by Lisa Wells
Jack guided her along the sidewalk and held open the door to his sedan. Adeline slid into the passenger seat of his black Mercedes and ran her hand along the buttery soft leather. A car for a man who expected to soon be a partner in a successful accounting firm. With each shallow breath, she inhaled the scent of wealth. He started the car and very slowly pulled away from the curb.
She turned her head and watched the street signs. “By the time we get to my place, the grape juice in my fridge will be vintage wine.”
He chuckled. “I’m trying to go slow so that the bumps and curves don’t cause your head to hurt.”
She tried to think of a clever zinger to come back at him with so that he would have no idea a bit of her heart melted at the sweetness of his reply. But at the moment her head was hosting an elementary bowling tournament, and the game’s pins were set up right behind her eyeballs, while the screaming children were unsupervised, and…well…with all that hullabaloo going on, her thoughts were scanty.
Her senses, on the other hand, were on full alert. She was keenly aware of Jack sitting next to her and wished she could be anywhere but in the car with him, or at least be able to speak the zinger comebacks wisping around her brain. Something about this guy was reminding her it had been a long while since she’d had sex. “Kinley’s right. You have a soft side.”
“She said that?”
“Once. When she was telling me about the time you got dumped.” They hit a pothole and Adeline winced. Damn it. If she bit the dust from a concussion, her tombstone would read—died from a stripper-pole accident.
“That’s a subject I’d prefer you didn’t bring up,” Jack said between what sounded like gritted teeth. “Again.”
She bit her bottom lip. Why did she bring it up? It wasn’t like she needed to hear his side of what happened. “I can’t make you any promises. Most of the inappropriate things that come out of my mouth aren’t intentional.”
Despite her protests, Jack stopped at an all-night clinic and insisted she get checked out. The nurse practitioner confirmed a slight concussion and made Jack promise not to leave her unattended for several hours.
“You okay?” Jack asked, as they pulled back out into traffic. “You heard the nurse, I’m to attend to you.” He gave her a quick sideways glance that she caught thanks to the streetlights.
A glance that made her want to purr. What in the hell was wrong with her? This was that Charlie lady’s fault. Her and her damn vibrator that promised multiple orgasms. “I’m fine.”
“I wish you would have agreed to let them keep you overnight for observation.” He had one of those honest voices that could sell life insurance to a zombie. “I won’t lie. I’m nervous about being in charge of you.”
“You don’t come across as the sort who gets nervous about anything. I picture you as someone who is always in complete charge of every situation.”
“For someone with a head injury, you’re pretty observant. I do tend to try and control all of the variables in my life.”
“How’s that working for you?” Did that sound snarky? She hoped not. She really wanted to know if that goal could be achieved.
He didn’t respond right away and when he did, he changed the subject. “You know what I do for a living. What did you study in college?”
“I have a degree in Hospitality Management with an emphasis in Pastry Arts.” The Pastry Arts was the best part of her degree. “Someday I want to open a bakery.”
“And what are you doing with that degree while waiting for your some-day bakery?”
“I’m a company chef for an advertising company. Or I was. Due to budget restraints, I’m temporarily without employment.”
A mile went by before Jack spoke to her again. “Can you cook?”
She laid her head against the headrest. The question wasn’t without its charm. “No. But I’m blackmailing the owner.”
“Noted.” He laughed.
“Which part?” She liked that he got her sense of humor. Not many did.
“Blackmail,” he said in a voice she couldn’t completely read. Was he holding back a laugh?
“Smart man.” She’d been blackmailed once, while sitting in the emergency waiting room, by a man who made her call him dad. A man who threatened to get even when she didn’t succumb to the blackmail. “Do you like being an accountant?” she asked.
“Love it.”
She snorted. “Figures.”
Jack flashed her a quick grin then said, “What does that mean?”
“Accountants aren’t exactly known as leading men material.” She meant for the words to come out in a teasing tone. They didn’t. They came out in the tone she used when she was ready to push someone away. A nasty habit she had when her brain warned her that the person had the power to someday hurt her. A counselor once pointed this habit out to her as if it was a bad thing. In Adeline’s opinion, it wasn’t. Like avoiding eventual rejection could ever be a bad thing.
“Seeing you hit the floor about gave me a heart attack. I caused your concussion; therefore, the least I can do is make sure you survive the injury.” He reached out and placed his palm on her hand. “Doesn’t that type of character qualify me for leading man role in the right woman’s life?”
“Maybe in the right woman’s life.”
…
“Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re the right woman,” Jack said. Something about this woman knocked him off-kilter. He didn’t like the feeling. It felt messy. Like anything could happen. He preferred emotions he could compartmentalize.
Adeline glanced away. Did his comment make her uncomfortable? “Then why did you let Kinley think you didn’t want to bring me home and keep an eye on me?”
Because he had walls. Walls that were there to protect him. Protect him from emotions that could cause him to lose control of his life. “Because in her pea-brain, she would have us married off with four kids if she thought I wanted to be around you, versus her pushing you off on me.”
“She does romanticize everything. I wasn’t the least surprised to learn she was writing romance.”
He smiled. “Me either. She can bully book boyfriends around on the page all day long, dictating when they fall in love. It’s a win-win for her.”
“A never-ending supply of perfect boyfriends. She does have a dream job,” Adie said.
Several miles passed in silence. He glanced at her and discovered she’d laid her head back and her eyes were closed.
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Squeeze my hand every now and then so I know you’re okay.” He didn’t want to pressure her to talk if she didn’t want to, but he had to know she was all right.
She twined her fingers in his and squeezed. “I’m okay. Just tired. I’ve been up since 4:00 a.m.”
“I can’t remember the last time I was up that early.” He let his eyes stray off the road to glance at her. She was what his mom would call a classic beauty. Nothing artificial about her appearance. So damn pretty. And sexy.
She squeezed his hand. “I get up that time every morning. Except on the weekends.”
Holding her hand felt right. Like her hand and his hand had been perfectly fashioned for one another. He stole another glance at the beauty in his car. Her lush lips were parted, almost like an invitation for him to pull off to the side of the road and taste them. An invitation he’d be wise to ignore—for now.
Chapter Six
Jack stepped into Adie’s apartment expecting to see blurty furniture. Not that he knew what blurty furniture would look like. Other than maybe a green chair with a purple couch. And a nude expressionist photo next to a cow picture.
That’s not what he got. He got mellow. Comfortable. And most surprisingly, she had girly pink furniture. All shades of pink. Including a faded pink chair with the spunky spirit of Kinley’s old, tattered ballerina slippers. Plus, small charming touches like half-burned candles and a candy dish filled with cinnamon disks. There were quilted throw blankets on the couch and a haphazard pile
of books stacked next to a table lamp. They looked like they might fall if anyone sneezed.
And there was a faint aroma of baked bread.
“You don’t have to stay,” Adeline said for the seventh time since they got out of his car. Somewhere between the all-night clinic and home, she’d thrown-up walls meant to keep him out. Funny that, he supposed they were more alike than he’d realized.
Part of him wanted to escape before he did something stupid. But part of him wanted to stay. And not just to monitor her health. He wanted to get to know her better. Oh, he knew her all right. Kinley had talked about Adeline incessantly back in the day, which resulted in Jack having some insight into what made her tick. He was still trying to reconcile the girl she’d been then with the woman she was now. Adeline Rigby toyed with his mental curiosity.
Made him want to figure her out.
He wanted to see the her she showed the world when she thought no one was looking. Like in the examination room, when she asked him to stay with her, showing a vulnerable side he would have sworn she didn’t possess. That tiny flicker of fear in her eyes made him want to cross the room and hold her, tell her everything would be okay. A nurse practitioner had come in and done just that, saving him from exposing his softer side.
The realization caused his stomach to clench.
“You heard the nurse. Someone has to stay with you.”
She blew her bangs out of her face, exposing a brief glimpse of relief in her eyes before it was replaced with indifference. “Fine. Stay. But you have to leave your shoes at the door.”
He lifted a brow. Glanced down at her feet. When did she take her shoes off? She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever dated. Not that he was thinking about dating her. You can’t date when you’re in need of a pretend fiancée.
She grabbed hand sanitizer off a shelf located by the door, pumped it into her palm, and rubbed her hands together before holding out the bottle to him.
He sanitized his hands while toeing off his shoes. “Do you make all of your company sanitize their hands or just me, because you think I’m germy?”
She furrowed her brows and studied him as if he were a piece of art hanging in a museum. “I don’t think you’re particularly germy. But, there’s nothing wrong with avoiding germs.”
“I’m glad to hear you don’t think of me as germy.”
She shrugged. “No big deal. It’s just one of my quirks. Something that would probably drive you crazy if you were in a real relationship with me.”
“I doubt that very much.” He liked her just the way she was. Provocatively snappy and dynamite sexy. Dynamite sexy didn’t even begin to describe how she’d looked hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around a stripper pole, her pink sport bra exposing a flat belly and other things. And the snappy part was an added bonus. A bonus he didn’t know he wanted in a woman until her.
She blinked and turned away. “Do you like popcorn?”
“Love it.”
“Why don’t you make some while I pick something for us to watch on Netflix?”
“Sure.” He followed her into the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to see big pink flowers on blue cabinets. “Did you paint those flowers?”
“They’re stickers. I’m just leasing the place.”
She turned back to the cabinets and took a dark blue pan and a lid down from a ceiling rack, setting it on the stove. Then she grabbed a decorative bottle of oil and a jar of popcorn kernels from a cabinet and sat them next to the pan.
“The butter is in the fridge, and the salt is there,” she said, pointing to a seasoning container. “Be sure and grab the unsalted butter. It’s on the right.”
What? She wanted him to do more than push a button? “Don’t you have some microwave popcorn?”
Her chin came up as if ready to do battle. Why? What did he say? He wasn’t making fun of her.
“I don’t own a microwave.”
Oh. How was that even possible? He walked a few steps to stand beside her. The top of her head came to his chin. A good height for dancing. “Why?” he asked in a forced nonchalant tone, avoiding the what the hell tone he wanted to use.
“Real chefs don’t use them.” She glanced up at him with eyes daring him to make fun of her.
Hell. What had happened to make her more skittish than a mobster being audited? He took a step back, giving her some room. “I don’t know how to make popcorn on top of a stove.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s easy.” She poured oil into the pan, turned the burner on, and then poured kernels into the oil. She put the lid on the pan. She grabbed a small pot and set it on the back burner, plopping a whole stick of butter in it before turning the burner on low.
Was it the concussion that had her so on edge?
“Now you just slide the pan with the kernels back and forth on the burner to keep it from burning. It will eventually start popping. When it stops popping, remove it from the heat, pour the melted butter on it, and salt to taste.” With those instructions, she left the room, leaving him with too much to think about. Like how to get her to relax around him.
By the time Adeline came back in the kitchen, he’d successfully made his first batch of old-fashioned popcorn. “Do you want all of this butter on it?” he asked, trying not to stare at her. She’d changed into a pair of Wonder Woman pajamas and pulled back her hair in some type of hair thingie. The pajamas emphasized the curves of her body, and the hairstyle emphasized her amazing cheekbones. While he somewhat succeeded in not staring like a nerd in the presence of beauty, his body reacted like an all-American athlete. Dear God, she took his equilibrium away.
She shook her head. “Why would I have melted the whole stick if I didn’t want all of it on my popcorn?”
“Good point.”
She picked up the melted butter and poured it on the popcorn. Once it was adequately covered, she transferred it into a large bowl and shook salt all over it.
He popped a piece in his mouth. “Yum. This chef stuff is pretty easy.”
Adeline was in the middle of placing the pan in the sink, it fell with a clang. “Do you like zombies?” she asked.
The lighting hit her face just right, and he realized she had light freckles across her cheeks. If she decided to go along with his “impress the boss” scheme, would he someday get a chance to trace them with his finger? Really, he needed to stop entertaining the idea. It was absurd. He circled back to her question. “Uh, I’ve never met a zombie?”
“Very funny. I’ve been watching a series on Netflix about zombies. I thought we might watch a show or two. I’ve been up since four this morning cooking. I can’t think of anything else that will keep me awake.”
He could think of some things that would keep her awake. Like allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue and teeth. Both of her lips were full, but the lower one was especially plump. He wanted to nibble them and see how they would taste, but that would have to wait.
Concussions, even mild ones, weren’t to be taken lightly.
He wasn’t really sure when he’d decided to pursue Adeline, maybe it had been that first glance of riotous curls or when she’d tentatively held his hand on the drive to her apartment, but the idea was firmly cemented in his mind now.
She walked into the living room not waiting for a reply.
He followed. “Zombies will work,” he said, taking a seat on the couch.
She placed the popcorn on the middle cushion and then went back into the kitchen. “Do you want a beer or a bottle of water?” she called out.
What he wanted was for her to get better so he could kiss her. “A beer sounds great.”
She came back into the room and handed him a Corona.
He raised an eyebrow. “I like your taste in beer.”
She grinned. “A chef has to have fine culinary taste.” She sat down on the other end of the couch and turned on the show.
Jack rubbed his jaw. “Do they also have fine taste in men?”
“Oh, shut up and w
atch the show,” she said, throwing a piece of popcorn at him.
He tried to watch the show, but it was more fun to watch Adeline. Each time something scary happened, she scooted a little closer to him. By the middle of the show, she was sitting next to him, clutching a blanket to her chin, and eating from the bowl of popcorn that she’d sat on his lap.
By the end of the second show, her head was on his shoulder, and she was sound asleep.
“Little Miss Says Whatever’s On Her Mind is afraid of zombies,” he murmured against her head. “I wonder what else you’re afraid of.” He placed the popcorn on the coffee table, set a pillow on his lap, and tried to maneuver her around so that she could stretch out and sleep.
Instead, she sat up. Eyed him suspiciously. “I’m awake. Just resting my eyes.”
He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Were you practicing your snoring as well?” He’d been much younger the last time he pulled an all-nighter. He was getting too old for this shit.
She yawned. “Anything I can do to keep you awake so I can sleep.” She stood up and stretched. “I’ll be back.”
Fifteen minutes later, when she still hadn’t returned, he went looking for her. He found her in her bedroom, in her bed, under her covers, hugging a pink teddy bear.
He walked in so he could get a better look. Asleep, he noticed how long her eyelashes were. He glanced around for a place to sit. The one chair in the bedroom was loaded down with cookbooks. Every other spare inch was stacked with boxes. Was she moving or was she a box hoarder?
With no other options available, he made the executive decision to squeeze onto her twin bed and lay next to her. He didn’t even know twin beds existed outside of college dormitories.
She immediately rolled toward him and snuggled into the crook of his outstretched arm.
Chapter Seven
Adeline woke up with something large and hard poking into her back. She opened her eyes and worked to get her bearings. The sound of snoring caused her entire body to flinch and her heart to bounce around in her chest like a whole tomato in a blender. She attempted to escape the arm that was solidly wrapped around her waist.
