by Wegner, Ola
Amy stared with her mouth half open as he walked straight into her living room. After a few moments of just staring after him, with her mouth agape, she followed him, her bare feet tapping on the polished hardwood floor.
“What are you doing here?” she cried furiously.
She crossed his way, her hands on her hips. “I don’t remember inviting you here,” she added, her eyes narrowed at him.
He ignored her last sentence and smiled. “At this very moment I’m admiring the way you look in your pajamas fresh out of bed.”
Only then did she look down at herself. His crawling eyes made her self-conscious all at once. She had pajama bottoms on which now rode low, stopping on her hipbones. A good portion of her rounded tummy was on view, along with the edge of her pink panties. Her slip cami, with tiny straps was perhaps comfortable to sleep in, but at the same time left very little to the imagination.
She pulled up her loose pants and retied the drawstring. Then she tugged down her cami, but stopped when she noticed it revealed more of her breasts. Her arms wrapped defensively across her chest.
Amy mustered up a glare but it didn’t faze him. He still kept smiling down at her, his expression strangely warm and even ... affectionate?
“I didn’t know you were such a sleepyhead,” he noted. “Ten o’clock and you’re still in bed.”
“It’s none of your business,” she muttered. ”How did you get up here? The porter downstairs never allows strangers in,” she demanded hotly.
“I own the building,” he said simply.
“What?”
He walked to the floor-length glass door. “Your father bought this apartment for you from my company.”
“He didn’t tell me about this,” she whispered more to herself than to him.
“Perhaps he didn’t see a reason to do that,” he said.
He opened the glass door and walked out to the terrace.
“I had no idea you wear glasses,” she heard from the outside.
Only then did she realize that she hadn’t put in her contact lenses. Damn, him! The man was intruding on her privacy. Since a little girl she’d been, practically speaking, blind as a mole, and at the same time deeply convinced that she looked horrible in glasses. Despite her father’s reassurance that she’d looked very nice in glasses, she’d insisted on wearing contacts as soon as it’d been possible. She was very proud of herself that hardly anyone had seen her wearing glasses since her early teens.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she persisted as she stood in front of the terrace door. “What are you doing here uninvited?”
He strode leisurely around the terrace for a moment before he walked back to her. “You really shouldn’t talk like this to your future husband.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at her.
“You’re an idiot,” she blurted, then immediately regretted the sarcastic remark. .
At least he stopped smiling, though, she noted with satisfaction.
“I came here because I want to talk with you,” he informed her dryly. “Perhaps you would like to dress yourself first, unless you enjoy letting me look at those sweet looking tits,” he murmured as he pointed with his eyes to the deep cut in her clinging slip cami, in which the tops and the entire curves of her breasts were plainly visible.
Amy gaped at him, not sure whether to slap him or to laugh. She turned on her feet, and marched furiously back to her bedroom, leaving him alone. Thank God he didn’t follow her.
She made record time taking a shower and dressing. After a short consideration, she had decided against washing her long hair. Normally she washed it every day, in either the evening, or when she had more time before work early in the morning. She hated her hair not being fresh as her scalp would feel itchy. However, now it would take too much time to dry it. The last thing she wanted was to give him more time to sniff around her condo. She just pulled her hair haphazardly together in a loose knot at the back of her head, and hurried back to the living room.
He wasn’t there. “Mr. Barry?” she cried in the general direction, relieved, yet slightly disappointed he’d left.
“Jake, please,” he said gently from the open terrace door.
She marched to him decidedly, her lips tightly pressed, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that such familiarity between us is necessary, Mr. Barry,” she stressed.
He shook his head. “And you give the impression of such a sweet-tempered woman, Amy.”
“Miss Carpenter,” she muttered.
His face fell flat. He gave a resigned sigh and said, “Ok, let’s talk business.”
She nodded curtly and walked back inside the apartment. She sat on the large couch, and gestured for him to join her.
He did, but in her opinion, he settled himself much too close to her. She didn’t like her personal space being invaded like that. He reached out for his slightly worn looking leather briefcase, and took out some files.
“Read this,” he instructed and handed her one file.
She took it hesitantly. “What is it?”
“A pre-nup. My lawyer drew it yesterday.”
Amy’s eyes widened involuntarily when she heard the word pre- nup. She stared at the file for a moment.
“Perhaps you misunderstood me yesterday, but I said ‘no’ to your proposal of marriage,” she said slowly.
“Do you want to rescue the company or not?” he asked flatly. “Read it at least. There’s no harm to it, is there?”
She sighed and opened the file hesitantly, leafing through it. There were several pages covered with small print, it was rather long.
“You shouldn’t have problems with understanding it,” he noted. “You were in law school for almost a year after all.”
She frowned. “How do you know about that?”
His gaze focused on her face. “I know a lot about you.”
She peered at him for a moment. “Ok, I’ll look through it, but don’t read too much into it. I’m just curious, and that’s all.”
She couldn’t help when a small yawn escaped her. “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. I can’t think properly without it.” She stood up and after a moment’s hesitation, reluctantly added, “Would you like a cup?” He was a guest after all, even if an uninvited one.
“Sure.” He grinned at her, stood up, and followed her into the kitchen.
She felt self-conscious as she moved around the kitchen. She didn’t look at him but felt his eyes on her.
“Do you always sleep so long?” he asked.
She looked sharply at him, but his expression was neither condescending nor patronizing, and if anything rather friendly.
“Not really,” she said when she filled the coffee maker with a fresh coffee. “I’m not the early bird exactly, but usually I don’t have problems waking at a decent hour. Just lately I haven’t slept much because I’ve been worrying about Dad.”
As the coffee brewed, she glanced at him. He leaned against the counter and gazed at her steadily. Why on earth did he stare at her like that? Didn’t he know that it was plain rude, not to mention, extremely uncomfortable for the other person?
“Would you like something to eat?” she asked as she opened the cupboard with an unnecessary clatter. “I have an apple pie.”
“Home made?” he asked doubtfully.
“Surprised?” She took out the plate with a pie, and removed the paper napkin, which prevented it from drying out. “I like baking, and cooking in general. It’s relaxing. I always cooked for my father when I was still living with him. I baked this yesterday morning for Dad, as well, because he cannot abide food on planes. It’s low fat, there’s not much sugar in it. It’s a bit tart, actually.”
“Looks good,” he murmured. Suddenly, he stood just behind her. “But different than the apples pies I’ve eaten.”
“Because it’s the old family recipe,” she explained as she cut the pie into small pieces and put them neatly on an elegant plate, handing him one
H
e stood close, which made her too aware of his much bigger frame next to her smaller one as he gobbled down his pie.
“My grandmother’s family came to America from Poland when she was just a toddler, but her mother—my great-grandmother—taught her to make some dishes from the old country. And she taught me. I was just ten when she died, but I remembered how to do it.”
She slapped his hand when he reached for another piece. “Hey!”
“Really good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.
She couldn’t help smiling at his boyish expression of pure delight, but soon reminded herself why he was here, and her expression went sober again.
“Shouldn’t it be your stepmother making snacks for your father?”
Amy just shrugged. “She’s got more important things to do,” she murmured with bitterness she didn’t really try to hide, her lips pressed tightly together. “Besides, it would ruin her manicure and you cannot imagine how important that is to her.” Amy tried to turn the last words into a joke, but it fell flat.
Unexpectedly he moved closely behind her and smoothed his big hands over her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.
Amy felt hot, and slightly dizzy from his proximity. As she turned to face him, she pushed the plate with pie into his hands. “You’d better put it on the table.”
When he walked away, she let out a sigh of relief. He made her so nervous. She didn’t understand what was going on here. A week ago she didn’t even remember him existing.
Soon the coffee was ready. She put everything on the tray. The pot, the cups, sugar and milk, and the small plates for the pie. He stood up immediately when he saw her walking gingerly with the loaded tray, and wanted to take it from her.
“I’ll manage.” She backed away with a frown and walked to the table on her own.
While unloading the things from the tray, she noticed that there was only half of the pie left, and there were a few crumbles left on the tablecloth. She smiled despite herself. Somebody obviously had a sweet tooth. Looking at him from the corner of her eye, for the first time, she noticed that he had a bit of a tummy. She remembered him to be much thinner from the times when he’d still worked for her father.
“How do you take your coffee?” she asked as she poured him a cup.
“Black,” the short reply came.
She fixed her own coffee and sat down comfortably on the chair, one leg curled under her. He handed her the file with the pre-nup. She took a sip of the aromatic liquid, and began to read carefully.
“Well,” he asked when she finished.
She shrugged her shoulders. “As I said before, you’re crazy.”
“Is it too big a price for rescuing the company which your father loves most in the world?” he asked earnestly.
“I’m not a prostitute,” she said flatly.
The dark scowl appeared on his face. “I didn’t ask you to be,” he muttered.
“Really? There is not a word here about separate bedrooms.” She tossed the file on the table.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the lawyers,” he said with a gentle calmness in his voice, as though he was trying to explain something to a stubborn child. “But if it’s your wish we can add such a paragraph. I simply thought it best to leave some things private.”
“How considerate of you,” she said mockingly, leaning back into her chair and folding her hands in front of her. “But it’s not that easy. You demand from me to be your wife for the two next years, which according to this document means living with you in one house, accompanying you to all kinds of parties, and other social occasions. Does it mean that you expect me to sleep with you, as well?” She raised her eyebrow in challenge.
“Only if you want to.” He’d said it so sensually, his eyes glittering, that she felt it was safer to lower her own gaze.
“It’s entirely up to you. I’ve never in my entire life forced myself on a woman and I don’t intend to do that in the future. Especially when it comes to a woman I want to marry. And for your information, a dry fuck, when a woman is unwilling, is not much fun for either party.”
Amy blushed instantly at his bluntness, to the root of her honey blond hair, her eyes widening involuntarily. She wasn’t used to such frank sex talk. Perhaps she wasn’t overly experienced, but she and Michael had done enough in bed, for her to know how things worked. But what stunned her even more was that the sexual comments came from him. Never had she heard Jake speak so frankly—so crassly.
Jake leaned into her, his voice low and husky. “You know that when a woman is unprepared, there is no pleasure for either party, right?”
Her blushed increased, and she was so angry at herself she couldn’t control her reaction. “You don’t have to be so crude,” she chastised. “I understand your point. But what guarantee can I have that you would keep your word on this.”
“My word. That should be enough for you.”
“I know you too little to trust your word,” she pointed out reasonably.
He gave her a level look. “You cannot believe I’d ever force myself on you in physical terms,” he spoke matter-of-factly.
He took her hand and kissed it. It was more a caress than a kiss.
“I swear I will not make love to you unless you’re ready and willing,” he stressed as he held her gaze, and stroked her knuckles with his thumb.
“In that case, we wouldn’t even have to go through the divorce after those two years,” she noted coolly and snatched her hand away.
“We wouldn’t?”
“A marriage that is not consummated is not a marriage,” she clarified. “In such cases, annulment is the easiest solution.”
He leaned towards her again, and spoke in a low, deep, resonating voice. “Do you seriously believe that you would manage to live for two years with me, beneath one roof without even the slightest temptation to sleep with me?”
She stared at his face for a long moment.
“Yes, I do,” she said at last and averted her gaze. It sounded unconvincing even to her. She didn’t dare lift her eyes, afraid to see his surely mocking expression.
“I’m glad that we’ve come to an understanding, sweetheart,” he said casually after a minute or so of awkward silence.
She gaped at him in utter surprise. He stood up, leaned over, and cupped her cheek.
“Thank you for the coffee and pie. It was delicious,” he brushed his mouth over hers.
Before she managed to protest, and push away from him, he picked up his briefcase, and walked towards the back of the apartment.
When the shock wound down, she jumped from her place and ran after him. “Wait!” she cried.
She caught up with him, when he was already almost at the door.
He turned to her and grinned. “Want another goodbye kiss?”
She rolled her eyes at his tomfoolery. “I haven’t agreed to anything and we certainly haven’t reached an understanding as you call it,” she informed him firmly.
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “My secretary will send you the details concerning our wedding. We’ll fly to Vegas on Saturday morning.”
“Are you deaf? I said no!” she almost screamed the last words at him.
He stared at her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached for the doorknob and left the apartment.
Chapter Four
Her first instinct was to run after him and quarrel, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her neighbors.
She returned to the living room and saw the file with the pre-nup still lying on the table. Good God, he was serious about this. It wasn’t some weird game or a lame joke on his part. He did want them to marry.
In an attempt to distract herself, she started to clean off the table. She couldn’t understand his reasoning. She’d always thought him to be an intelligent and reasonable man. There was no doubt that he was a sharp businessman. He wouldn’t have achieved so much in such a short pe
riod of time if he hadn’t been smart.
He was definitely good-looking, with that tall, broad physique and blue eyes. His appearance made him handsome in what could be called a good old-fashioned style, like a guy from the advertising posters from the forties or fifties. Though, perhaps to some people, the lines of his face might lack the originality.
Jake Barry was an attractive, young, rich, and influential man. All those things made him quite a catch for most single women. For sure, he shouldn’t have much problem finding a woman who would agree to marry him and have his babies.
So why her? There was always a slim possibility that he wanted to get even because she’d refused to date him years ago. If that was the case, he was simply ridiculous, not to mention childish in his reasoning. His proposition was nothing more than plain manipulation. It could even fall into the category of emotional blackmail. He knew very well how much her father’s peace and happiness mattered to her. He used her weakest point.
There was one thing she was sure of; Jake Barry was a lunatic if he thought she would agree to his crazy idea of marrying him.
Amy loaded the dishwasher and set the right program. She leaned against the counter, her fingers went to her mouth, and she started to bite her fingernails. Jake’s offer was crazy and impossible to accept, but what if he was her only chance to rescue Carpenter & Sons? Amy firmly believed that she would manage to convince her father to gradually retire on the condition that he was sure the company was in good hands.
Carpenter & Sons was Thomas’s joy and life, not just a mere job one needed to perform to pay the rent, and sustain the family. Moreover, the company had been founded over eighty years ago, and during this time had written itself into the history of not only the town but also the entire state. People who worked there were true artists as most of the furniture was entirely handmade. Very often, whole generations of local families worked there.
She herself couldn’t imagine the factory to stop existing, or even worse to be taken over by some outsider who would probably change it into one of those places where assembly line plywood furniture was made. Most of her happiest childhood memories were connected with Carpenter & Sons. As a little girl, she’d come almost every day after school to the factory and with fascination, observed how the furniture had been made. Her father himself liked to make some elements. He could forget about the whole world while working with a piece of wood that later would become a part of a stylish vanity, or the frame of someone’s marriage bed.
