by Jill Shalvis
“Come on,” she chided gently. “You must have a thousand things you want to say to me.”
“Nothing you want to hear, believe me.”
“Stone...”
Annoyed, he strode over to his biggest table saw and flipped it on. The rumbling roar made it satisfyingly impossible to speak.
No way could he hear her sweet voice now.
But dammit, he could still smell her, that light scent designed to drive a man out of his mind.
It was working.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she squared her shoulders and walked calmly over to him. God. She wore a long floral-print dress with a hundred tiny buttons down the front. She looked so good it made him ache.
She reached down and flipped off the saw. “Just tell me where I can start,” she said, holding her fingers over the switch so he couldn’t turn the thing back on without touching her—something he had no intention of doing. “Then,” she continued calmly, “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Why are you here?” he demanded in a hoarse voice he didn’t recognize. “The old Jenna would have fled long ago.”
“I’m not the old Jenna.”
No, she wasn’t, not by a long shot. This Jenna, the seemingly new and improved version, lifted her chin, willingly weathered the storm, stared down anything to... What was it she’d said?
To right her wrongs.
Well, she had many wrongs, and he was ashamed to admit he’d harbored them close to his heart as if he’d had a right to do so. Most people wouldn’t have had the nerve to face his rare but formidable temper. They would have broken down under the emotional burden of guilt she clearly carried.
He didn’t care.
“I’d rather you get out of my sight now,” he said.
“I know you would. But I’m not going.” A shoulder lifted in a careless shrug, reminding him forcefully of Sara.
Jenna’s daughter. His daughter.
And suddenly his anger was too big to be politely held back. Risking the touch, after all, he pushed her hand aside from the machine and flipped the saw back on. “Get out of the way,” he yelled, grabbing a piece of wood. He had no measurements, nothing planned out, but he didn’t care. He needed the diversion.
Stubbornly she stuck close. Over the noise, she called out, “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
He shoved the wood through the saw and bullheadedly kept his back to her, unable to look into her red-rimmed eyes. Obviously she’d been crying.
Crying, because of his unreasonableness.
Still, he couldn’t help himself. “If you won’t leave, then at least tell me what you want.”
“A lot of things.” She watched the wood turn to sawdust under his trained hands. Despite the noise of the machine, he heard the way her voice caught suspiciously. “Some simple things, actually.” She met his gaze. “Like... pictures. I’d love to see Sara’s photo album.”
“Humph.” Another piece of wood was demolished under his reckless hands. At this rate he should be able to destroy his entire supply within an hour.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really back.”
Hope flared in her expression. She must have thought his interest was a good thing. He took on an air of nonchalance he didn’t feel.
“I guess I had what you would call an epiphany,” she shouted, then nodded at the saw. “Do you think you could turn it off now? Please?”
It was ridiculous, juvenile even, to have this conversation over the roar of the saw. But he didn’t care, and he sent another perfectly good piece of wood to its death. “I’m trying to work here, Jenna.”
“Stone Cameron, you’re just being stubborn.” Eyes flashing her fury, she pushed in front of him, turning so she presented the back of that perfect body of hers to his hungry gaze. Scooting between him and the saw, she bent to reach for the switch.
Her curvaceous bottom bumped into the front of his thighs.
Instinct—and raging lust—had his hands starting to lift to grasp her hips. Abruptly he forced his hands to his sides.
With a good amount of body contact, she finally flipped off the saw, then turned and glared at him. Had she noticed his physical condition? Her cheeks were on fire, and he doubted it was all anger.
Yeah. She’d noticed.
Okay, so hell. They still shared an attraction with the force and unpredictability of an active volcano. He could deal with that, though. He wasn’t just some hormone-driven adolescent.
“Can you listen now?” she asked.
“No. I’ve got a meeting downtown.” He strode to the door, needing to get out now or lose whatever self-control he still had.
“Fine. Great,” she said to his back. He could hear the wobble in her voice and closed his ears to it because his anger was the only thing getting him through. “But I’ll be here when you get back, Stone. Sooner or later we have to talk.”
The later the better, in his opinion. Maybe later he’d be able to squelch down his need to both throttle and kiss her.
And then again, maybe later she’d have taken off again, and the whole point would be moot.
Jenna stood in there, her heart just as empty as Stone’s office. He had preferred work to facing her, a rather deflating thought.
His phone rang, startling her.
So did the message. Sara had been caught “defacing public property,” whatever that meant, and now she was sitting in the principal’s office awaiting parental guidance.
Jenna panicked.
Stone was gone, and Sara needed a parent at the school as soon as possible.
A parent.
That was her.
Panic faded to fury—at herself.
As she stood there quaking in indecision, her precious daughter, yes, daughter, dammit, was sitting in the principal’s office.
Principal Rand Ridgeway.
A man who’d once terrified Jenna, a man who’d gotten away with it then, but who wouldn’t get away with it ever again if she had anything to say about it.
Without stopping to think, she scribbled a note for Stone, then grabbed her keys and ran out the door.
Thinking of nothing but protecting Sara, she drove to the school. It wasn’t until she pulled into the parking lot and took the last available space, next to the principal—oh, God, the principal—that dread filled her.
What was she doing? No one was going to release Sara to a perfect stranger. No matter that the perfect stranger was Sara’s mother. Jenna couldn’t reveal that until she and Stone had talked this out, until they’d come up with a plan for the best way to tell Sara the truth.
If he ever agreed to tell Sara the truth at all.
No time to think about that, Jenna decided, pressing her hands to her rolling stomach. Not when there were so many other things to get sick over.
Like the fact her childhood nemesis had her daughter in his clutches.
Jenna swallowed hard and forced herself to look up at the two-story school building. Forced herself to picture poor Sara sitting in the principal’s office waiting to be rescued, and afraid he’d do to Sara what he’d done to her.
She ran all the way through the parking lot to the big double doors of the school. The warm stuffy air hit her. So did the old familiar smell of pencil shavings, copy toner and teen sweat. Jenna’s legs turned to rubber.
Horrible memories hit, for school had not been a happy place. She’d been considered a troublemaker and, as a result, had spent much time in this very front office.
The bench was still there against the wall in front of the receptionist’s desk. How many afternoons had she spent sitting on it, waiting for the principal to see her?
Waiting for him to give her that slick knowing smile as he motioned her to come into his office, where he’d then deliver blistering lectures on the evils of disappointing her hardworking mother..
Where he’d set the tone and mood for her to fear him, hate him, so that when they’d been at her own house, with her mother o
ut, she hadn’t known how to protect herself from him.
She still didn’t, she had to admit as her hands went clammy, her pulse threadlike.
“Can I help you?”
Jenna jumped and looked at the receptionist. “I’m here to see Rand Ridgeway.”
“Certainly. Your name?”
“Jen—Cindy,” she corrected quickly, hating herself. “Cindy Beatty. I’m...a close friend of Sara Cameron’s family, and I work for Stone. He’s not available at the moment.” Dragging in a deep breath and willing herself to stop rambling, she gave a tight smile. “Can I see them now, please?”
“This way.”
Jenna knew all too well which way to go. To the corner office, with the closed shutters and thick wood paneling that prevented any sound from carrying through the walls.
A drop of sweat trickled down between her breasts. Each footstep rang hollowly, but she kept moving. I’m coming, baby, she silently vowed to Sara. I’m coming for you.
“Mr. Ridgeway?” the receptionist called out, opening his door. “A Ms. Beatty to see you.”
No, Jenna wanted to cry. I want to see Sara, not him!
But the woman had ushered her into Rand’s office, shutting the door behind her.
Jenna whirled in alarm, staring at the closed door as if it were the last nail in her coffin.
Sara, she told herself as she drew a ragged breath. Remember Sara.
Turning back to face the desk, she glanced around for her daughter, but the room was empty—except for the man who defined her nightmares sitting behind the desk.
He stood immediately and, walking around to the front of his desk, held out his hand.
Jenna stared at it in horror, realizing he expected her to take it. As nausea welled up, she was forced to listen to his slick pleased voice.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Beatty. What can I do for you?”
She was still staring at his hand, felt sickened by the way his big heavy body loomed over her.
Rand’s eyes narrowed slightly when she didn’t speak or move, but he kept his polite smile in place. His eyes roamed over her speculatively, causing her to shudder. “We’ve met before,” he said suddenly, and before she could stop herself, Jenna took a step back.
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” he insisted, closing the space between them, while that grating smile of his never dimmed. “I’ve definitely seen you before. I would never forget such a beautiful face.”
Jenna bit back hysterical laughter and held up her hand as he came closer still, a part of her locked back in time to when she’d been young, naive and helpless. “I said no.”
He tipped his head and studied her. “At a game. I remember seeing you in the stands. Do you have a child here at the school?”
How he’d love that, she thought. “Where’s Sara? Sara Cameron?”
“In her classroom. Why?”
Relief made her giddy. Sara was safe. She hadn’t spent any time alone in this hateful office. Suddenly Jenna wasn’t hot but cold, and she shivered.
“Are you okay?”
Jenna heard his voice, the words registered, but strangely enough, her vision had started to fade around the edges.
She, who’d never fainted before, felt her legs start to crumble, and her greatest nightmare came true.
Hot beefy arms reached for her, and with that jolt of harsh reality, she no longer felt as if she was going to pass out. Her ears stopped ringing. Her eyesight came back.
But none of that changed the fact that Rand Ridgeway was supporting her, leering at her, those hard knowing eyes searching her face as his big sweaty hands continued to grip her.
The office door opened, bumping into them both.
“What the hell?”
Jenna didn’t have time to react to that achingly familiar voice before she shoved at Rand with all her might.
Surprised, the big man fell back, stumbling into his desk. The momentum of the shove had Jenna falling gracelessly to the floor.
Still sitting there, she braced herself, shoved her hair out of her eyes and faced a shocked-looking receptionist and an equally startled Stone.
He turned to the receptionist with a firm nod and polite smile. “Thank you. I’ve got it from here.” And without waiting for her reply, Stone shut the door on the woman’s surprised face.
He came directly toward her, his tall rangy figure quite a sight for her overworked brain. She could do nothing but stare up at him, dazed.
His face filled her vision, his icy blue eyes hot with fear and concern and rage. He hunkered down to her level. “Are you all right?”
The roughness of his voice didn’t faze her, nor did the way his entire body tensed, braced for battle. What did were the tears she felt spring to her eyes.
He was so innately sweet, even when she’d destroyed him. It amazed her that he could put aside his fierce anger at her deception, all to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
“Are you?” His voice changed, lowered, became unbearably gentle. Shifting nearer, he froze when she instinctively winced at the close proximity. Careful not to touch her, which only made her hot tears fall, he lowered his voice even more. “Did he hurt you, sweetheart?” Barely suppressed violence shimmered beneath his control.
“Of course not!” Rand exclaimed indignantly, straightening. “Don’t you have eyes in your head? She shoved me!”
In one fluid motion, Stone rose to his feet, grabbed Rand by the front of his shirt and held him against his desk. “Why were your hands on her?”
“She fainted!” But while Rand shouted this in a holier-than-thou tone, Jenna noticed he did not even attempt to protect himself from the younger, clearly stronger man. “You’re going to be very sorry, Cameron, if you don’t get your hands off me. I feel a huge lawsuit rising.”
And he meant it, Jenna realized. “Stone,” she said, rising shakily to her feet and swiping awkwardly at her tears. “I’m okay.”
Stone didn’t budge, just held Rand with ease. “I don’t know how you live with yourself, Ridgeway. Fooling the whole town, hiding how sick you are.”
“Still holding a grudge, I see,” Rand rasped out.
“Stone. Please. I’m fine.” Jenna set a hand on his back. The muscles beneath her fingers were taut, yet quivering.
“He touched you. He scared you.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I started to faint. It was my fault, not his this time. Please,” she added, grasping his shirt in her fist and tugging. “Please, Stone, listen to me.”
Surprisingly he did. The instant he let go of Rand, the older man scrambled behind his desk, straightening his shirt as he glared at the both of them. “Get out.”
Ignoring him, Stone looked at Jenna. “You came here for Sara.”
“Yes. She—”
“I know. I came back for something and saw the note. You dropped everything, faced what had to be your greatest nightmare and came here.” He looked confused. More hurt than angry now, thank God. “For her.”
“I had to,” she said simply.
“You had to.” Stone nodded calmly, but when he let her look into his eyes again, she saw humbling affection, relief, lingering concern—and a need that stole her breath. It was such a staggering show of emotion she could hardly speak. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, let’s get out of here.”
Stone turned to Rand. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She went back to her classroom,” Rand said with a sniff. “It was a case of mistaken identity. It wasn’t her. She’s off the hook and back to work.”
Stone sent him a smile that was only such because he showed his teeth. “See that you don’t make that mistake again.”
Then he opened the door and waited patiently for Jenna to pass through first. He was still painfully careful not to touch her, which left Jenna both grateful for the chance to compose herself and regretful for a lost opportunity.
In the parking lot Jenna climbed into her car while Stone held the door open for her.
He’d insisted on escorting her, staying until he’d satisfied himself that she was not only buckled in, but capable of driving. She’d told him three times she was just fine, but her damn voice kept shaking and her hands were icy.
She’d faced Rand Ridgeway. The thought kept dancing in her head. For her daughter, she’d faced her nightmare. It felt good.
Stone leaned on the still-open door, his body preventing her from shutting it. She wished he’d hold her, but the night before he’d made it quite obvious just what he’d thought of her.
“You can go to your meeting now,” she told him. “I’m fine.” She couldn’t face his anger at what she’d done, not now.
He hunkered down and studied her. “You’re still trembling.”
She was, had been since Rand had touched her, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Jenna. Let me...” He reached in, and his arms—those solid warm arms—encircled her, gently easing her against him as if he was afraid of hurting her.
Emotions raced through her, the strongest a terrible fear she was dreaming. If she woke up, he’d be gone. So would Sara.
“This is the first time in a long time that I’ve held you as Jenna.”
He didn’t sound resentful or angry, and she sighed in relief, luxuriating herself in his strength. She felt his lips slide over her forehead, into her hair, then his jaw settled on top of her head. Tucked firmly into his body, she could think of nowhere else she’d rather be, and suddenly, she was holding on for dear life as she shivered in delayed shock.
He just held tighter, holding her for long moments while she struggled for composure.
When she finally pushed back, his grip on her eased immediately, but he didn’t let her go. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.
“Don’t be.”
The words rumbled from his chest, against the ear she had pressed flat against his shirt. She became excruciatingly aware of his every breath, of his arm brushing ever so lightly against her blouse, which in turn brushed against her breasts. And at her hip, she became aware of a growing heat, a pressure that told her he was every bit as aware of her as she was of him.
“Thank you,” he said. “For rushing here for Sara.”
Where was his anger? “You don’t have to thank me for that. She’s my child too.”
