before leaving the kitchen. The minute he’s gone, I pick up the mug and fling it at the wall. It breaks into three large pieces, the coffee dripping down the pristine, white plaster. If he heard the tantrum, he doesn’t return to the kitchen. In the quiet aftermath of my violence, only the sound of running water comes from the bathroom.
Pushing to my feet, I start searching for my bag and find it in the lounge on the coffee table. It takes me only a second to come to a decision. I snatch up my bag and hurry out the front door. Jake still has the car keys in his pocket, but the gas station can’t be farther than ten kilometers. If I walk fast, I can make it there in an hour. I just have to stay away from the road and stick to the outskirts, not that there’s much vegetation to hide behind.
I’m about to go down the veranda steps when movement catches my eye. Not far away, an ostrich picks at something on the ground. Judging by the black feathers, it’s a male. Three more with gray feathers follow behind. Females. Shit. They’re territorial birds and lethally dangerous. They can run much faster than a man and won’t hesitate to kick and claw any imposter to death.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a deep voice says behind me.
My back stiffens, but I don’t turn around.
“This is an ostrich farm, ginger. They may be the stupidest birds on the planet, but they’re deceptively dangerous.”
“I know what an ostrich is capable of,” I bite out.
“Good,” he says, pushing the strap of my bag from my shoulder in an oddly gentle caress before pulling it from under my arm. “I’m glad you understand.”
Chapter 16
Kristi
What I understand, is that I’m trapped. My throat closes up. I want to kick and punch something, but another tantrum won’t get me anywhere. This is where I’m staying until Jake decides otherwise. Unless I can convince him. The moment the idea drifts into my head, my breathing evens out. Jake is all about the physical. His libido is high. It has to be if he screwed fifty hookers. Ouch. I can’t think about it because it hurts. He obviously wants me. I can use that to my advantage. Perhaps, if I give him what he wants, he’ll grow tired of this game and take me home.
With the plan settling decisively in my mind, I go back inside and pause in the kitchen doorframe. Jake is cleaning up the mess I’ve made. I feel bad about the broken mug and that he’s doing my dirty work, but I suppress the urge to take over. If not for him, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. He lifts his gaze to mine from where he’s crouching, wiping up the coffee from the floor, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes is back to being broody and intense. Invasive.
I pad over to the coffee maker and pour myself another cup, adding milk and sugar. Watching him work from over the rim, I take a sip. He’s shirtless and minus his shoes, dressed in the ripped jeans from earlier. His hair is dry and his face unshaven.
“What happened to having a bath?” I ask, trying to keep my tone normal.
“Feeling better?”
I shrug. “I decided to accept what I can’t change.”
He scrutinizes me while I blow on the coffee and bravely hold his gaze.
“Go on,” I say. “Have your bath.” I can’t stop myself from adding sarcastica
lly, “You don’t have to keep me company around the clock.”
“Are you going to try and run again?”
“We’ve established it’s impossible.”
He crosses the floor and stops in front of me. The longer he stares down at my face, the harder it becomes not to break eye contact.
“There are books in the lounge,” he says. “There isn’t cable, but there are DVDs if you feel like watching a movie.”
Touching him is going to mess with my head. It will be hard to keep my emotions out of the equation, but I’m not heading down that road again. Not with him. I just have to seduce him into taking me home. Just thinking about it makes my palms sweat. A muscle ticks under my eye. I hope he doesn’t notice the nervous reaction. Hiding my face behind the cup, I nod.
He pushes the cup away and drags a thumb over the scar on my cheek. “I’ll be quick.”
The touch unnerves me further, but not half as much as his piercing stare that seems to miss nothing.
“Call if you need me,” he says in an even voice before leaving me alone in the kitchen.
When he’s gone, I blow out a breath. I’ll need to get my act together if I’m serious about executing my seduction plan, but it’s been a while since I’ve touched a man like that. Since Jake, to be exact. I haven’t had sex with anyone since. After Noah’s birth, my libido took a dive. My mom blamed it on post-natal hormones and claimed it was normal. Even when my craving for a man’s touch eventually returned, I was constantly exhausted during Noah’s first year due to breastfeeding every four hours, working around the clock, and a lack of sleep. It’s easier now that Noah is older. I can’t blame hormones or tiredness any longer. I’ve been telling myself I wanted to do things morally right by divorcing Jake before tumbling into another man’s bed, but the truth is Luan never evoked the same spark as Jake. After the picnic at the lake, it’s clear that spark is still there between Jake and me, and it terrifies me. I allowed it to destroy me once. I can’t allow it again. Can I play with fire without getting burned? When I consider the alternative, staying here for three weeks and fighting the attraction, I have my answer. I’m just going to have to woman up and be in control of my feelings for once. The newfound resolve gives me a boost of confidence. The earlier despair makes a place for hope. Before Jake knows it, we’ll be out of here.
I wander to the lounge and go through the books on the bookshelf, which is an eclectic collection of fiction, before browsing the DVDs, but I’m not relaxed enough to let my mind get lost in a story. Going back to the kitchen, I sit down at the island counter and worry about my jobless status, Noah, and Luan’s reaction until Jake returns, dressed in dark jeans and a clean T-shirt.
He smells of soap and that same, cheap cologne from school. The fragrance stirs memories I’ve banished, touching me far more profoundly than I like. With those memories comes a fresh wave of hurt.
Eager to escape the unwelcome sensation, I hop off the stool. “I’ll have a bath after all. I can do with one after the long drive.”
Suspicion sparks in his eyes, but he doesn’t question my sudden change of mood. I feel his stare on my back as I head for the bathroom where I find the bath surprisingly clean. The wet towel Jake used hangs on a hook behind the door and his dirty clothes are in the hamper.
After running a bath, I soak in the warm water while gathering the courage to go through with my plan. By the time I’ve convinced myself I can do it, my skin is wrinkled. I pull the plug, drape a towel around my body, brush out my wet hair, and wash the bath. My skin is still wet when I walk down the hallway and pause in the kitchen doorway. Jake sits at the island counter, reading something on his phone.
He looks up and stills. His gaze rakes over me. When he drags his eyes back to mine, he swallows. “What are you doing?”
The question runs much deeper than asking why I’m standing in the door. It’s a warning. A pluck of the towel, and I’ll stand bare in front of him.
“My neck is sore from that awkward position in which I slept in the car. Does the offer of a massage still stand?”
His jaw tightens. I don’t give him time to answer but walk to the stool next to his and plop down in it with my back to him.
His phone makes a clinking sound as he puts it down on the counter. I take a breath and brace myself, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the heat bursting through my ribcage when he twists my hair around his hand a little too tightly and arranges it over my shoulder with alarming gentleness. His big hands land on my shoulders, his palms warm on my wet skin.
“Breathe,” he says when he starts kneading my muscles.
Shit. I’ve been holding my breath. I drag in some air. My lungs expand, but I blow everything out in a gush when he applies too much pressure.
“Too hard?”
“Mm-mm,” I say, biting down on my lip to prevent a moan from escaping as his grip turns gentler.
My back really hurts, and the way he works the knots from my neck and shoulders is amazing.
I drop the towel an inch at the back. “It hurts lower too.”
He works his way down my spine to poke at a knot in the middle. “Here?”
“Yes. Ouch.”
“Softer?”
“No, that’s good.”
He needs no prompt when I drop the towel more, clutching the ends together between my breasts. His deft fingers work along my spine until he reaches the top of my globes. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to dip his hands inside and smooth them over my skin as far as the stool allows. His touch becomes even lighter, his palms folding around the curve of my hips, but I don’t stop him, because this is part of my plan.
When he spans the circumference of my waist, I lean back automatically, seeking the support of his body. Dragging his hands up slowly, he traces every rib before brushing the underside of my breasts. His chest is solid and hot against my back. I ache to push back into the vice of his thighs, but the stools prevent me. The anticipation is unbearable when he runs his fingers up and down my sides. My nipples tighten, and the aching spot between my legs answers with a similar reflex.
He leans in, his weight pushing me forward. His breath moves the air next to my ear. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Playing with fire,” I admit.
He rubs his palms over my breasts, making them turn heavy. “What do you want?”
I gasp when his fingers tighten on my curves while his thumbs flick lazily over my hardened nipples.
His voice is soft, but I don’t miss the underlying strain. “Answer me.”
“You.”
The support at my back disappears. He wheels the stool around so fast I almost topple off. Holding my gaze, he reaches for the towel where I’m clutching the ends together and jerks. I let go, allowing him to pull the towel open and expose my body. His gaze slides over my face and neck down to my breasts and stomach to finally rest on where I have my legs clamped together. Bracing his hands on my knees, he hops from his stool and spreads me in the same movement.
“Fuck.” He stares at the apex between my thighs. “I missed you.”
Bending down, he lowers his head between my legs. I barely have time to contemplate the move before his tongue enters me. No foreplay. No teasing. He goes straight for the kill. I have to brace myself with my hands on the counter at my back as he hooks my thigh over his shoulder and deepens the penetration.
A mangled moan tears from my chest. I forgot how good he is with his mouth, how he can sear me with branding heat while gently lapping at my clit. He utters a satisfied groan, licking and nipping before going back to fucking me with his tongue. When I squirm to escape the overwhelming onslaught, he grips my hips to hold me in place and doubles his efforts.
“Jake.” Panting, I try to find my balance, my control.
He lifts his head and catches my gaze while dragging his chin over my sensitive skin. His dark eyes are feverish, consumed with lust. “I’m going to make you come.”
He drops my leg from his shoulde
r and straightens, towering between my legs. Gripping my face in one hand, he kisses me hard, letting me taste myself on his lips while his free hand slips between my thighs and finds my clit. He knows exactly how to rub to get me off. In an embarrassingly short time, I explode, crying out my pleasure while he catches the sounds in his mouth. He eagerly sucks them from my body and swallows me whole. I expect him to fuck me right here, against the counter, but he brings the kiss to a gentle halt and pulls away.
Confused, I stare up at him. A flush darkens the tanned tone of his skin and wildness reflects in his russet eyes. His hard-on presses against my stomach. He wants this. He wants me. Yet, he’s not moving. He watches me come down from the high of my climax as if the sight of my pleasure alone is his reward. I want to ask why he’s not fucking me, but I’m too scared of the answer. Maybe I’ve misjudged his desire for me.
Framing my face between his hands, he says, “I always regretted not making you come that first time.” His smile is grim. “Still do. I often think about that night in the alley, and that your first time should’ve been different.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Do you know what else I think?” he continues. “I think you’re not ready for this.”
“What?” I force out on a whisper, my earlier boldness gone.
“I think you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”
Unable to deny the accusation, I blink.
“As much as I want to take you up on the offer, I’m not going to.” Confirming the verbal affirmation, he drops his hands and steps away from me. “I’m not taking you against a wall or on the muddy ground again. The next time we fuck, it’ll be in a bed, for the right reason.”
I swallow away the dryness in my throat. “What right reason?”
“The reason any couple take off their clothes.”
Dumbfounded, I gape at him as he jerks off his T-shirt and pulls it over my head. It’s big enough for the hem to reach my thighs. He puts even more distance between us and picks up his phone.
Beyond embarrassed, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Spaghetti?” he asks, punching in a four digit-pin.
Catch Me Twice Page 23
