by Alison Kent
“Not the cause, but definitely a contributing factor. The competition was my idea. The result of a lot of beer and a lot of bragging during a Spring Break keg party our senior year at A & M. Thing is, even after we sobered up, we were stupid enough to go ahead with it.”
A grim smile twisted his mouth. “And the rivalry wasn’t so friendly.”
Eden heard the regret in his voice, saw it in his eyes. Hated that he was holding himself singularly responsible for the decision of four. “And how would things have been different if you hadn’t gone ahead with this competition? Obviously, you were all incredibly driven, incredibly talented. Do you think that you—that any of you—would’ve pushed yourselves any less?”
“I think we might’ve done more pulling together and left the cutthroat tactics for the sharks,” he said and slumped back in his chair.
“You said the others came to the Farriday dedication.” She smiled, looking for good news where she could. “That sounds to me like they were pulling for you.”
“But I never pulled for them. Which is something I have to deal with. And why, even though you and I have a relationship that’s gone beyond business,” he admitted with an obvious reluctance, “I can’t be the friend you need. I have a history of failing those closest to me, and I’m not going to risk doing it again. I’ve got my dog, and I live alone. It is what it is.”
She heard him. She didn’t believe him. She wanted to smack some sense into him. What good were isolation and withdrawal when all this time later he still shouldered blame?
He could hardly spend the rest of his life living like a hermit, unsure how his friends felt about his defection, unsure what had become of them, where they were, how life had touched them, when he would see them again... and why should he, when the phone was but an arm’s length away?
And then she remembered the rest of what he’d said, words about failing those closest to him. Tentatively reaching for one of his hands, she asked, “Jace? Am I close to you?”
He laughed low in his throat. “Probably too close.”
She pressed. “And that bothers you?”
“Only a lot.” He squeezed her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “But what bothers me the most is that I slaved over a hot stove and now the bacon’s probably cold.”
“That’s okay,” she said, ready to let him off the hook. Neither of them needed to take this any further tonight, if they needed to take it further at all. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
Jace grinned his cocky devil’s grin, a smile that slid over her like sexy silk undies and almost took her apart. “Well, now. You not having an appetite has to be a first.”
“If I wasn’t so tired I’d hurt you for that.” She forced a small yawn, wanting him to go because suddenly she wanted him to stay. “I think I’ll make it an early night. The Festival starts Tuesday, and I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Right. And I need to finish up the shelves so I can get started in the kitchen next week. Your new cabinets are splitting the seams of my workroom.” He touched her cheek in farewell, started to get to his feet and stopped.
Like an unexpected change of heart, indecision flickered in his eyes. His fingers slid to her nape. His thumb pressed the manic pulse in her throat. His eyes narrowed, his black-fringed gaze a sultry mix of wonder and want.
Jace pulled. Eden closed her eyes and followed.
Warm breath fanned her cheek. His lips brushed hers. Breathless, delicate kisses, the barest touch of mouth on mouth. Nibbling, teasing, nuzzling, so soft.
She opened her mouth under his and tasted, the salt of bacon and man. Teased, her lips nipping at his, her mouth pressing hard. Tempted, her palm splayed flat on his heartbeat and up, sliding to the slope of his jaw and into his hair.
Jace responded like a man, sliding forward in his chair, almost into hers. He swallowed her kiss with a hunger that trembled beneath her touch. “Christ, Eden. Touch me.”
Enticed to madness, Eden laid her hands on his thighs. The taut muscles jumped beneath her fingertips. She slipped her palms higher, to his hips, holding him the way he held her. Like she’d die if she didn’t.
Time stood still. The hour, the minute, seconds disappeared. Nothing mattered. Only Jace, the way his mouth fed on hers, the way his five o’clock shadow abraded the skin from her jaw to her ear.
He nipped the lobe, breathing sweet words, trailing intimate sounds to her throat. She shivered, shuddered, spun like ribbons of gold in the sun.
Whimpers of need spilled from her lips, and Jace’s groan was gut-level deep. His fingers fumbled with the buttons at her neck, then lower and lower still.
Air breathed over her throat, her collarbone, the swell of one breast. Jace’s mouth followed, tracing a path to the cleft of her breasts. Her skin tingled, her breathing ached, her nipples pleaded for his touch.
She tossed her head back, invited him close and, for the first time in months, let herself feel. Oh, she’d forgotten what it felt like to feel.
Her palms slid under his shirt, up his back, soothing tense muscles, testing resilient skin and strength held in check. Her ivory linen blouse gaped open to the lace of her bra, and the silk of his hair rubbed friction and fire on her skin.
He gripped her upper arms, slid his fingers beneath the bra straps, working them down. His tongue performed wickedness in the hollow of her throat, down the center of her chest, wetting the edge of the lace covering her full breasts.
And then he stopped, stiffened, slumped back in his chair. Fever brightness burned in his eyes. The cords in his neck stood in rigid relief.
Muscles bunched beneath his black shirt. Urgency swirled thick through the air and even thicker beneath Jace’s jeans, ten washings past worn.
Refusing to look away, Eden reached for her clothes. She damned herself for recklessly surrendering to physical passion. She knew better. Knew where her priorities lay. And sex was nowhere on the list.
Jace brushed her hands aside and gently straightened the straps of her bra. Starting at the top, he buttoned her buttons. And then he raised his head.
His voice rumbled low and deep, husky with lust— and regret—when he said, “Do you really think that we can be friends? With this thing between us?”
She knew he was right, but it didn’t ease the ache. Chin up, she stood. He got to his feet as well and, without giving her a chance to say a word, ran one finger across her cheek. He raked back his hair, scrubbed both hands down his face.
Then he turned and walked into the night.
HE HADN’T MEANT TO kiss her. He really hadn’t. And now he damn sure wished that kiss had never happened, because he could think of nothing else.
The big white bandage swathing his left thumb proved the point. He hadn’t missed with a hammer in years.
Four days ago, the morning after their ill-fated showdown, he’d purposefully delayed his arrival until noon, counting on the fact that if she’d stuck to her usual timetable, Eden would be busy in the shop.
After skulking through the back door into the kitchen, he’d spent the day boxing up the contents of her two kitchen cabinets before tearing them down from the wall. The mindless labor gave him too much time to think, and his imagination took over where the kiss left off.
Seconds into picturing Eden naked and stretched out on his bed, he’d brought the hammer down on his thumb, effectively derailing his train of thought, as well as a good day’s work.
Friday morning he’d shown up minutes after she opened shop and worked like a madman to finish dismantling and hauling away the debris before she closed The Fig Leaf at five.
The worst part of those few days had been passing her in the hallway, or running into her in the kitchen, with nothing more than a mumbled, “Hi.” That, and the meals he’d eaten alone.
He’d sat on the tailgate of his truck and chewed a tasteless ham and cheese sandwich, thinking of the reasons he’d moved to Arbor Glen, reasons he’d done a good job of sitting on until, with Eden’s si
mply asked questions, he’d opened a vein and bled out his past.
And until he’d been stupid enough to kiss her.
Feeling her warm lips pressed against his had been the purest kind of torture. But a different kind of torture than forcing her to understand who and what he was.
He hadn’t wanted sympathy. Or pity. And neither was what she’d offered. What she wanted to give him he couldn’t take without hating himself for the rest of his life.
He and Eden had no future. She was a determined single woman, making a life for herself and her unborn children. And that life might one day take her back into the jaws of the very monster that had wreaked havoc on Jace’s life.
He wasn’t about to confront the demon on its own feeding grounds. Yeah, he was afraid. He knew the lure of success, the high that came with celebrity, with every professional coup.
Knew, too, that avoiding temptation was the surest way to guarantee that he wouldn’t fall back into those old traps. And avoiding temptation meant keeping his distance from the woman who could take him there.
Right now he wasn’t able to completely understand what he felt for Eden. Their relationship had gone way past business and though it pained him to admit it, way past friendship. He owed her an apology for walking out the way he had. “I’m sorry” didn’t seem like enough.
This first day of the Spring Fest seemed busy. Even at nine o’clock this morning, he’d barely been able to pull into the traffic on Highway 37.
Halfway down Main he’d nailed his brakes to the floor to avoid hitting a kid running across the street in front of his truck.
His heart still pounding from the near miss, he’d pulled to a stop in her drive, grinding his gears as he searched for neutral. He’d climbed from the truck and walked through her back door into the kitchen just as she’d pushed away from her breakfast.
Their “Good mornings” had come on top of each other, the atmosphere strained, uncomfortable; they were strangers who knew more than strangers should. At least the day was almost over.
Catching the corner of the screen with the heel of his boot, he maneuvered through her back door, hauling in the last of the new cabinets. And came face-to-face with Chloe Angelino.
Face to foot seemed more accurate. She sat yoga style. On top of his six-foot ladder. Her bare feet soles up in the bend of her knees.
Paint splatters dotted her long bare legs and the sleeves of the flannel shirt she’d knotted at her midriff. Her shorts were too short, to Jace’s way of thinking.
From his vantage point, leg wasn’t all he could see. “Can’t you read?”
She lowered her gaze from the ceiling to his face. “When I find it necessary.”
He stacked the cabinets on top of one another, crossed the room and jabbed at the sticker on the top step with one finger. DO NOT STAND ON OR ABOVE THIS STEP. YOU CAN LOSE YOUR BAIANCE.
“I never lose my balance,” Chloe said with a toss of her head.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Jace held on to the sides. “I’d rather not be around for yours. Down. Now.”
Chloe expelled a long breath and Jace looked away as she descended rump first.
“I hope you haven’t tracked paint through the house,” he said, noting the rainbow of primary colors she wore.
Chloe tightened the knot that held her shirt together, propped her hands on her hips and glared at Jace beneath a fluff of teenage bangs. “You sound just like a father.”
He forgave her everything in that instant. “You’d know better than I.”
“Well, you do. And don’t worry. There is not a drop of paint anywhere I did not purposefully put it.”
“Including yourself?”
“Of course. I have to check the mixtures in natural light.”
“So you slap a paintbrush on your body?”
“No. I test various color combinations until I get the shade I need.”
“And when you find it, then you connect the dots, right?” Jace nodded toward her legs, then moved the ladder to the section of wall where he planned to hang the first cabinet.
Toes pointed, Chloe balanced one heel on the lip of the sink and examined her spotted leg from all angles. “Art is a very individual form of expression. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to try.” He climbed on the countertop, level in hand, pencil behind his ear. “So what’re you doing down here?”
“Checking on your progress.”
“Any particular reason?” He glanced back over his shoulder.
Sitting on the edge of the sink, Chloe turned the water to warm. “I’ll be painting the kitchen when you’re done.”
“With any luck, and no more interruptions, I’ll be finished today,” Jace replied, eyeballing the bubble in the level.
“Why don’t you like me, Jace Morgan?”
Her tiny voice cut to the quick. With a deep sigh, he laid the level atop the fridge and dropped to his haunches on the countertop. Wrists draped on his knees, he watched Chloe wash her legs in the kitchen sink with Ivory soap.
“I do like you, Chloe. I just forget my manners sometimes.”
“Your mother must not have taught you well.”
“She tried. I didn’t listen.”
“Neither did I.”
He felt it again, that kinship, that strange, burning, electric connection. Her eyes hypnotized. His breathing slowed and Jace decided he’d definitely been living in the woods too long. “So, what do you have planned for the kitchen?”
“White, of course, because of its purity. Then stencils in purples and greens. I can’t decide on the blue. I don’t know if it goes with Eden’s skin.”
“Apricot,” Jace said without thinking.
“Yes. Apricot. I’d even thought of peach, but apricot has the perfect blush.” She narrowed one eye and looked right through the wall he’d thrown up when he realized his mistake. “You now know Eden better than I.”
Jace hopped off the counter, threw Chloe a towel from the stack folded on the kitchen table and made easy work of carrying the first cabinet across the room. “You’re the artist. And Eden trusts you. You decide.”
Chloe stepped into his path as he turned to go back for the second. “You decided for me. And if you had any manners at all, you would apologize for lying to yourself.”
“About what?” Jace forced a suspicious scowl.
“About Eden, of course.”
Dead on again, kid. Dead on again. He walked around her and hefted the second cabinet up off the floor. “So, did the frame work out?”
“Yes. Stone Healen fixed the glass. I have all the drawings framed but one.”
“Why’s that?”
“There is a piece missing. A piece I cannot find.”
“You need help looking?”
She reached for the knot on her shirt. “It is here, deep inside.”
“Never mind.” He set the cabinet next to the first and, before he could take another step, Chloe’s arms came around his waist from the back. She squeezed.
“The frame is perfect. And you are wonderful. Thank you, Jace Morgan. I’m glad that you’re my friend.”
“You’re welcome and... me, too.” His voice sounded strangled and strange and he stiffened, waiting for distant memories to dispel the warmth of Chloe’s innocent touch. Nothing happened.
All he felt was joy, and a growing affection for this kid who was like no one he’d ever known. Before he could figure out how to untangle himself from her tight hug, she disappeared into the shop, only to return seconds later.
Her eyes were comic-book round and wide when she said, “Eden needs you.”
Jace frowned, surprised that after the past several days she’d need him for anything. “Okay. Sure.”
When he walked through into the shop it was like stepping from a sauna into frigid winter air. Tension hung in the room, darkening the carnival mood of the Festival.
He scanned the shop, lighting at last on Eden’s pr
ofile, knowing her agitated state was what he’d picked up on.
She sat at the counter, her back rigid, her leaf-green eyes wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Customers milled the aisles. But Eden had eyes for only one couple.
He walked up behind her and whispered, “You okay?”
She jumped, looked his way with a distracted smile and gave a quick, jerky nod. “I’m fine,” she answered, and turned back to ring up another sale.
Jace used the time to study the couple who’d so captivated her attention. Both were attractive, their fit-as-a-dollar-can-buy physiques the epitome of yuppie chic.
Not a hair strayed out of place on their casually styled blond heads. Even his gold watch and her diamond earrings were deceptively understated.
What was going on here? Jace moved to stand behind Eden’s stool and propped one foot on the lowest rung. Her tension ebbed a fraction as he laid a hand at the small of her back, giving her support for what the hell he had no idea.
Chapter Eleven
“ARE YOU OKAY?” HER tension seeped into his body through the palm he held pressed to her rigid spine.
“I’m fine. Really.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “But could you stay here? For a minute?”
“Sure. Not a problem.” He leaned against the wall behind her and moved his hand to her shoulder. And he ignored the sudden double-time of his heart when she linked two of her fingers through two of his and moved his hand to her hip.
“Do you know them?” he asked, because whatever was going on with her had to do with the couple in question.
“No. Funny. But I thought I did.” She released his hand then and turned to ring up a customer.
Thinking she did had obviously been what set her off. Her frazzled nerves were evident in her stiff stance, her shaking hands. He wanted to take her by the elbow and usher her upstairs, get her out of here and give her a chance to breathe. But he knew she wasn’t about to leave the store even if he offered to stay.
The next second the cavalry charged through the door. A flurry of energy, Molly Hansen breezed her way to the counter and shook a stern finger at Jace. “You’d best wipe that scowl off your face, Jace Morgan. Eden doesn’t need you to be driving away her customers.”
