When I Fall

by Tamara Morgan

  His life could be full. If he let it. If she let him.

  “I think I’d go see a show,” he said.

  “I like the sound of that. What show are we going to see?”

  “I don’t know. What is the Artista Theatre playing today?”

  Her laughter filled the air, causing the scowling cop to look up from the task of writing what was probably going to amount to a several-hundred-dollar fine. “You’re cheating. You only want to go to the Artista because you think it’s what I want to do.”

  “Wrong,” he said. He left the cop and the car, taking Becca by the arm instead as they moved away from the jeweler and in the direction of East Harlem. “I want to go there because I have fond memories of getting drunk below the stage with an infuriatingly careless woman who has a sentimental attachment to it. And because the acting is exceptional.”

  “Okay, we can go to the Artista,” she said, her pace matching his. “But you better start thinking about what you want to do afterwards, because we’re doing something you actually want. Something I’ve never done before.”

  “Well, that’ll be easy. I’ll just think of all the activities a sane, sedate woman might do on a trip to the city. I doubt you’ve ever gone anywhere near those.”

  * * *

  “This is my apartment.” Becca stood in her living room, twirling slowly as if expecting surprises to pop out of every corner. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve already done pretty much everything a woman can physically do in here.”

  “Oh, really?” Jake couldn’t keep a note of interest from out of his voice. Two hours of sitting next to her in a dark theater, watching what had to be the worst modern-day retelling of Don Quixote ever made, and his interest was very much at the forefront of his mind. His interest wanted to kiss her until words stopped making sense. His interest wanted to ask her for another striptease in front of the red wall. His interest wanted to rip her leggings off with his teeth.

  He settled instead for a casually inflected, “Define what you mean by everything, if you please. In detail. With hand gestures.”

  “I mean there’s no position ignored, no lingerie untorn, no hole unplundered.”

  He almost choked on his surprise. He’d been spending so much time trying not to think about sex with Becca that he’d forgotten how wonderfully depraved this woman could be.

  “Do you still want hand gestures?” she asked sweetly.

  “No, thank you. I changed my mind.”

  “I thought you might.” She paused, frowning. “Seriously though—are we stopping here to pick something up? Because I know your idea of a good time isn’t sitting at home watching television.”

  “I have it on good authority that there is one thing you’ve never done in here before. Something messy. Something fulfilling. Something delicious.” He took a predatory step forward, and she licked her lips in response. Dipping his head to the side of her neck, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’ve never cooked dinner in your kitchen.”

  She squealed in outrage as he pulled away—and not a moment too soon. A few more seconds in that intoxicating space below her ear, and food would be the last thing going in either of their mouths. “You bastard. It’ll never work. I don’t have any food in there.”

  “Good thing I texted Liam and had him pick up a few supplies for us while we were at the Artista.”

  “You did? Really?” She caught herself in the middle of an excited clap and sobered. “Nice try, but this can’t be your big plan. Cooking for me can’t be the last thing you do before we head back to the jewelry store.”

  “Why not?” He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt sleeve and began rolling the fabric up. “We have to eat. You said it had to be something you’ve never done before. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than spend time with you.”

  “Jake.” Her voice was strangled.

  “Becca.” His, on the contrary, had never been more calm. “You told me to fast-forward sixty days into the future and create my perfect day. Well, here I am. A few months older, a few months wiser and ready to tackle a shrimp scampi.”

  “But you said we only had to do this a little bit longer. You said you’d have everything settled by then.”

  “I did, and I will.”

  “So you and I...”

  “Are going to cook dinner,” he said firmly. He knew that wasn’t the question Becca was asking, but he also knew that the wild-eyed look in her eyes was composed of equal parts desperation and fear. It was her trapped-animal look, the look that made him want to tuck her away in a cave where he could stand guard and protect her from the world.

  There was no doubt in his mind—if he told her right now he had no intention of dissolving their relationship either in a week or in a decade, there was a very real possibility he’d be returning to Montgomery Manor alone. She wasn’t ready yet. She needed more time to get used to the idea. And he’d promised her that day on the bridge that the next time he proposed, he’d get it right.

  He would. He’d get it right. He’d get it so right there’d be no way for her to say no.

  “I suppose I am hungry.”

  “That’s a good girl.” He wouldn’t acknowledge how relieved her words made him feel, as if the tight band around his heart was loosened enough to let him live for one more day. “I should probably add the caveat that this is the one and only dish I know how to make. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, thinking you’re engaged to some kind of kitchen mastermind.”

  “And here I was planning on chaining you to the stove for the rest of your life.” Becca followed Jake into the kitchen, admiring the easy way he finished rolling up his sleeves and rummaged around in the paper bags that Liam had dropped off earlier. One look at him, and you’d think he’d been living in her apartment forever, cooking dinner and making her feel like the only woman in the world. “Shrimp scampi seems awfully complicated if you’re only going to learn how to cook one dish. Why not cereal? Or toast?”

  “This is my seduction meal. No woman is impressed with toast.”

  “I’d be impressed with toast,” she said.

  Who was she kidding? She’d be impressed if he pulled out a slice of bread and started tearing off pieces to throw at her. Everything about this day was perfect—the wind-whipped drive in, the amazing afternoon at the theater, the domineering way he took up the reins of domesticity. With Jake, even dinner was a carefully contrived experiment in control. He decided what they would eat and where they would eat and even how the meal would make its way onto her plate.

  She hated that about him. She also loved that about him, and she desperately wished she knew which sentiment was stronger. Right now, love was winning. Love had pulled miles ahead and showed no signs of flagging.

  He pulled out an enormous block of butter and handed it to her. “Yes, but I think we’ve already determined your standards are notoriously low.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. My standards are incredibly high.” Becca tossed the butter to the side. For most of her life, she’d been good at listening when the universe spoke. She read the stars and adjusted her actions accordingly. She never defied predictions or tamped down that niggling feeling in her gut when she felt something was wrong. But ever since the day Jake Montgomery sauntered into her life, she’d done nothing but ignore the signs.

  Madame Pernaud had warned her against digging in too deep with a relationship, but she’d grabbed a shovel and dug anyway. Madame Pernaud told her to confront Jake weeks ago, but that breathless proposal on the bridge had knocked the reason right out of her.

  She was about to do it again. Despite the rapid-fire beat of her pulse, which screamed at her to run away as fast and as far as her feet could take her, she was about to let this man cook her dinner in her own home, to give in to feelings that scared the absolute shit out of her. She was
about to give in so freaking hard.

  And she couldn’t even find it in her to care.

  “What are you doing, Becca? Stay where you are.”

  “I can’t be seduced with a fancy meal, but I might fall prey to a tall, tyrannical scrap of a man. The taller and more tyrannical, the better.”

  He stepped back, wielding a package of linguine at her like a lance. “But I haven’t started cooking yet.”

  “I don’t want your stupid food, Jake. I want you.”

  “But this wasn’t part of my plan—”

  “Drop the pasta.” She trapped him against the counter, pinning him with her proximity. No part of her body touched his, but she was close enough to feel the power rising off his perfectly rigid form. “You can cook me dinner later. You can cook me eight dinners later, and even stand over my chair watching to make sure I eat every bite. I’ll probably need the protein.”

  The package fell to the ground, shards of dried pasta scattering from the point of impact. “Becca, I can’t—”

  “Yes, well I can.” She brought her hands up to his chest, settling them firmly over his heartbeat. It was regular and strong, though pounding hard enough to set her fingers tingling. “And if you’re having problems on your side of things, I think that might be something we need to have looked at.”

  “You know that’s not the case,” he growled, still not moving.

  “Do I? I haven’t seen any evidence so far.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “I know you’re trying to get me to react.”

  She didn’t care if he knew it. She didn’t care if the whole world knew it.

  Apparently, neither did he. His heart gave one giant leap under her fingertips before she felt the back of her neck being pulled roughly forward, forced to meet his lips in a searing kiss.

  It was the kiss she’d been waiting for. It wasn’t a teasing, playful promise of things to come. It wasn’t the rough, angry tangle of tongues a man driven to the limit might be expected to offer. It wasn’t even one of Jake’s carefully controlled kisses, intensifying along a perfect incline to maximize her pleasure.

  It was honest and real and hot in ways she never knew existed. He fought at first—against himself and against her—but when he opened his mouth to let her in, he let all of her in. His grip on her neck grew stronger, crushing her to him. She tried to be careful of his side, but his hold on her was too powerful and she inadvertently slammed the sorest part of him.

  He groaned into her mouth as the kiss fell sharply away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a wince, seeing the pain he struggled to hide on his face. “I was trying to be careful.”

  “I wasn’t.” His lips lifted in a smile. “Which is why maybe you should let me cook instead.”

  “No.” She took him by the hand and tugged. “This is maybe why you should let me take care of you for a change.”

  He didn’t want to move at first, but when she pulled hard enough to cause another flash of pain to cross his face, he complied. She moved insistently toward the direction of her bedroom, which was clean for probably the first time in years, since she’d been living elsewhere for the past few weeks.

  He stopped in the doorway, propping his arm on the frame to keep her from budging him another inch. “Tempting though the offer is, I’d rather wait until we can do this properly.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re doing it now.” She didn’t look over her shoulder as she pulled back the comforter. Crisp sheets awaited a man to muss them up. “Take off your clothes and get your beaten-up ass on the bed.”

  “That’s the least sexy command I’ve ever received,” he said, eyebrows lifted. “You could at least take off your shirt first.”

  “I swear to God, if you don’t let me do this my way, I’m not coming back to the Manor with you.”

  It didn’t seem possible, but his brows came up even higher at that. “Are you giving me a sex ultimatum?”

  “I’m giving you a regular ultimatum. I get it, Jake, I really do. You like to be in charge. You want to throw me to the bed and rock me seventeen different ways. You want to make me dinner and lock me in an ivory tower and slay my dragons.” She smiled sadly. “I’m not against the idea of an ivory tower, mind you, but I need to know that you can let me down sometimes. I need to know you’re physically and emotionally capable of allowing me to have my turn.”

  They stared at each other for a full minute, neither one of them blinking or backing down. She would have liked to think that she was matching him alpha for alpha, stubbornness for stubbornness, but the truth was that she felt trapped in his gaze, pinned in place by the natural authority he would never be able to shed.

  And that was okay. She could accept that Jake would never be able to fully let go, that the stars overseeing his birth decreed his path to be one of eternal struggle for supremacy. But she needed to know that he could set it aside when she asked. She needed to know that even though it pained him, he could allow her to have her way when it mattered.

  It mattered right now. If she was going to take a risk on him—if she was going to throw all of her better judgment and life experiences out the window and trust him with her heart, even if it was only for a few days—he needed to get on that bed and prove he was capable of trusting her to lead the way.

  He blew out a long breath, and his shoulders came down a fraction of an inch. Not much, but enough to signal she was making headway. “This isn’t about sex, is it?” he asked.

  “Not even remotely.”

  He nodded once and pushed off from the doorframe, preparing to divest himself of his slacks as he did. His movements were efficient as he undid the button at his hips and tugged on the zipper. One wouldn’t think, to note the casual way in which he pulled the material down, that he was the least bit interested in relations of a carnal sort. But as he stepped out of the pants and began carefully working the buttons of his shirt, it was clear to Becca there was a stiffness to his movements that had nothing to do with his injury, a hitch in his breath that made her heart skip several beats.

  She stepped forward to help him out of his undershirt. She let her fingers skim the warm expanse of his stomach, flat from midnight marathons and tanned from a summer of indolence. Those qualities mattered much less to her than the way his skin rippled under her touch, his body unable to suppress the longing he felt—if not for her, then for what they were about to do.

  “If I hurt you, you have to say so.” She lifted the shirt over his head, pausing as she took in the line of deep purple ringed in the yellow of a fading bruise. Moving slowly enough that he couldn’t mistake her intention, she leaned in and kissed along the edge, her lips gentle where they landed.

  “Do I need a safe word?” he asked, amusement alongside desire in his voice.

  “No. A simple ouch will suffice.” She stepped back and admired the man standing in front of her. He was naked save for his form-fitting boxer briefs, which slung low on his hips and molded to his lean, muscular build. There wasn’t an inch of fat on him that didn’t belong, his muscles unfolded along every limb so that he was a marvel of well-maintained architecture, an Eiffel Tower of human form.

  And to make matters even more unfair, the bruise only added to his appeal, a slash of color and imperfection on an otherwise flawless body. She tilted her head, considering him. “Do you know, I’ve never seen you naked before? I’ve seen all the parts, but not at the same time.”

  “If those are the qualifications for nudity, then I haven’t technically seen you naked either.” His glance told her he wouldn’t mind rectifying that situation.

  “Oh, you will. But you have to get on the bed first. And finish stripping.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He whisked off his briefs and moved toward the bed before she could do much more than gape at him. Semi-erect, his inter
est stirred but not overtaking him, Jake’s cock was some kind of miracle. So too was the fact that there wasn’t an ounce of modesty in him as he settled himself on the mattress and crossed his legs at the ankle.

  “Will it hurt you to put your hands behind your head and hold them there?” she asked.

  Jake considered Becca’s question carefully. “Do you mean will it cause me physical pain, or will I pout and throw a fit?”

  She laughed and licked her lips as she approached the bed. “The first one. You can pout all you want, but it won’t change my mind.”

  No—he could see that. There was a determination to her words and actions that had every single one of his nerve endings on alert. Danger, wariness, pleasure—they were all there, spiking his blood and stirring his interest.

  “I can handle it,” he said, and lifted his arms to prove that he could do as she asked.

  His side protested only slightly as he linked his fingers behind his head and rested against the headboard. Stretched but not beyond endurance, the pain was an almost welcome sensation. At least it gave him something other than the pounding, demanding coil of need that was making itself known between his legs.

  “Good.” She smiled—that catlike smile, the one he knew belonged to neither tiger nor kitten, but to her and her alone. “Keep them there. No matter what I do, you aren’t to move them. Understand?”

  He narrowed his eyes. That was asking quite a lot. He wasn’t a man who played well on the sidelines. Especially not when all he wanted to do was cover her body with his and find a thousand ways to pleasure her. “You aren’t going to go to the kitchen and try to cook without me, are you?”

  “No, Jake.” She slipped off her boots. “I’m not leaving this room until we’re both satisfied.”

  There was nothing for him to do but watch as she stripped off the rest of her clothes. In true Becca fashion, she didn’t bother making it a show. This was a serviceable removal of her clothes, an action to reduce the number of barriers between them and nothing more.