Make Me Risk It

by BETH KERY

  “You made me doubt myself about the stalactites and stalagmites,” she accused, taking his hand and following him up the craggy limestone rock and dirt spill without hesitation. “All that talk yesterday about me being a city girl and everything. Lead feet,” she grumbled under her breath as they climbed.

  “If the lead shoe fits . . . ,” he said, hauling on her weight with his hand. She came to a halt, three-quarters up the rock pile. She looked stunned.

  “You’ve got a sense of humor.” Her smile made his stomach do a little flip-flop. He frowned to hide that fact.

  “What, you think a hillbilly can’t make a joke?” he grumbled, climbing up the remaining rocks.

  “That’s got nothing to do with it,” she defended, following him, clearly determined to make her point. “You’re so smart about being on your own, and surviving in the woods. My dad would say you’re right-brained. That means you know how to work things mechanically.”

  “And that I don’t get jokes?” He hauled her up on the long, narrow rock next to where he crouched. The small opening was just a few feet above them.

  “No. Stop twisting my words around.”

  “Do you want to go first?”

  “What?” she asked, blinking. She glanced around them, blanching when she noticed how far they’d climbed up the jagged rock spill. “Oh, crap.” She reached, clutching desperately at the edge of the opening above them for balance.

  “If it bothers you, stop looking,” Jake said firmly. “Look where you’re going, not where you’ve been.” He pointed up at the sunny opening and put his hand on her back. “Go on.”

  “But . . .”

  “Just do it,” he said, pushing on her back. “It’s not hard to pull yourself out. I’m coming right after you.” When she wavered in the hole, he firmed his resolve. He pushed on her butt hard. She disappeared with a surprised squawk.

  He followed her fleetly through the opening. She was on her hands and knees on the sunny cliff, her head turned, her aquamarine eyes flashing fire.

  “It got you up here,” he stated simply, coming to his feet. He reached for her hand as a form of apology. Her expression of outrage melted to one tinged with wonder. Slowly, she fell back onto her haunches and took his hand. He hauled her up.

  “You were messing with me so that I wouldn’t notice how high we were on those rocks, weren’t you? You really do know more than just how to take care of yourself and math. I think my dad would want to meet you,” she said once they stood facing each other, their hands remaining clasped.

  He rolled his eyes to diminish the warmth that rushed through him at her compliment. She smiled at his flash of embarrassment, all her fury forgotten. She glanced to the side.

  “Oh, shit.”

  She lurched toward the cliff, jerking him with her. She’d seen the drop-off to the gorge. Her face had gone pale as paper, making the light freckles on her nose appear even more pronounced. She pressed her back to the cliff wall.

  “Harper—”

  “I’m not jumping off that ledge,” she declared hotly. “That’s not thirty feet!”

  “Yeah, it is,” he reasoned, sensing he was losing her. “The hills and the canyon make a kind of . . . of . . . an optical illusion.” Yeah, that’s it. “It fools the brain into thinking the river is farther down than it is.”

  “Really?” She cast a wary glance over his shoulder in the direction of the gorge. He’d guessed she’d be convinced by anything that had to do with the brain and psychology, given the way she seemed to hold her dad up on such a tall pedestal. Jake wasn’t above using that knowledge to convince her.

  “Yeah,” he insisted, tugging on her hand. She straightened, leaving the wall but refusing to move her feet and get closer to the ledge. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending upon Jake’s frantic, bewildering feelings about her—that meant that she stood very close to him.

  “I can’t jump off that cliff, Jake,” she said solemnly, holding his stare.

  “You don’t have to. We’re going to do it together.” He put his hands on her hips. They felt round beneath his hands . . . such an incredible, mesmerizing swell of flesh. How could a girl be so different than a boy?

  “Like this?” she asked shakily, putting her hands below his waist, mirroring his hold on her. She stepped closer.

  He nodded, unable to speak for a few seconds.

  “Except tighter. I won’t let go of you, Harper.”

  She glanced soberly to the right. The ledge of the cliff was three feet away.

  “I promise,” he added.

  He felt her fear bubbling just beneath the surface.

  “Okay,” she finally said reluctantly.

  He let out a sigh of relief.

  “Wait,” he said when she started to shuffle cautiously over the ledge, her face pale.

  “What?”

  “We . . . we have to . . . we have to take our clothes off first—or at least some of them,” he said in a desperate burst. “I only had room in the packs to bring us one extra shirt, some socks, and some extra underwear for me, but I didn’t have any for—”

  “For me. I know,” she said, her cheeks coloring. She looked down at his chest. “It’s weird, wearing jeans without underwear. Your jeans,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Sorry.”

  She looked up at him. “It’s not your fault. I know you just want to do this because you don’t want me to freak out if—” She blew deliberately out of her mouth. “Right. So we’ll take off our jeans, since they’re the only bottoms we’ve got.”

  “And our socks and shoes,” he said. “They pop off in the water. Trust me.”

  “We’ll go in with everything else on. The clothes will get a wash that way, just like us,” she said, attempting to sound firm and practical, but still coming off shaky. Still, Jake got the impression it helped her, to make some of the decisions on her own.

  “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. For a few seconds, they both hesitated self-consciously, still embracing each other. Then they stepped back at once. Jake kicked off his tennis shoes and pulled off his socks, keeping his head lowered. After he’d removed his jeans, he dared to look up cautiously. She was standing there looking as serious as a judge, clutching the edge of his Mountaineers T-shirt against pale thighs. His gaze dropped over her naked legs without him telling it to. He’d never thought about legs being pretty until Harper.

  “Ready?” he asked gruffly, stepping toward her. He’d never been more self-conscious in his life, but he knew he couldn’t come off that way. He knew that jumping off the cliff was a relatively easy maneuver. At all costs, he needed to make Harper feel some of his confidence.

  She just nodded and stepped toward him. He’d heard the phrase heart in your throat before. He saw Harper’s neck convulse thickly, and thought that’s what she must be experiencing. He determinedly put his hands on her waist, again feeling that amazing swell of her hips.

  “We have to get next to the ledge,” he said, holding her stare.

  She nodded, but looked unwilling.

  He edged them over carefully. Her head turned. She whimpered softly as they neared the drop-off.

  “Don’t look at that. Look at me,” he said sharply.

  Her gaze darted to his face. He saw her wild anxiety.

  “It’s gonna be fine. I’ve told you how many times I’ve done this before. You know how to swim, don’t you?” Why didn’t you ask her that before, idiot?

  “Yes. I’m a good swimmer. I’m on swim team.”

  “Okay. Then there’s no problem. Keep looking at me. Over just a few more inches . . .” He scooted them closer to the cliff. Her stare on him now was focused, like it was a lifeline she was clinging onto. Her face looked pale and rigid with fear.

  “Put your hands on me,” he said when they’d come to a halt.

  She grasped onto h
is waist tightly.

  “Come closer,” he said.

  She hugged him. Their fronts sealed tight. Her breath tickled his nose and lips. Her small, round breasts pressed against his chest, the tips pointed and hard. He opened his mouth to instruct her—

  “Your eyes are so pretty.”

  “What?” he asked hoarsely, startled.

  “Your eyes.”

  He grimaced in disbelief. “They’re like that river down there. Muddy brown-green.”

  “Maybe your mirror at home is dirty. There’s gold in them, and flecks of green and brown. And they’re as clear as a clean stream.”

  He felt his body hardening, which horrified him. If they didn’t do this now, she was going to notice.

  “We’re going to jump out from the cliff as far as we can and fall with our feet straight down. Do you understand? Harper?” he asked when she didn’t respond for a moment, still staring fixedly at him. She blinked. “Don’t hesitate on your jump, or we might fall too close to the cliff. That’s dangerous. You gotta jump, all or nothing. Fall feetfirst, straight into the water. Got it?”

  “Jump as far as out from the cliff as I can. Feet straight in the water,” she repeated.

  “Okay. On the count of three,” he said loudly.

  She pressed even closer to him, so that he swore he could feel her heart frantically beating into his chest. His own started to hammer in tandem with it.

  “One, two—

  “Don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t let go,” he vowed, clutching her to him for all he was worth. “Three.”

  They leapt in together. The earth fell away. His stomach dropped seemingly faster than his body. Harper gave a muted squeal. He kept his eyes open as they free-fell, gauging how far they were from the cliff face. He had a fleeting impression of her copper-colored, streaming hair, clamped eyelids, and pale face. Just before they hit the surface of the water, she opened her eyes.

  The image seemed to burn into his brain. He saw it even as they plunged into the New River and his eyelids sealed shut as water jetted around them.

  He saw it still, twenty years later: Harper’s gaze glued to him with a fierce, desperate trust.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day

  Being more familiar with San Francisco in comparison to Tahoe, she thought she knew what to expect as far as a Sea Cliff mansion. She’d dated a ridiculously narcissistic hedge fund investor for a short period—a very short time—whom had lived in Sea Cliff. Over the years, she’d also attended a handful of cocktail and dinner parties in the affluent San Francisco neighborhood.

  Of course, none of that actually prepared her for Jacob’s home. It was located on the farthest point of a promontory where it sat in solitary grandeur, commanding a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. It was entirely made of white limestone, its stark silhouette creating a striking contrast to the dark cliffs and the periwinkle blue of the Pacific Ocean. While his Tahoe compound was warm, rustic sophistication, the Sea Cliff home was cool, sleek grandeur. They were greeted at the front door by a short, stocky woman in her forties who seemed to brim over with a sense of enthusiastic purpose, and an older, attractive woman who struck Harper as elegant, cautious, and sedate.

  “Harper McFadden, I’d like you to meet Jenny Caravallo, my admin here in San Francisco, and Marianne Holstein, my house manager,” Jacob introduced briskly as they entered a white dome-ceilinged entry hall and the chauffer bustled around them with their luggage.

  Both women greeted them warmly. Jenny’s energy couldn’t be contained in polite greetings for long, though. She almost immediately launched into the latest happenings with the ResourceSoft acquisition difficulties. Jacob put up a hand, and she halted midsentence.

  “Excuse me. Marianne? Would you show Harper to my suite? We have a dinner reservation in . . .” He looked at his watch and scowled. “A little over an hour.”

  “Of course. Follow me,” Marianne said to Harper with a smile.

  Harper glanced back at Jacob. He was listening to Jenny, but he looked up and met her stare, a trace of annoyance and apology in his eyes. Harper smiled her assurance. She’d been expecting him to be bombarded with work once he crossed the threshold. He’d asked her to San Francisco because of a work complication, after all.

  Marianne led her to stunning quarters decorated almost exclusively in whites, grays, and cool blues that matched the jaw-dropping view of the sky and the ocean outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The housekeeper gave her a tour of the enormous suite.

  “That’s Mr. Latimer’s bathroom over there, and the guest facilities are right in here,” Marianne was saying. Harper yanked her gaze off the spectacular view and followed the house manager into a luxurious bathroom. So, Jacob bathed separately from his “guests” here at Sea Cliff.

  “Yes, it looks as if Charles has set your bags in here already,” Marianne said pleasantly, pointing at an open door that led to what appeared to be an attached dressing room and closet with mirrors. Harper saw her suitcase and carryall near the door.

  “It looks as if I’m all set, then,” she said warmly to Marianne.

  Marianne left with an insistence that Harper call on one of the house phones if she should need anything. Harper sighed when the older woman closed the double doors behind her. She glanced uneasily at the guest facilities, acknowledging to herself that the existence of that bathroom was the reason for her sudden disquietude. For some reason, that room—a stupid room—underlined Jacob’s typical aloofness with women . . . his determination to keep his personal life ultimately separate from his sexual one.

  “Only in the bedroom shall we meet,” Harper mumbled under her breath sarcastically as she headed toward her assigned bathroom.

  Most of her irritation melted away a few minutes later as she stood in the luxurious steam shower. Was she really going to get pissy over the way Jacob had arranged his home? He wasn’t the only person in existence who wanted privacy in the bathroom. She herself preferred it.

  She heard the bathroom door clicking shut and jumped in surprise. Jacob walked around the shower enclosure. He was naked.

  Gloriously so.

  He opened the shower door and stepped in. Her gaze dropped over him as steam curled around his long, muscular body. Her heart began to race in excitement.

  So much for craving privacy in the bathroom.

  “You weren’t getting started without me, were you?” he asked, a lazy smile tilting his mouth. He stepped beneath the shower spray, taking her into his arms. She stifled a groan of pleasure at the sensation of his wet naked body pressing against her own.

  “I only washed my hair so far,” she replied, looking up at him.

  “I wasn’t talking about hygiene,” he murmured, before his mouth covered hers. His kiss was even more sultry and hot than the shower enclosure.

  “Jacob, if I don’t get out now and dry my hair, I won’t make it for dinner,” she said a breathless moment later. Despite her words, she dipped her knees slightly, running her wet body up and down against his. He was so hard. It felt divine, his ribs pressing against her breasts, the column of his stiffening cock sliding across her belly.

  He stopped her abruptly by cupping one of her ass cheeks in a large hand.

  “So you’ll go to the opera with wet hair,” he replied, his smoldering gaze on her mouth and his squeezing hand on her ass making focusing difficult. She managed a sarcastic look up at him.

  “Okay, no wet hair,” he granted. “We’ll just have to make good use of our time, then.” He put both hands on her ass and guided her over to the shower bench seat. He urged her to sit. She watched him, taking in the wonders of his powerful back, bulging biceps, and glistening ass as he turned his back to her. When he returned, he held one of the shower attachments, a Waterpik massager. There was something about the way he grasped the golden handle of the instrument
so . . . purposefully that made her eyes go wide.

  “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I washed you last night,” he rasped, coming down on his knees in front of her. Harper graphically recalled his intimate, tender washing of her sex after multiple orgasms had left her limp and exhausted. She watched as he used his thumb to flip on the spray. Water jetted on the seat next to her, the pressure good and strong . . .

  “I thought it’d be too selfish to bring you off again last night, as wrung out as you were.” Water droplets clung to his long lashes. He opened his hand on her thigh, spreading her knees. “But you’re not tired now, are you?”

  She merely shook her head, made mute by his heavy-lidded stare and the sound of the Waterpik shooting onto the seat beside her. He lifted the massager. Warm water shot onto her thigh, massaging the muscle. He moved it up, just inches away from her sex.

  “Do you like a shower massager?” he asked languidly. He stared fixedly between her thighs.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His gaze darted up to her face. “I’m asking if you ever masturbate with one.”

  Her mouth fell open. She’d heard of women doing it, of course. But she’d never had the proper equipment in her house to do it herself.

  “No,” she mouthed, because he’d aimed the showerhead on her mons. Water ran in rivulets over her outer sex. His head was bowed. His attention on her appeared to be absolute. The vibrations reached her clit. She whimpered softly.

  “You’ve got the prettiest pussy in existence,” he muttered, moving aside the Waterpik. He ducked his head over her lap and ran his tongue between her labia, laving her clit hard. She made a choked sound and grabbed at his head, her fingers sinking into his wet hair. His tongue was firm. Deft.

  He knew exactly what he was doing.

  He lifted his head and lowered the shower massager onto her outer sex. She groaned, her eyes springing wide. The pressure was hard, a little too intense, in fact. It eased a mere second after she’d thought it. He’d been watching the expression on her face, and let up on the pressure valve on the nozzle. Now it was ideal. She fell back mindlessly on the narrow seat, the shower wall bracing her back.