by Aimee Carson
Voice huskier than usual, he said, “So what song would be most appropriate?”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, as a small, purely female smile crept up her face. “Let’s see.” Mouth pursed, she pretended to give the question careful consideration, and he couldn’t get past the image of her puckered lips. “I was thrown in jail for defending an institution that I believe in,” she said, sending him a pointed look. “And then promptly chastised for my reckless behavior by a man who thinks he’s living life on the edge when he ignores the do-not-remove-by-penalty-of-law tag on his mattress.”
He barely managed to repress the image of her on his mattress. “I would never do that.”
“Of course not. How about make a right on red when it’s posted not to?”
“It’s against the law,” he said lightly.
Her hazel eyes flickered with heat. “Briefly park your car in the drop-off lane at the airport?”
“Illegal.” He struggled to keep the sizzle from his gaze. “Not to mention inconsiderate.”
Jax bit her delectable lip, clearly suppressing the grin as she turned and continued up, reaching the second floor and moving down an empty hallway. “So my willingness to risk an arrest for my cause is being questioned by a man who thinks I’m reckless for leaving home without an umbrella when there’s a ten percent chance of rain. I’m thinking the most appropriate song for me is ‘It’s My Life’ by Bon Jovi.” She entered a small, cramped office with two desks and stopped, turning to face him again. “But that’s only because I’m not aware of any songs entitled—” Jax leaned in, bringing her arousing, obstinate gaze closer “—‘My Choices Are None of Your Damn Business.’”
She was near enough for him to see the flecks of brown and green in her eyes. But he didn’t require a close-up view to see the fire snapping in her gaze, the stubborn insistence that she would do what she wanted and damn the consequences.
Including touching him...
The memory resurfaced, resurrecting the acute need she’d created when she’d held his lips. Her soft fingers. The heated skin. And the smell of vanilla filling the car. Suddenly he was struck with the realization that Jax’s scent was always changing, as unpredictable as the woman herself.
With his heart pounding, his tone was rough as he dished up a dose of harsh reality. “Your choices are my business now.”
At the reminder of her current living arrangements—made more alarming by the chemistry sizzling between them—time stretched. Expanded to impossible lengths. Gazes locked, the moment lasted ten forevers as awareness pulsed between them. Until they were interrupted by a woman about Jax’s age as she poked her head through the doorway.
“Janet Bennet stopped by looking for you, Jax,” the blonde said. Blake cleared his throat, willing his libido to heel, and Jax took a small step back as her coworker sent her an encouraging smile. “There’s a private-practice therapy group in town that’s looking to hire a music therapist, and she recommended you. Apparently the job is yours if you want it,” the woman continued. “They can afford to pay you a lot better, too.”
Looking unconcerned, Jax retrieved her mail from the cubbyholes lining one wall and began flipping through the envelopes. “I’ll hold out until South Glade is back on its feet.”
“You haven’t heard?” her coworker said.
Eyes now alert, Jax looked up from her mail. “Heard what?”
“The board held an emergency meeting. Even if we get the funds back—”
“When,” Jax said. Mail clutched tightly in her hand, she lowered her arms a bit. “Not if.”
The blonde’s face softened in sympathy. “When we get the funds, their rehiring of you depends on the outcome of your charges.”
Jax’s face lost a little of its color and a lot of its usual vitality, and an unwanted stab of sympathy hit Blake. Unable to stop himself, he stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on her arm.
“Tell Janet I said thanks for thinking of me,” Jax said, her voice strained. She sent Blake a look that was hard to interpret. “But I’ll beat the charges.”
And, without a word of warning, Jax headed out of the office, murmuring a thanks to her coworker as she passed. Blake sent the woman a polite smile and muttered an “excuse me” before following Jax out of the office. He caught up with her silent form as she neared a line of lockers along the scuffed hallway. The graceful sway of her hips was marked by a slight stiffness he knew was due to tension, and this time was not of the sexual kind.
Making her way down the line of lockers, she stopped at one and worked the lock. Her fingers took several tries to finagle the combination, and Blake’s sympathy soared higher.
“You should take the job offer,” he said.
She jerked the door open, the inside plastered with posters of bands and music artists, a wide assortment of country, rock, hip-hop and blues, just to name a few. Her jaw was set. “I’ll wait until the club gets the money to reinstate the music program here.”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall of lockers adorned with graffiti and crossed his arms as she pulled out her guitar.
“And what if they don’t get the money?” he said.
“We will.” Hand on the locker door, she turned to face him. “Because I’m going to make sure that we do.”
“Okay,” he said doubtfully, a part of him impressed by her perseverance—a by-product of her stubbornness, clearly—and her natural confidence.
But one thing he’d learned long ago: you couldn’t change the world through sheer force of will. And he felt obligated to be the voice of reason. Because someone needed to be pragmatic and, just like with his own family, apparently that someone had to be him.
“What happens if the board doesn’t approve of the outcome of your charges?” he said.
She closed the locker door firmly, the noise echoing down the empty hallway.
Her hazel eyes were steady on his, and her words left him uneasy. “I have an excellent lawyer, so I’m not concerned.”
* * *
The next afternoon, teak oil and supplies in hand, Blake headed through the shelf-lined utility room of his home, looking forward to a few moments of peace and relaxation as he applied the oil to the railing on his boat. Tinkering with his catamaran was the perfect antidote to stress. He always started his Sundays—the only day he took off—by unwinding with the mindless activity. But today he’d spent the morning working on Jax’s case.
And any time spent thinking about Jax was always disturbing.
For the hundredth time that day, his mind drifted back to yesterday and the feel of her fingers on his mouth. Unfortunately, even sleep hadn’t provided him with an escape. Because last night he’d been tortured by dreams. Erotic, scorching dreams that would make facing her and keeping his thoughts to himself much more difficult. Desperate to free his mind of the perplexing woman, if only for a moment, Blake headed out the door and onto the pool deck...and then came to an abrupt halt.
His usually peacefully quiet pool was now inhabited by five females—his mother, Nikki and Jax, along with two adolescents he’d never met. Blake let out a frustrated groan.
He missed the days when retreat was possible.
He missed the days when Nikki was at college, worrying him from afar instead of from under his nose.
And he missed the days when his self-control wasn’t subjected to repeated blows, the sight of Jax in shorts and a tank top, guitar in hand, revving up his heart in a manner that couldn’t be good for his blood pressure.
Nikki and his mother sat in two chaise longues next to the poolside waterfall. Jax and the two unknown teens were engaged in what appeared to be a guitar lesson at the patio table, an open bag of caramels and candy wrappers scattered on top. The two adolescents were wearing baggy cargo pants, T-shirts and piercings that looked painful. On the
basis of their age, he suspected they were attendees of her club.
“Blake!” his mother called, her salt-and-pepper hair sporting a pixie cut that flattered her lined face. “It’s Sunday. Put that stuff down and do something that involves relaxation, for once.”
His sister didn’t give him a chance to respond.
“He can’t, Mom. He’s incapable of relaxation.” Nikki, her black hair pulled into a ponytail, her gray eyes with a loaded look aimed in his direction, added an overly sweet smile to her barbs. “You know, most men spend their Sundays playing golf or watching football with a beer and a bucket of chicken wings.”
Inwardly he braced for the conflict. Keeping his cool as Nikki needled him required Herculean effort.
“And most first-year law students spend their summers interning at a firm to gain work experience,” he said drily. “Not encased in plaster from hip to toe from a zip-line accident.”
A silly prank that had almost gotten her killed. Receiving the call from the E.R. about Nikki’s accident had shaved several years off his life. He’d lived in dread of such a day, but had always suspected it would be due to a car accident. Nikki had spent her childhood champing at the bit, trying to grow up too fast. Now she drove too fast.
She lived too fast.
Leaving work and heading upstate to the hospital had put a massive strain on his workweek. But nothing compared to the gut-clenching memory of his little sister, pale and laid up in a hospital room with a concussion and a complicated fracture. And the fear of losing her, combined with the horrific memories of his father’s accident, had scared him senseless. According to the doctor, she was lucky she hadn’t been killed.
And it was good to know her mouth hadn’t been injured in the process, either.
Nikki addressed their mother. “I told you he’d sneak in another jab about my mishap.” She turned her attention back to Blake, narrowing her eyes. “You’re still angry about the Times Square incident, aren’t you?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve moved on from your participation in a prank that involved a near brush with the police.” Another incident that had required his efforts to smooth out—an incident that had been, as usual, dismissed as a kids-will-be-kids moment by his mother. “The next time you might actually get charged with something, which wouldn’t bode well for your future as a lawyer, by the way,” he finished drily.
The frown on his sister’s face was small, but heartfelt. “Maybe you worry too much.”
Blake remembered saying exactly those words to his father, and his gut churned.
Their gazes locked, and he went on in a low voice. “Maybe you don’t worry enough.”
After several tense seconds, filled with the sound of the waterfall and five pairs of female eyes on him, his mother reached over and patted Nikki on the hand.
“Take it easy on your brother, Nikki,” his mother said lightly. “I suspect he just hasn’t gotten any lately.”
Three pairs of lids stretched wide at the remark, and he ignored the small, barking cough of surprise from Jax. The Bennington siblings didn’t bat an eye. His mother didn’t believe in a comment being too inappropriate to share. And while he was used to her casual attitude toward...hell, toward everything, it hardly set a good example for the youth among them.
“Why don’t you ask that pretty lawyer out? You know, the one you were talking to at the courthouse?” Nikki said, surprising him with her words. When had Nikki seen Sara? “You two could have the perfect marriage, wear perfect matching suits and have two-point-five children together.” She lifted an eyebrow wryly. “The perfect number, of course.
Blake was intensely aware of Jax’s observant gaze, taking in the family interactions. Nikki and his mother had always been a dangerous combination, just as his father had warned. The two of them with Jax by their side might just do in Blake completely. And the fact that the merry band of estrogen appeared to be training new teenage recruits was alarming.
Taking on his family with an interested audience wasn’t prudent. And Blake was intelligent enough to know when to cut his losses.
“Mom,” he said evenly, “I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from making my social life a public discussion. And, Nikki...” He turned his attention to his sister. “I have enough on my hands with the family I’ve got.”
And after a last glance at Jax, he turned and headed for the dock, grateful his boat, at least, was devoid of difficult women. But the question was, how long would the female-free moment last?
FOUR
When Nikki and her mother had decided to retreat to the kitchen, Jax declined to go, claiming she wanted to relax in the sunshine. She was grateful Dawn and Tracy had accepted their invitation, because with everyone inside, Jax could study Blake, uninterrupted, as he moved about his luxury catamaran parked at the end the dock. The boat contained a glassed-in cabin and a cockpit lined with teak wood and royal-blue cushions. The crisp white sails provided a sharp contrast against the bright blue sky, sunlight dappling the palm-tree-lined, tropical waters of Biscayne Bay.
But the view paled in comparison to her first glimpse of Blake’s mouthwatering physique in bathing trunks and a T-shirt. As far as Jax was concerned, a sharp legal mind should not be paired with a finely cut athlete’s body. Either brains or brawn. It wasn’t fair he had both. Perfect, just like his sister had teased.
Well, all except for the attitude.
His wide shoulders looked even broader stretched beneath a red T-shirt, and the black swim trunks revealed thighs to die for, his well-muscled legs obviously engaged in an ongoing love affair with the treadmill in his home gym. He’d covered the distance to the dock in record time, his retreat most likely fueled by a need to escape the family harassment by the pool. Or maybe he figured she might do something stupid again.
Like touching him.
Jax bit her lip and contemplated the enigmatic man that held her future in his hands, realizing she hadn’t thanked him for his help yesterday. The setback with her car and the news of the board’s decision had been unwelcome distractions. But she needed to rectify the oversight. She refused to feel ashamed of her arrest, but bad manners were absolutely unacceptable.
With a sigh and, unfortunately, something close to eager anticipation, she pushed up from her chair and padded barefoot across the pool deck and onto the warm wood of the dock.
And this time, Jax, keep your stupid, impulsive hands to yourself.
As she strode closer to the boat, Blake continued to swipe the paintbrush along the rail with long, even strokes.
Without looking up, he said, “I see you met my mother.”
“Yes,” she said. The scent of teak wood mixed with the salty breeze as water lapped gently against the boat. All of which should have been relaxing, and would have been but for the inconveniently disturbing view of Blake’s hard body. “She was instructing me on how to prepare the perfect mojito,” she said as she sent him a smile from the dock. “Apparently she grows her own ingredients.”
“She planted lime trees and mint in her yard,” he said. “She calls it her liquor garden.”
The faint quirk to his lips was a mixture of amusement and warmth, with a trace of resigned exasperation, and Jax’s grin grew bigger. As unconventional as his mother was, it was clear their relationship was one of affection and acceptance.
She stepped up onto the boat, admiring the forty-foot catamaran. Shading her eyes from the sun, she studied him as he went through the motions of dipping his paintbrush into the shallow pan and meticulously stroking the brush along the rail lining the deck. His focus and attention to detail weren’t a surprise, and she imagined he’d make love the same way, the thought throwing her heart into a frenzy.
No touching, Jax. No touching!
But she refused to pretend she hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought already. His p
ast actions led her to believe he’d take his time and linger, enjoying every sensation along the way. But then again, sometimes, like after she’d leaned close while perched on his desk, and especially when she’d touched his lips in his car yesterday...
Her heart thumped in her chest.
During those times, his eyes told her a different story, suggesting that one right move on her part and he would explode in a burst of flames that would incinerate them both.
A surge of longing started in the pit of her stomach and seeped outward, fueling the already rapid pace of her pulse. And she couldn’t shake the question, was there a fiercely passionate man lurking beneath that coolly authoritative, frustratingly methodical exterior?
Blake interrupted her thoughts. “I assume you were giving those two girls guitar lessons.”
She inhaled deeply, clearing her wayward thoughts. “Yes. And when I had breakfast with Nikki this morning, she said you wouldn’t mind if they came to my guest cottage.” She lightly nibbled on her cheek. Now that she’d seen the siblings in action, she wasn’t so confident of his sister’s assessment. “I hope that’s true.”
“As far as I’m concerned, my home is your home for as long as you’re here.” He shot her a look she couldn’t interpret, but was loaded with warnings and meaning. “Within reason, of course.”
There was a pause, his gray gaze fixed on hers, and the moment shifted to one filled with an awareness that was growing day by day. But in an effort to stick to her hands-off rule, she chose to ignore the undertones.
“Who chose the time and location of your flash mob?” he said.
Jax bunched her brow in surprise at the abrupt change in topic. “We all were bandying about ideas, but ultimately we went with Nikki’s suggestion.”
At her words, the truth suddenly became obvious, and Jax closed her eyes. Nikki. Of course. Why hadn’t the idea occurred to her before?
