Make Me Lose Control

by Christie Ridgway

  “You can’t possibly believe in a superstition like that,” he said, climbing back onto the ladder.

  “Maybe sometimes I do,” she replied, her voice pensive.

  He frowned down at her. “Why’s that?”

  “I told you about the fire.”

  “It’s a constant threat in these mountains.”

  “I was here—at the property—when it happened.”

  That startled him. He found himself on the ground again, and when she turned away from him, he tugged at her elbow to bring her around. “Tell me,” he said.

  Lifting a shoulder, she stared down at her toes. “I was twelve. Accompanied Dell Walker—Dad—on a routine trip to do some maintenance work. He got out his tools...and I...I wandered off on my own, into the woods.”

  Some instinct made Jace glance up, his gaze searching for his daughter. Tension that was just beginning to tighten his neck eased when he saw her, digging through the cooler. She had to be roasting in all that unrelieved black, he thought. He looked back at Shay. “You were in the woods...?”

  She hesitated, giving him time for second thoughts. Why was he grilling her? He had a load of his own problems and issues. Instead of excavating her past, he should be thinking of the job in Qatar that he’d promised to return to. Or he would be better served mining his brain for some persuasive words that would get his daughter to the boarding school he’d picked for her, without muss or fuss.

  But Shay was inspecting the dusty leather toes of her boots again, her head down. Hiding once more. Second thoughts evaporated.

  “You were in the woods...?”

  “Summer storm,” she said, her voice low. “Lightning. It’s common enough for fire to suddenly break out.”

  “I’ve already experienced that myself,” he pointed out. And would likely remember his nights at the Deerpoint Inn for the rest of his life.

  “Dell—Dad—saw the flames crest a nearby ridge.”

  Jace lifted his head, taking in the craggy mountains ringing them. In his imagination, a line of fire topped a nearby peak and raced downward. “Jesus.”

  “Maybe if he could have taken off right away, driven to the highway quick enough to alert the fire crews...”

  “But he couldn’t leave you,” Jace supplied. Of course, the man had to gather his daughter before leaving the property. “That was a no-brainer—”

  “I should have stuck close to him, instead of wandering off on my own.”

  “You couldn’t know, he couldn’t know—”

  “But I know now how it turned out.”

  “You were just a kid, Shay. And it was a freak accident of nature.”

  “Not what happened afterward.” She pinkied her sunglasses off her face and swiped a hand over her eyes.

  His stomach jolted. Was she crying? He couldn’t handle tears. But he couldn’t escape up the ladder quite yet, either. “What went wrong next?”

  She pressed a hand beneath her nose, leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek. Jace stared at it, his hands fisting, willing himself not to snatch her close in order to brush it away, stroke that smooth skin clean. He didn’t like a single thing marring Shay—not her flesh, not her psyche—but he wasn’t the kind of man who knew how to provide such tender service. That would be a kind soul, not a man hardened by a crappy childhood and then a solitary life.

  Officer All-Good.

  It killed him to think that, but it was true.

  Shay started speaking again. “The resort amenities burned to ash, leaving behind only the cabins below the ski slopes and Dell’s deep wish to rebuild.”

  “Okay,” Jace said carefully.

  She swiped beneath her nose again. “It wasn’t possible. He was already in deep with an investor who refused to pony up another cent. There wasn’t enough insurance, either. Dad didn’t surrender, though.”

  Her head turned, so all he was given was her profile, with its clean, delicate lines. “Within a year he’d died of a heart attack. Stress, we believe.”

  He opened his mouth to say—what? London called out instead.

  “Can we eat?” she asked. They’d brought sandwiches in the cooler. “I’m starving.”

  Shay latched on to the idea and was already hurrying away from him. “Great idea. Let’s set it up on the porch over there.”

  Jace followed slowly, mostly glad for the reprieve. By the time he mounted the steps to the picnic they’d made on the wooden floor, Shay was chattering away about the lessons they would begin on Monday. Naturally, London appeared less than enthused.

  Warily, Jace eyed the tutor. The only time he’d known her to be a chatterer like that was the night she was drunk and floating her gloom balloon. He supposed she wished she hadn’t shared the story of the fire and her father with him.

  The day heated up as they ate their lunch. The food and the temperature made Jace lethargic and even Shay finally wound down. The three sat in semicompanionable silence, picking at the green grapes in the plastic bowl centered between them.

  It was weirdly almost family-like.

  The weirdness must have been catching, because London suddenly vaulted to her feet. “It’s hot as hell—”

  “Don’t say hell,” Shay corrected automatically.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “The temperature’s hot as h—”

  “Don’t say it,” Shay warned again.

  “Hot as hell.” Jace met his daughter’s gaze. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

  She gave him the second smile he’d seen from her since he’d returned to her life. Wow, he thought, he’d give her a lot of four-letter words for more of those. Which he supposed was additional proof he’d make a lousy parent.

  “I’m going to cool off,” she said, and leaped from the porch.

  Jace’s gaze followed her to a spigot and a curled hose nearby. London flipped on the water, and as the flow came out of the plastic, she bent down to thumb the nozzle. Then she lifted it overhead, creating a fountain of drops that rained down upon her.

  “Nirvana. Heaven. Paradise,” she yelled, her hair going even inkier as it became saturated. She twirled in a circle, going faster and faster.

  Jace had started to grin at her antics, but the smile died as a memory sliced through him. That little park across from her mother’s flat. London, a ragged doll under her arm, insisting they have a tea party on the grass. He’d played pretend with her, even lifting his pinkie while holding his make-believe cup like any proper Brit would do. Later, when he’d managed to make a chain of dandelions into a crown with his big fingers, he’d held her hands and spun, causing her short legs to leave the ground.

  Jace, making his little girl fly.

  He closed his eyes, willing the pain and the memory away.

  But before it did, he got a face full of chilly water. His eyes shot open, just as Shay let out a shriek. Looking over, he saw she was dripping, too.

  “London!” he yelled, and the second syllable was drowned by another blast from the hose.

  She went after Shay again, of course. They both leaped to their feet as the girl cackled and kept on spraying. His gaze met Shay’s. “You go right,” he said.

  “You go left,” she answered.

  They took on the kid together.

  Retribution wasn’t really all that painful. London was mostly wet already, but by the time they were done, she was a laughing, completely sopping mess. They were all cooler, however.

  And Jace was feeling...almost mellow. Shit. Almost content.

  He turned off the spigot and put his hands on his hips. “Enough goofing around. Let me finish the south wall and we’ll say we’re done for the day.”

  London gave an extravagant shrug. He glanced over at Shay, then felt his belly tighten as he took her in. She was as drenched as the girl, the t
hin cotton knit of her tank plastered to her skin. Oh, boy. Wet T-shirt contest all the way.

  He could see the outline of her bra. Her nipples were taut points.

  He grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Do you want my—”

  “Heck, no,” she said, waving him off. “It feels good.”

  Swallowing, Jace forced his gaze from her and his steps back to the ladder. London returned to her rake. Shay, her face turned upward, stood waiting for more shingles to come down.

  Trying to tamp down his lust, he remembered her last words before lunch. He had to say something about that, didn’t he? “I’m sorry about your father,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment. “One more little factoid about my past...Dell wasn’t really my dad.”

  One more little factoid? “What exactly do you mean?”

  “Money was always a struggle for the Walkers. Lorna and Dell went through a rough patch and Dell took off for a mining job in South America, leaving Mom behind with my brother and sisters. While he was gone, she...well, she had an affair and wound up pregnant with me.”

  “Ah.” He hadn’t a clue what to say, to do. “But Dell came back...?”

  She addressed her bootlaces as she bent to retie them. “He did. By then the affair was over—my bio father was married and not the least bit interested in paternity rights, as he had other kids—so when Dell returned to the mountains a few months after I was born, he and Lorna patched things up.”

  “That was good?”

  “Very good.” Shay straightened. “Dell was still a dreamer and still lousy when it came to money, but my mother and he seemed to be very happy for the rest of their lives together.”

  “And you—”

  “Oh, I’ve been happy, as well,” she said quickly.

  Too quickly, he thought, as he began stripping the siding once again. He remembered how much she said she disliked birthdays and now he supposed he knew why—they reminded her of the unusual circumstances of her birth. Clearing his throat, he paused to watch her retrieve the tumbled shingles. “Well, your secret is safe with me.”

  Wood in hand, she glanced up. “Oh, it’s no secret.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply it’s shameful or anything like that.”

  “Twenty-five years ago, small town, it caused a bit of a scandal.”

  He grimaced. “But that died down?”

  “Well...like I said, small town.” She tossed the piece she held into the wheelbarrow and swooped up another. “But my sisters and brother don’t like it when I mention I’m their half sibling. The Walkers never try to make me feel separate from their family unit.”

  “Good for them.”

  “As a matter of fact, I hardly ever am referred to as a—” She lobbed the next shingle, then gasped. “Ouch.” Blood welled on her fingers.

  Jace leaped down. “Are you all right?”

  “Only a splinter. I forgot to put my gloves back on.” She drew out a sharp spike of wood and brought her finger to her mouth.

  “Don’t do that,” he said, jerking it away, then drawing her hand toward him. In a trice, he’d wrapped the hem of his T-shirt around the wounded digit and put firm pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

  They stood toe-to-toe, just as they had the day before in the woods, when he’d kissed her so greedily. As if he’d called her name, she looked up, her eyes widening as they took in his expression.

  He probably looked as if he wanted to eat her up. Her scent was in his nostrils, her taste so damn available. His blood started that primitive chug-chug-chug through his system, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Call of the wild lust.

  Closing his eyes, he tried ignoring the clamor. “Referred to as what?” he asked, recalling what she’d been saying before crying out. “What do you hardly ever get referred to as?”

  “A bastard.”

  He jerked, his eyes flying open. “Shay—”

  “Kidding,” she said. Her mouth stretched into a grin, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  Bastard. Scandal.

  The Walkers never try to make me feel separate from their family unit.

  It didn’t take an emotional genius to know what Shay had just given away. A real secret, he thought. The fact that she did, indeed, often feel separate from that intimate family circle of her brother and sisters.

  Uh-oh, Jace thought. Oh, damn, damn, damn. So much for that redirecting of his physical urges. He wanted to touch her even more now. Bring her against him, into the shelter of his body.

  But not for carnal purposes. No, this was much worse. He wanted to gather her close to bestow something he was wholly unfamiliar with providing.

  Comfort.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHAY HUNG UP the dish towel and glanced over at Jace. After their day at the Walker property, they’d returned home and gone their separate ways for showers and downtime. Dinner had been pizza that he’d insisted on ordering. When she’d said she had a ball of whole wheat dough in the refrigerator and could whip up one herself in just a few minutes, he’d shared a look with London and said “whole wheat dough” in the same tone he might have used if she’d suggested a crust of garden snails.

  His daughter had giggled.

  Giggled.

  Shay still couldn’t get over it, nor the playful hose fight the girl had instigated after lunch. Clearly she felt comfortable enough to blast away at the adults in her life.

  At her father.

  She glanced over at Jace, who was standing in the adjacent great room. Hands in his pockets, he was staring out the glass doors at the lake. The days were getting longer and there was plenty of activity on the water, but it didn’t appear as if he was taking any of it in. He looked like a man with a heavy weight on his mind.

  He looked like a man too alone.

  “So, today was a good day, don’t you think?” she asked, daring to interrupt the quiet. After pizza, London had wandered up to her room where she was likely reading—if the girl gave A Tale of Two Cities a decent chance Shay thought she’d find it hard to put down—or surfing the web.

  When he didn’t answer, she said, “Jace?”

  He twitched and glanced around, finding her in the kitchen. Then he glanced around again, as if seeing the place for the first time. “What have you done here? Things look different.”

  Unsure of herself, she fiddled with the elastic bandage she’d wrapped around her finger. He’d retrieved it from the first-aid kit in Poppy’s former cabin. She’d done the rest of the doctoring, insisting she didn’t need his help, desperate to avoid any more of his touch. “Different, uh, how?”

  Frowning, he gestured to the furniture, all of it in shades of gray. Then he pointed to the kitchen island. “Flowers. Color.”

  “Well, yeah.” A dozen sunflowers popped from a vase she’d found in a closet. There had also been a stack of colorful throws there, and she’d draped them across the drab-colored backs of the couches and love seats. “You mentioned this place was butt ugly.”

  “You don’t think so?” he asked, brows rising.

  Her lips twitched. “I kind of did. But the view is incredible and it’s growing on me. Especially with some warmer touches here and there.”

  “The master bed—the one hanging on chains...”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t think of a way to warm that up.”

  He stilled, sent her a pointed look, then turned his attention back to the lake. “I’ll forget you said that,” he muttered.

  Curses, Shay thought. Those words shouldn’t have popped out of her mouth, not when she was determined to ignore the sexual undercurrent that seemed to continuously flow beneath their feet. Even when it bubbled and spit on occasion—as it had today, and yesterday and every day since they’d met—she was determined
to avoid the burn.

  Clearing her throat, she ventured back into conversation. “Like I mentioned, I think today went well with London.”

  He kept staring out the glass. “You really think so?”

  “Yes.” She strolled toward him. “The two of you seem to be getting comfortable together. I think she might be starting to like you.”

  He turned when she paused beside him. “More evidence of her bad judgment,” he said, grimacing.

  “Oh, come on.” She nudged his ribs with her elbow. “You’re not such a terrible guy.”

  “Evidence of your bad judgment.”

  “Stop—”

  “I can see where you’re going with this, Shay. I see that little dream you’re concocting in your head.”

  She frowned. “I’m actually one of the cynical Walkers. A realist. Poppy is our romantic.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.”

  His dismissive tone annoyed her. “I’m looking at the facts, Jace.”

  “Which are what?”

  “How about we start with this one—you’ve yet to tell your daughter that her summer with her father has been curtailed.” It had made her hope he might be having second thoughts.

  “I—”

  “That you’ve yet to tell your daughter that you’re sending her off to boarding school before you even get a chance to learn her favorite kind of animal, her favorite flavor of ice cream, what she wants to be when she grows up.”

  “Vampira?”

  She gave him a disappointed look. “Maybe you’d like to stick around long enough to find out her real hair color, too.”

  “It’s enough to know that the shade it is now isn’t authentic. Thank you.” Rubbing his knuckles against the short stubble on his chin, he glanced upward. “Thank you, God.”

  Stubborn man. Shay saw that she wasn’t getting anywhere with him, but she couldn’t let it go. “Please reconsider, Jace.”

  He rounded on her, his voice low, but with frustration bleeding through. “Reconsider what? I can’t ‘reconsider’ the past, Shay,” he said. “I don’t know her. I haven’t seen her for ten years.”