by Judy Angelo
But then he’d had a change of heart. After all, what right did he have to be happy? He’d decided three years ago that he would never be happy again. Not without Jessica.
When he met Sam he'd had a momentary lapse, forgetting that vow he’d made. Even in her work clothes he’d been captivated by her. He’d accepted her offer to come back and help him clean simply because he wanted to see her again. But then he realized he had an even better excuse – she could help him decorate the house.
But that morning as he waited for her to arrive he recognized what he had done. He’d been bewitched by a beautiful woman but now he had to resist her. It hadn’t helped that she showed up on his doorstep looking fresh and feminine in a blouse that showed off her creamy shoulders and a skirt that accentuated her narrow waist. And this time she’d exposed those dainty feet in sandals with straps that drew attention to her slim calves. The dark, waist-length hair he’d admired the day before fell in soft waves around her face and down her back. At the sight of her he knew he was in trouble. If he wasn’t careful he’d succumb to her spell and then he would be lost.
And that was why he’d pulled back, concealing the fact that he was thrilled to see her, hiding behind a cold exterior.
But now, in protecting himself he’d hurt a woman who was innocent of any wrong. Frustrated, he walked out of the house, slamming the back door behind him, and headed across the bridge toward his writing studio. As he walked he mumbled under his breath.
What an irony that he’d left Long Island and moved all the way upstate to this little town to escape the world and the women who now saw him as an available bachelor, only to find that he’d fallen into a trap of his own making.
He’d almost reached the end of the bridge when he slowed and stopped. Resting his elbows on the wooden beams he looked over into the bubbling stream. And he thought about Jessica. Spontaneous and saucy Jessica. For seven years she’d been the other piece that made his life whole. She’d been his muse, encouraging him to write even during those times when he doubted himself. She’d been there when he made his first sale, when it hit the New York Times Bestseller List, when he made his first million. And when, after six more bestsellers he’d been declared one of the world's few billionaire authors, she’d been the one who kept him grounded, making sure the money and fame did not derail his passion or his drive to churn out more books.
After that turning point they’d had eleven wonderful months together. And then disaster struck. And it had been all his fault.
Jake shook his head and straightened. He did not want to think about it. He couldn’t take the hurt. Not right now.
He turned and finished crossing the bridge. As he walked toward his gallery a plan formed in his mind. There was one thing he knew would be guaranteed to preserve his heart and his life. He’d be doing Samantha a favor by drawing for this wild card. It would hurt but it was the only way to preserve his sanity.
CHAPTER THREE
Although Samantha was still smarting from Jake’s cold dismissal she decided not to back out of her commitment to help him redecorate his home. She was a professional and she could not afford to let emotions get in the way of her work. Today, though, she was not so stupid as to dress in her feminine gear. For the benefit of Jake – or more accurately for her own benefit – she went back to her regular work clothes. She was make-up free and wore no jewelry except for knob earrings and a simple gold chain. And she’d added one last touch. Instead of tying her hair back she’d stuffed all of it under a puffy newsboy cap. Not a touch of femininity to her today. She was ready.
Based on what she’d seen on her last visit she’d prepared a list of recommendations for each room along with an estimate. Some of the furniture was worth keeping but most of it would have to go…with Jake’s approval, of course. He’d also have to approve a budget for the project. She just hoped he could manage all the changes she was recommending, not just to the furniture but also to the window treatments and even the wallpaper in some of the rooms. The project was not going to be cheap. She was wiling to work with him, though, maybe just doing a couple of rooms now and the rest of the house in a few months. She was always sensitive to the pockets of her clients and he didn’t look like one of those who could afford a major overhaul.
Sam called ahead and let Jake know she was on her way over with the estimates.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I look forward to hearing your ideas.”
He’d said the right words but his tone had not been eager at all. In fact, he’d sounded distant, almost as if he didn’t care whether he got his house fixed up or not. That did not make sense, though. He was the one who had called her up and requested her services. Well, she wouldn’t worry about it. She dealt with all kinds of customers – the pleasant ones and the moody ones like Jake – and none of them had ever deterred her from doing her job. Jake, though, was an enigma…
Well, here goes. Sam hopped into the truck and headed off to the Sullivan's place. Correction - Jake McKoy’s place. By the time she was done with it no one would even remember that the old Sullivan couple had lived there. She would recreate that house and make it a home Jake would be proud of.
Just like last time Sam pulled into Jake’s driveway and headed up to the porch but this time there was no skip to her steps. All business, she walked up to the door and rang the bell.
Within seconds Jake was at the door, his chocolate-brown hair slightly damp as if he’d just come out of the shower. He was dressed casually in light blue shirt and jeans and, to Sam’s chagrin, he looked just as delicious as the first day she’d laid eyes on him. And that was bad.
What she’d hoped was that by now she’d have gotten over her attraction for him. No such luck. Even though he’d slammed her last time, even though she’d vowed to be as cold as steel, her traitorous heart took one look at him and began a happy dance. Crap.
“Come in,” he said and, just like last time, he led her down the hallway and to his office.
Sam stepped in behind him and was immediately struck by how different the room looked. The stacks of books were gone from the chairs and from his desk, which now sat big and shiny and bare. Except for a framed photograph that sat to the right of the telephone.
Although she couldn’t immediately see the picture in the frame, for some reason Sam’s heart tightened. Slowly, she approached the chair and as she sank into it she got a full view of the cause of her sudden distress. She found herself staring at the photograph of a startlingly beautiful blonde woman smiling lovingly into the camera.
Sam felt like she’d been slapped across the forehead with a two-by-four. His wife. Holy heavens, the man was married.
Reeling with disappointment she sank back into the chair, clutching the folder she’d brought with her, glad for something to hold on to. She swallowed as she struggled to regain her composure then, drawing in a deep breath, she forced a bright smile. “Your wife,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice as she tore her eyes from the photograph and looked at Jake.
Say no. Please say no. She held her breath as she watched unreadable emotions flash across his face. Oh God, make him say it’s his sister.
Jake lifted his head and looked at her and in his eyes was a world of sadness. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and lifeless. “My wife.”
“She’s beautiful,” Sam said, the words almost choking her.
“Yes.” His voice was low and tense. “She was.”
Sam sucked in her breath and her eyes widened as she stared at Jake, noticing the tension in his face, the tightness in his jaw. “Was?”
He drew in his breath then let it out slowly. “Yes. She passed away three years ago.”
“I’m…so sorry,” Sam whispered, feeling totally inadequate. And guilty. There she’d been lusting after the man when all this time he’d been grieving for his wife. Obviously, he was still very much in love with her.
“I don’t want to hold up your time,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Let’s have a look
at what you’ve brought.” His tone had turned brusque, his face firm.
Taking his cue, Sam straightened her back and placed her folder on the desk in front of him. “We’ll go through this room by room,” she said, her tone brisk, “and if you have any concerns just stop me and we’ll discuss it.”
Sam was surprised when Jake did not raise a single question or objection to her decoration plans. There were some changes that would cost more than a pretty penny and she’d been prepared to make adjustments if he balked. But no, he never said a word in protest. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow. She left his house that day ready to shop and transform his house into a haven.
Sam began ordering the furniture, fixtures and materials right away and arranged for them to be delivered to the house. Still, with other projects on the table it was almost two weeks before she was able to return to Jake’s place.
And when she got there she was all business. She still remembered that trick Jake had pulled the last time she’d visited, placing the photo of his late wife just where she’d be sure to see it. He was warning her off, telling her to keep her distance. Why else would he have done something like that? Somehow, he must have sensed her attraction to him and resented it. Could she have been that obvious? Well, this is where it would end. Jake McKoy would have nothing to fear.
When he let her in she went straight to the living room, her starting point. The furniture had arrived and already the transformation had begun. She’d brought her stepladder because today she’d be hanging the drapes and the paintings.
“Let me help you.” Jake walked over to where she’d placed the stepladder by the window and straightened it.
“No, thank you.” She waved a hand at him, almost shooing him away. She was on the job and needed no distractions. And if he stayed in the room with her that was what he would be – a major source of distraction.
He looked surprised at her dismissal but then he nodded and turned and quietly left the room.
For a moment Sam just stood there, staring at the empty doorway through which he had departed. She’d been happy to see him again. When he’d opened the door to her, her heart had given a little skip of joy. But she’d immediately quashed it. And even now when he’d offered to help she’d wanted his company, but she’d had to stay strong. He had no interest in her. That much was clear. And so she would do the sensible thing and keep her distance.
Her mind made up, she gave a quick nod, turned and climbed up the ladder. Her first order of business was to get the old drapes down – dust and all. Good thing she’d brought a disposable dust mask. It was going to be a long and grimy day.
The hours flew by quickly and Sam was so absorbed in her task that she was startled when she heard a knock on the door and Jake came in, bearing a tray with a pitcher of cold lemonade and two glasses.
“How’s it going?” he asked as he walked over and laid the tray down on the nearby coffee table. “Looking good.”
She’d been just about to climb back up the ladder and had her foot on the second rung when his words stopped her. Was he talking about the room or her? She whipped her head around to look at him with narrowed eyes and, foolish girl that she was, she kept on climbing up the ladder even though she wasn’t paying attention.
And she missed her step.
Suddenly, Sam was tumbling backward, arms flailing as she fought desperately to grab on to something, anything to save herself from falling.
She was in the middle of a yell when strong arms encircled her and she was slammed against a rock-hard chest. A shock like lightning ripped through her, the shock of intense physical attraction, and she gasped.
And then he was pulling her up toward him, his head descending, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so urgent, so commanding, that she moaned as she clung to him. And then as he held her close the kiss softened then deepened until she moaned again, but this time it was from the sheer thrill of finally being in his arms, finally tasting those lips that had tempted her from the start.
She was kissing back, not hiding her desire, when suddenly he froze. To Sam’s dismay Jake pulled back and straightened, taking her with him, then gently but firmly set her to stand on her feet.
He looked at her with tortured eyes and mumbled an apology. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
******
Jake strode across the bridge toward his writing studio. He had to get away, clear his head. He’d had Sam in his arms, the very thing he’d been yearning for since he’d first laid eyes on her, and then he’d dropped her like a piece of hot coal. What the heck must she be thinking right now?
And what in the blazes was he doing, sending mixed messages like some kind of insecure teenager instead of a grown man? Pathetic.
He’d thought he could resist her. He’d even gone so far as to pull out Jessica’s photo. But even with that secret weapon he’d fallen victim to Sam’s sweet seduction.
There was just something about her that drew him out of his shell. She was so beautiful, not in a bombshell kind of a way as Jessica had been, but in a soft, sincere and charming sort of way. It was hard to explain, but Sam had stirred something inside him that had been dormant for a long time.
When Jessica died his flame died with her. He could no longer think and feel, he only existed. His heart was locked away in a tin box that had rusted over. It had lost all feeling and emotion and he’d thought nothing could loosen those rusted hinges.
And then came Samantha, fresh-faced and delicate, even in her heaviest work clothes. And that was when the brick wall he’d built began to crumble. He gave a grunt of frustration then stepped inside the studio and slammed the door shut behind him.
It took several minutes before the tenseness inside Jake began to ease. He reached for a pen and notepad then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. While in his hideout he might as well scribble a few lines. Or at least try to.
He’d been doodling for a while then scribbling random thoughts when a germ of an idea began to form. He’d started so many stories but after the first few pages each one had left him cold. But now, for the first time in years, his mouth went dry and he felt the zing of excitement that told him this story was a winner.
He sat forward and slapped the notepad down onto the desk then as fast as the thoughts came he threw them down on the paper, his fingers flying. As the plot formed he mumbled softly to himself, covering page after page with a story that refused to give him pause.
Jake had no idea how long he’d been writing. He’d stopped watching the clock. He was startled back to reality by a knock on the door.
His head jerked up and he saw the top of Sam’s head through the decorative glass in the upper portion of the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice hoarse from prolonged silence. He cleared his throat and got up to open the door.
She was standing there on the steps, her smile tentative, a streak of dust on her forehead. He was tempted to reach down and wipe it away with his fingers but he resisted the impulse. Instead, he stepped aside to let her in.
He saw a flash of uncertainty cross her face then she swallowed. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice low, “but there was something I wanted to show you. To get your opinion.”
He felt a stab of guilt and almost winced. It was because of him that she looked so hesitant. The poor girl probably didn’t know where she stood with him. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tilted his head toward the extra chair.
“Rest for a minute,” he said gently. “You must be tired.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked liked she was going to decline but then her face relaxed and the tension left her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, her voice sounding more like the Sam he knew. “I could take a break right now.”
She climbed the two steps and entered the studio, her eyes darting around the room. She was obviously filled with curiosity and for a moment she did not speak. Then she said, “You love books.” It was not a question but a simple statement of fact. She�
�d stared at the walls lined with books and had immediately made a very accurate assessment.
“They’re my life,” he said simply and went back to his desk where he sat down and looked up at her.
She took that as her cue to finally sit and she looked at the notepad and laptop on his desk. “Are you working on a paper?” she asked, looking interested. “Doing research?” Then she held up her hand. “No, let me guess. You’re a professor.”
He laughed. “No, no and no. I’m a writer.”
Her eyes widened and the admiration was plain on her face. “A writer,” she said, her voice breathless. "I’ve always admired people who could create imaginary worlds on paper. Wow…”
As her voice trailed off, her eyes still trained on him, Jake shifted in his seat. He hated being in the limelight and that was why he’d never made public appearances. He didn’t have a single photo on his website. And now, even though it was just Sam, he could feel the prickling in his scalp that told him he was getting just a little bit too much attention. He cleared his throat but before he could speak she gasped and leaned forward, her eyes on the bookshelf just behind his head.
“McKoy,” she read aloud. “Killer Instinct.” Her eyes narrowed as she read the other titles. “Criminal Pursuit. Dead in December.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes flew back to his. “Jake, you’re not McKoy, are you? The world-famous suspense writer?”
He felt his face flush and he looked away. Blast it. Exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Christ. Why hadn’t he remembered that he had those personal copies of his book on the shelf? If he’d remembered he probably wouldn’t have let her in.
“Jake,” she said, her voice insistent, “you’re not answering. That means you’re guilty. It really is you.” She gave a look of triumph that soon morphed into a look of awe. "I can’t believe it. I’m in the presence of one of the most successful authors on the planet. Do you know,” she whispered, “that you’re a billionaire?”
