A Man to Believe In

by Deborah Harmse

  So she’d pretended she hadn’t been snuggled against him intimately as if they’d been lovers for years. She ignored the way her hand had been gripping his thigh, forced herself to block out the memory of the unmistakable bulge that had pressed against her ear, startling proof that he hadn’t been unaffected by her impromptu nap either.

  Instead, she’d made some silly remark about how she hadn’t realized how tired she was and followed it up with an uncharacteristic giggle. Jake had responded with an equally bland comment about how a day in the park could tucker a person out, then insisted on making her dinner. So she could get her strength back, he’d said.

  More than ever before, she didn’t want to be alone with him. But if she’d refused, he might have accused her of making a big deal out of nothing. Not only did she not want to discuss the nothing she was making a big deal out of, she didn’t want to hear that he thought of it that way, that he was used to having women curl up with their heads in his lap. That his physical reaction to having her in that position was no big deal as well.

  So here she was, sitting in his kitchen, swirling wine in a crystal goblet, trying to act as though this was just another Sunday evening. She decided that if she played along with his game, it would keep the mood friendly and lighthearted, which was exactly the way she needed it to be.

  “How will the selections be prepared, monsieur?”

  Jake closed the door and faced her. “The steak, thinly sliced and broiled. The chicken, baked in a sherry and mushroom sauce and served over wild rice with pine nuts. I’ll grill the swordfish and baste it with a lemon-garlic butter.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Omelettes are omelettes. I’ll do them in a pan.”

  Cori eyed him with skepticism. “You could make any one of those things?”

  He executed an elegant bow. “Oui, mademoiselle. Your selection, s’il vous plaît?”

  Taking her time deciding, she glanced around the kitchen. It showed all the signs of having a gourmet cook in residence—the latest Cuisinart, an elaborate pasta-making machine, gleaming copper-bottomed pots and pans hanging from a circular rack over the stove. Still, she found it hard to believe he knew how to use all those fancy doodads. He probably had a housekeeper who came in several times a week to clean, do his laundry, and leave meals for him.

  His confident smirk did the trick.

  She chose the chicken dish, partly because she was feeling ornery and it sounded as if it would be the most complicated to fix, and partly because she couldn’t resist calling his bluff.

  A little more than an hour later they were seated in the dining room, the flickering glow from long, tapered candles casting shadows against the wall. A veritable banquet was spread out before them on the rosewood table. Because she hadn’t missed the ease with which he’d prepared the meal—turning down her repeated offers to help—she had some idea of what to expect. He might not be Julia Child, but he knew his way around the kitchen.

  Curious, she took her first bite of chicken. The meat was fork-tender, the wine-mushroom sauce delicately seasoned with herbs and spices. She had never tasted anything so delicious. For that matter, she had never made anything so delicious.

  “I should have asked you to prepare crow,” she commented sheepishly, already wondering if she’d have room for seconds.

  Jake laughed. “I probably have a recipe for that around here somewhere.”

  She speared another piece of chicken. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

  Cori hadn’t expected to have an appetite after their big picnic lunch, but she did. Finally, after finishing another small helping of baby peas and pearl onions, she put her fork down. “If I eat another bite, I won’t be able to walk out of here.”

  “How about some more wine,” he offered, holding the bottle in his outstretched hand.

  The meal had been exquisite, the company enjoyable. Cori was feeling mellow and carefree and a little bit reckless. She held out her goblet and accepted one more glass, then watched him refill his own before setting the bottle back on the silver-rimmed wine coaster.

  “I like your family,” she commented, swirling the pale liquid slowly before taking a sip.

  “They like you too.”

  Leaning back, she curled her feet up under her legs, her shoes discarded somewhere beneath her chair. “How can you tell?”

  For a long moment he didn’t answer. He simply stared at her over the rim of his glass, his gaze briefly dipping to her mouth. A warm tickling sensation swiftly flowed through her. She told herself it was the wine she’d just swallowed—and not the way his deep blue eyes seemed to be making love to her from across the table.

  “I hope my sisters didn’t embarrass you with their interrogation today.” His voice sounded rough and sexy, like sandpaper against velvet. She felt herself shiver.

  “Not at all,” she replied, noticing he still hadn’t answered her question.

  “They got kind of personal.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Friendly curiosity. I didn’t mind, really.”

  “You handled it very well.”

  Cori curved her lips into a modest smile. “Thank you. I have to admit, they seemed to have the routine down cold.” The thought of them firing questions at other women he’d introduced them to was curiously unsettling. But she had to know. “Have they done that often?”

  Jake shook his head slowly. “Never.”

  “Oh, come now,” she teased, keeping her tone light in an effort to disguise the fact that her interest was anything but casual. “Are you telling me they’ve never put any of your ladyfriends through their version of the Inquisition before?”

  He almost smiled. “No. What I mean is”—he paused, glancing at his wine, then at his empty plate, then back at her—“they’ve never met one of my ladyfriends before. You’re the first.”

  “Oh.”

  “When the girls were little,” he continued before she could digest the implications of what he’d said, “I was too busy trying to keep the business from going under after my grandfather passed away—and attending college in the evening to get my business degree—to have time for a serious relationship.”

  “It still amazes me that you took on that much responsibility when you were so young.”

  “I did what I had to do.” He tossed back the rest of his wine as if it were a shot of whiskey. “And while I still managed to find time for dating, I always put my responsibility to the family first.”

  Cori’s heart went out to him. “You were always there for them.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I had to be. I was the head of the family. I still am.”

  “But they’re not little girls anymore.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “They seem so bright, so capable of taking care of themselves, they probably don’t need much help now.”

  He sat back and folded his arms in front of him. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t you quit beating around the bush and say what’s on your mind.”

  She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was even possible to make him understand that he was interfering in his sister’s life, then decided it was worth a try.

  “Okay,” she said. “Susie’s old enough to choose her own friends. Why’d you make such a big fuss about her new boyfriend today?”

  “Because he’s a loser.”

  Cori gave him a doubtful look. “Have you met Robert?”

  “No, but I know his type.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “He’s a dreamer. He’s chasing after a nonexistent rainbow he’ll never find. And if he gets married and has kids, they’ll never come first with him. Because the dream always means more to guys like that than the responsibility of taking care of his family.” Jake looked away for a second. “As I said before, I know his type.”

  He looked so serious all of a sudden, and for a brief moment she wondered if they were still talking about Robert. “Maybe your sister likes his type
,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, well, she’s young and doesn’t know any better. But someday soon she’s going to want to settle down and raise a family, and she’ll need a husband who can share that responsibility. That’s the kind of man she should be dating.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded, realizing there was a certain truth to what he’d said. “But the fact remains, she’s old enough to make those decisions for herself, and who she chooses to go out with really isn’t any of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” Jake threw down his napkin and stood up. Without saying another word he left the room.

  Her mouth half open, Cori watched his stiff-backed exit in silence, then pulled her lips together into a thin line. In a matter of seconds he’d gone beyond serious to flat-out angry. Somewhere along the line she’d managed to get just as worked up about the subject as he was, probably because her own struggle for independence was still remarkably fresh in her mind.

  She’d been young—a junior in college when she’d dated graduate student Alan Phillips—but plenty old enough to make her own decisions, and steadfastly determined to do so. As if it were yesterday she remembered the arguments they’d had when she refused to accept his edicts where she was concerned, the frustrations she’d felt each time he’d proclaimed he knew what was best for her. Yes, she knew exactly what Susie was going through trying to convince Jake she was qualified to make her own decisions and be in control of her own life.

  Cori found herself sympathizing with Robert as well. The grand opening of her bookstore was just around the corner because in spite of the numerous obstacles she’d encountered over the years, she never gave up on her dream of owning her own business. Sure, it had been a struggle, working overtime at the library, taking second jobs to earn extra money. Convincing the bank to make her a loan was no easy task either. But she’d done it because she’d been determined to achieve her goal. Naturally she would jump to the defense of anyone who was willing to keep trying no matter what the odds for success might be.

  But no matter how well she related to Susie’s struggle for independence or Robert’s need to hold on to a dream, it wasn’t her business to tell Jake how to handle his relationship with his sister, she admitted. In fact, the way she’d been throwing her opinions around wasn’t all that different from the way Jake had been trying to tell Susie what to do.

  Smiling grimly, she stood up and drew in a deep breath. No doubt about it, she owed Jake an apology. She might as well get it over with.

  She found him in his study. He was sitting at one end of a cordovan leather couch, his long legs stretched out before him and resting on a scarred oak coffee table, a magazine in his hands. A deep-toned Persian rug covered a good portion of the hardwood floor, and built-in bookcases, overflowing with books, magazines, and trophies of all shapes and sizes, lined one entire wall. The room, with its dark oak paneling and plantation shutters, was like the man—distinctly masculine. Still standing at the threshold of his domain, she found herself feeling particularly feminine.

  “If you’re still speaking to me, I’d like to apologize,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Jake glanced up, then leaned forward and dropped the magazine on the table. “For what?”

  “I said some things I shouldn’t have.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “I guess I deserve a good swift kick in the fanny, huh?”

  He pulled his feet from the table and planted them on the floor, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he allowed himself a nice long, head-to-toe once-over of the woman standing in the doorway to his study.

  Her cheeks were flushed, probably from having consumed a little too much wine, or maybe because of the way she’d worked herself into a lather arguing with him. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and down the front of her pink sweatshirt, the ends barely covering the gentle swell of her breasts. Stone-washed jeans clung to her slender curves and long legs, causing him to wonder if it was possible for a sane man to be jealous of a yard or so of blue denim.

  More than a dozen things came instantly to mind when he thought about what he’d like to do to the portion of her anatomy she’d offered him, but not one of them would cause her the sort of discomfort brought on by a swift kick in the fanny.

  “In this instance,” he said, “I don’t think corporal punishment would be appropriate.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Have a seat. Maybe we can negotiate a truce.”

  Cori came and sat down next to him. She probably hadn’t meant to sit so close, but she sank into the butter-soft leather and rolled toward him until their thighs touched. Jake had always liked the couch. Tonight it earned an extra special place in his heart.

  “You’re not mad?” she asked, her brows raised in doubt.

  He shook his head. “Nope, and I’m sorry I yelled at you, especially since you didn’t say anything I haven’t heard many times.”

  “From Susie?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted with a nod. “We’ve had the very same argument more times than I can count.” When Cori opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand. “I don’t mean to try to run her life for her. It’s just that she seems so serious about this guy Robert, and it worries me. He’s an actor, for Pete’s sake. The chances of him ever making a decent living are slim to none.”

  Frowning, Cori had to admit Jake had a point. She’d read enough statistics about the acting business to know that an incredibly small percentage of actors made more money than they knew what to do with. The rest would starve if they had to depend solely on acting jobs to pay their bills. For most people, it was a tough way to make a living.

  And while Jake seemed to cling to old-fashioned ideas about a man being the sole support of his family, when it came to the bottom line, his main concern was for his sister’s welfare. Cori couldn’t fault the man for that. In fact, she admired him. Still, there was one angle Jake hadn’t considered.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly you were willing to keep trying,” she asked, “no matter how many times you failed, no matter how often you were told you’d never be able to accomplish your goal?”

  Jake stood up. He walked over to the wet bar built into one corner of the study and opened a leaded-glass door. Without saying a word he pulled a snifter from the cupboard, then poured a generous amount of brandy into the glass. His arm outstretched, he offered it to Cori. She shook her head. He knew she was waiting for him to answer her question.

  He took his drink and went over to stand in front of the fireplace. Resting one foot on the hearth, sipping slowly, he thought about what she’d said. He thought about the obvious hints she’d given him at the party when they’d met, hints that should have told him he didn’t have one chance in a million at getting her to go out with him. He thought about her reaction when he’d shown up at the library the next day, how she’d made it crystal-clear she didn’t want to talk to him. And he thought about the way she’d turned down his lunch invitation and the ballet tickets over and over. But no matter how often she’d turned him down, he kept asking.

  A man more easily discouraged—or less determined—would have given up long ago.

  Jake took a final sip of brandy, then set the glass down on the mantel and went over to the couch. Without questioning what he was about to do, or where his actions would lead, he sat down next to her and took her face in his hands.

  “Yes, Cori,” he told her honestly, finally understanding Robert’s need to keep trying in the face of incredible odds. “I have wanted something that badly.”

  Barely breathing, Cori watched as he lowered his mouth to hers. She slowly closed her eyes, refusing to think about what she was doing, or about where it would end.

  He brushed a series of kisses against her lips, whisper-soft and full of promise. She didn’t turn away, or try to stop him, and the pressure increased so slightly, she thought she might have imagined it. She wondered why he didn’t kiss her harder, then realiz
ed with a start that he was giving her time to change her mind. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Enveloped in a cloud of spicy cologne, she gave herself up to the feelings washing over her. She let her hands travel up his arms, relishing the way his muscles tightened in response. She remembered another time, at the Halloween party. His skin had been bare to her touch then as well. She’d tested his strength with her fingertips and found his barely leashed power exciting. Now, linking her hands behind his neck, she pulled him closer.

  She felt his work-roughened hands caress the smooth skin on her cheeks, creating a delicious friction. Still, he kissed her as if she were fragile, moving his lips over hers in a slow, lazy pattern until she thought he had to be driving her crazy on purpose. She leaned closer still, pressing against him, wanting more than anything for him to quit holding back and really kiss her. A quiet moan escaped his mouth, but for reasons she couldn’t begin to imagine, he clung to his control. In a last effort to push him over the edge, she glided her tongue over the ridge of his upper lip.

  With a groan he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth.

  She felt a spark ignite in the pit of her stomach. It spread like wildfire through every inch of her body. For a long moment their tongues dueled playfully, first in her mouth, then in his. He snaked his fingers through her hair and held her head firmly as he bit her lower lip, then slowly drew it into his mouth.

  Years of denying herself this pleasure melted away. She knew she had reasons—lots of them—for avoiding situations like the one she was in now, but she couldn’t think of a single one right then.

  Slowly, he eased her down, covering her body with his own. Soft leather creaked beneath her as his mouth continued its assault. She ran her hands across his broad shoulders and down his back, enjoying the sensation of touching him, kissing him.