"Go away and leave me alone," she whispered.
It didn't. She needed distraction. She needed to think about something else.
Jake… He slipped into her mind like the serpent slipping into Eden. Tempting her. Sighing, she sat down on yet another wicker chair, closed her eyes, and, while the bayou's fragrant night-breath bathed her face, she let herself imagine him. Just for a little while. What could it hurt, anyway? It wasn't as if she was going to do anything about it. Besides, it would keep her from thinking about … other things.
So she thought. And the thoughts took on the quality of a daydream. In her mind, Jake, that handsome, dangerous devil, came out here to her cabin, after everyone else at the main house had gone to sleep. She saw him standing over her, looking down at her. He was wearing those tight jeans and that sweaty shirt hanging unbuttoned. And he was dirty, the way he'd been when he'd returned to the main house today. Hair damp and tangled, face streaked. He just stood there, staring at her where she lay in the little wicker chair. Her feet were up on a matching footstool. Her legs bare. Her nightie barely hiding a thing.
He came closer in her mind's eye, until he stood just beyond the footstool. Then, slowly, he took off his shirt. She watched, transfixed, as he peeled the fabric from his arms, revealing them to her. Strong, tanned, muscled. He flung the shirt aside, and, bending down, he closed one hand around her right ankle, the other around her left. She shivered as he parted them and stepped over the little footstool, then sat on it, between her ankles. Reaching for her, he closed those big, hot hands around her waist and pulled her to him, until she was sitting on his lap, her legs wrapped around him. He closed his arms around her, his hands sliding up to cup the back of her head, and then he kissed her.
"Sara?"
Lazily she opened her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips, and she said, "Jake…"
"Flossie asked me to bring this out to you," Jake said.
He was standing just beyond the little footstool, holding a plate of food in his hands.
Wait a minute. He was really standing there.
Sara's eyes widened as she realized she must have fallen asleep mid-fantasy. Her feet came off the little footstool and slammed onto the floor as she came to attention in her chair. "What do you want!"
He tilted his head to one side. "I told you already." He lifted the plate a little higher, nodding toward it. "Flossie asked me to bring this to you. You want it or not?"
Swallowing hard, she managed to nod. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."
"Right." He set the plate on the now-vacant footstool and turned to leave.
"Hey, don't get all touchy again," she said, scrambling to her feet. "I was sleeping, and you startled me, that's all."
"So you want me to do what? Wear bells on my shoes from now on so you'll know when I'm coming? I knocked, Sara. I called, and you didn't answer, so I came in."
"Yeah." She nodded, thinking about it. "The Big Bad Wolf came in to see if Little Red was all right. Huh, Jake? Isn't that a little out of character? Or is it that you're not quite as big and bad as you're trying so hard to make me think you are?"
He drew a breath, letting his eyes slide down her body slowly. "Maybe I just came in to see what you were wearing." Then he nodded. "Nice choice, by the way."
"You aren't scaring me, Jake."
"I'm not trying to, Sara."
"Yes, you are," she said. "What I want to know is, why? Why are you trying so hard to make sure I dislike you?"
His eyes narrowed. Then he sighed, lowering his head. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay, fine. I give up. You win, all right? You just tell me how you want it, lady, and I'll oblige you."
She frowned, tilted her head to one side. "What?"
"You heard me. You want a walk on the wild side, go for it. Shoot, I'm no Boy Scout, honey. Why the hell should I be? I'm not the one who initiated this. So come on. Come here and let's get on with it. And then you can rush on home to your sewing circle and tell the other aging virgins about your down-and-dirty, one-night stand."
She stood perfectly still. She closed her eyes slowly, opened them again. Then, finally, she met his eyes again. "You're that full of yourself, are you? Hmm? You really think that's what I've been sitting here plotting?"
"You gonna tell me it's not?"
She smiled very slowly. "In your dreams, maybe. Then again, you don't need me coming on to you. You're your own best lover, aren't you?"
He swore at her. A really nasty little two-word slam that made her flinch. Instead of showing it, she just replied, "You'd like to." Then, shaking her head, she snatched up the plate of food and headed for the door back into the bungalow. "It's a real shame, you know that, Jake? I thought maybe you were a decent human being who was only acting like such an ass because he'd been judged too often on the basis of an unfortunate past. But, thanks for showing me the truth. You weren't acting at all. You really are an ass."
She let the door bang behind her when she went inside.
But then she paused and bit her lip. She really had been fantasizing about him … exactly the way he thought, although not for exactly the reasons he'd concocted in his mind.
Damn. Why did he have to be such a jerk?
* * *
Chapter 4
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So then, she wasn't coming onto him?
Jake stood on the screened-in porch staring at the door that had just banged shut and tried to review what had just happened here. But he really didn't get it. Why did women have to be so damned complicated, anyway? She either wanted to have a fling with him or she didn't. What was so hard about that? They were the only two options possible. She certainly wouldn't be interested in anything else with a guy like him. So why did she have to keep running hot and cold? One minute looking at him as if she wanted to leap on him right there, and the next, acting all huffy and slamming doors? What was up with the woman, anyway?
Hell, he couldn't make any sense of her at all. Maybe she would be more rational in the morning, when he showed up to take her sight-seeing.
With a frustrated sigh he went out the screen door, down the little back steps and then walked around front to the path and the lonely walk to the main house.
Sara barely closed her eyes all night long. That man—that nasty, smart-mouthed, full-of-himself Jake Nash—made her so mad she couldn't even think straight. The nerve of him, assuming that just because she'd been nice to him—or tried to be nice to him—it meant that she wanted to…
In the morning she was no better. She slammed things, banged things and still hadn't vented half her anger. "Aging virgins, huh? I'll give him some aging virgins, right upside his head," she said as she showered, then stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, looking herself over. "Twenty-five is not aging!" Then she yanked her clothes on and stomped barefoot into the kitchenette, where the coffee pot was just finishing up.
She filled her cup and stood still for a minute, staring at her face reflected back at her in the dark brew. She'd vented, she'd thrown things and slammed things and stomped around the place. She'd let off some steam. What was left was the truth. She'd been lying out there dreaming of making love to him, and when he'd woken her and said what he'd said, she'd gotten the feeling he knew. That he'd looked right inside her head somehow and seen the hot, sweaty images that had been playing in her mind. And it had mortified her.
Then he'd followed up with his insulting assumptions and flat-out insults. Pursing her lips, she glared at the coffee. "Aging virgin," she said again, and her hand clenched tighter on the coffee cup.
"We're all aging, sugar." That detestably cocky voice came from just beyond the front door, which was open to let the morning air in through the screen. She looked up to see him standing there, clean, shaved and wearing a shirt that was actually buttoned. "And the virgin part is obvious," he said.
"If you came for a hot-coffee facial, just step through that door, Jake, and I'll be happy to give it to you."
He eyed the cup in her hand, and hi
s lips thinned. "I … might have been out of line last night."
"Might have been?" She lifted her brows.
"Hey, look, lady, cut me some slack here. I've been hit on by so many bored barracudas since I came to work here that it's become routine. Can you blame me if I read you wrong?"
She tilted her head to one side. "So that's how you solve the problem, then? You make sure they know it's a big inconvenience to you, and then you tell them you'll oblige them all the same?"
"No!" he said quickly. "I tell them to go to hell. For crying out loud, what do you think I am, some kind of stud service?"
"Yeah? Well you didn't tell me to go to hell!" she shot back.
They both went silent. His eyes clashed with hers, and his mouth opened to say something in his own defense, but then he closed it again, saying nothing.
She blinked twice and averted her eyes. Her voice a lot lower, she said, "Just for the record, Jake, I don't do one-night stands or vacation flings, and I'm not looking for any … stud service. Just because I'm … attracted to you doesn't mean that I want a quick night of meaningless sex. Okay?"
When she looked at him again, he looked kind of puzzled, a little crease between his brows. "What other kind is there?" he asked.
Her jaw fell open. She clamped it shut again. "You're a pig."
"And you're a princess. So once again, for the record as it pertains to you and me, what other kind of sex could there be besides meaningless?"
"None," she snapped. "None at all." She turned back to her coffee, looked for creamer in the little fridge and didn't see it, even though she knew damned well it was there.
"If that's the way you want it."
"It is."
"Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, why don't you put on some shoes and grab your moneybags so we can get going. I don't have all day."
Slowly she looked over her shoulder. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about our date. What? You don't remember? I said no, but then you said yes, so I had no choice in the matter. If I don't follow through now, Flossie will never let me hear the end of it."
"Tell her I'm not feeling well."
"Okay. You can expect the local doctor at your door by noon."
"I don't need any doctor, and you damn well know it."
He shrugged. "Flossie won't see it that way."
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and sighed.
"It won't be so bad," he said. "I think now that we know where we both stand, we'll get along just fine."
"Now that we know where we both stand," she repeated, still wanting to smack him.
"Yeah. You're hot for me and knocking yourself out trying to fight it."
Pursing her lips, she nodded slowly. "And you'd be incapable of turning me down, should I decide to stop fighting it," she said.
"Now who's full of herself?"
She shrugged. "Well, you didn't tell me to go to hell, now did you, Jake?"
"Day's not over yet, lady."
"No. It's not." She looked around, spotted her sandals by the door and crossed the room to step into them. Then she snagged her straw bag off the little glass-topped table, yanked out her sunglasses and stuck them on her face. Turning to Jake, she said, "So, are we going or what?" She started for the front door.
"Wait a minute."
Sara turned, wondering what on earth he could possibly want now. He stood there, leaning on her wicker chair, looking maybe just a little bit thoughtful for once. And he said, "I, um, I'm sorry."
She blinked, waiting for the punchline or the slam or whatever would come next. But he didn't elaborate. "You are?" she asked stupidly.
"Look, um, you're obviously not here with the same motives as any other woman I've met, so—"
"I'm nothing like any other woman you've met, Jacob Nash," she snapped.
His lips quirked at the corners, as if he were battling a smile. "No, I guess maybe you're not."
"I'm glad you realize it."
He almost liked her, he decided.
They'd spent the morning pigging out at his favorite pancake house, then they'd done some sightseeing. He took her to lunch at a Cajun place where the music was as spicy as the food. She'd wanted to try everything and damn near burned her taste buds off. But even then, she had still kept her sense of adventure, though he figured she had drunk a gallon of water in between samplings.
It was late afternoon now. Jake drove Trent's Miata into the French Quarter, all the windows down, and watched Sara Brand not fussing with her hair. He thought maybe he did like her. At least, he liked her when she was too busy biting his head off to be afraid of him.
And he liked that she'd admitted to being "attracted to him," even though she denied being out for a quick tumble and a kiss goodbye. He thought she was probably a bit confused on that score … as far as what she wanted and didn't want from him sexually. But that, too, was understandable. She hadn't, after all, denied being a virgin, either.
He parked the car and got out, and she did the same. She didn't wait for him to come around and open her door for her, and he thought for a minute on that. Was it because she preferred doing it herself or because she doubted he had enough class to bother? Well, if it were the former, good for her. If it were the latter—hell, he hadn't exactly given her any reason to think otherwise, now had he?
"So what's the plan?" she asked him.
He actually had other reasons for being in this part of New Orleans. He was hoping to run into his cousin, Vivienne. He had it on good authority that this was where she liked to hang out with her lovers. And he was dying to give the woman an ultimatum and end her antics once and for all. But he wasn't going to tell Sara Brand any of that. "We walk, and if we pass someplace interesting, we go inside," he told her instead. "You'll get a lot more out of it that way than you would on any organized tour."
"Sounds good to me."
Jake started walking and she fell right into step beside him. He pointed out various landmarks. The famous restaurants. The historical homes. The jazz club he liked best.
That was where she wanted to go inside. His approval of her jumped another notch. Then he saw the person he'd been looking for and was doubly glad the lady had a weakness for jazz.
Vivienne. His beautiful cousin wore tight, yellow capri pants and a blouse that was little more than a handkerchief with straps. Stiletto heels. Platinum blond hair twisted and slick. Horn-rimmed sunglasses that were black. Just like her heart, Jake thought.
She went into the club without seeing him, on the arm of some empty-headed pretty boy Jake imagined was an aspiring actor or a professional model.
He took Sara's arm when they passed through the bright-red doors and entered the dark, smoky room, where already the sultry sounds of a tenor sax were waiting to greet them. Jake scanned the crowd in search of Vivienne and the bastard she was with.
"I wouldn't think the bands would start playing until night," Sara said. She had to lean close and speak loudly, near his ear. The shiver of pleasure that gave him was sizable, and it shook him right out of thoughts of Vivienne.
"It's always night in here, sweetheart," he said. He was still holding her arm. It was crowded, and he didn't want to lose her. Or that was what he told himself, anyway. He made a path through the bodies and sidled up to the bar. "Whisky," he said. Then he looked at Sara. "And what do you want?"
"The same."
He raised his brows.
"Well … I've never had whisky before."
He shrugged while the bartender poured. "You won't like it."
"Why not? You do."
Blinking at her, he allowed a small smile. "This isn't a contest sugar. Yeah, I like whisky. I even keep a bottle at the house, for my own private use. No one else can stand the stuff … except for Viv, on occasion." Actually, he'd noticed the level in his private bottle dropping drastically the past few days. Someone was drinking two or three shots every night, and it wasn't him.
Maybe what Viv was up to was mak
ing her nervous. Good. Served her right.
"Viv. That's your cousin, Trent's wife, right?"
"Yeah." Jake spun his stool around, putting his back to the bar, scanning the room. He finally spotted his cousin. She was cuddled up nice and cozy with her hunk at a corner table. Practically in his lap.
"What does she do?" Sara asked.
"She doesn't exactly do anything. Bertram and Flossie are pretty wealthy, though you wouldn't know it to look at them. They give her all the money she can spend and will probably leave her the entire plantation when they're gone. Not that she'll ever do anything but run it into the ground. Of course, Trent wouldn't. Trent would take care of the place … but not if it meant going against the little wife. He's devoted to Viv and her whims."
Sara swallowed hard. "I get the feeling she's not very nice."
"She's not."
Nodding slowly, Sara asked, "In what way?"
He glanced at her. "I don't like airing the family's dirt, chère. You'll think less of us than you already do."
"I happen to like your family very much. Besides, every family has dirt."
"Yeah. Right. You saying the pristine Brands have skeletons in their family closets?"
Sara's smile was a little bit shaky. "You don't believe me?"
He shook his head.
Sara looked him square in the eye. "My parents were killed when I was very small. I don't remember much. But I do recall my dad being away a lot. On business, they used to tell me. Well, just the other day, I found out where he really was on those business trips."
"Really? Where?"
Sara's eyes got a little damp, and Jake almost regretted asking.
"Oklahoma," she said. "Turns out my daddy was a bigamist. He had another wife, another family. I have five illegitimate half-sisters I knew nothing about. And now I have to decide if I even want to."
ANGEL MEETS THE BADMAN Page 4
