Chapter Four

 

 

Harper watched the way Jacob ate his lobster, strong fingers dipping the rich meat into butter before bring the succulent piece to his mouth.

She’d never before wanted to be a piece of shellfish.

Could they get a vat of butter to go?

But no—he was determined, it seemed, to make sure they enjoyed their meal. They each had another glass of wine, the charming waiter not rushing them to leave despite the busy atmosphere.

He’d almost given her a bloody heart attack with that remark about meeting his sister. She’d kept their interlude mostly private, something savored and slightly forbidden.

“Favorite color?” Jacob asked.

She pulled her gaze away from his lower lip. “Uh, orange.”

“What?” He braced his wrist against the table edge. “I wouldn’t have chosen that for you so I’m glad you told me. It seems angry.”

Angry? Maybe she had been but things were changing. “Orange is bright and juicy.” She put the emphasis on juicy.

“I will have to rethink how I feel about orange.” His eyes warmed to rich brandy. “Mine is blue.”

“Predictable,” she said, waving her hand.

“Ouch. Deep blue—you know—navy.”

“Oooh yes. That makes a difference.” She smiled to show she was joking.

“Do you watch television?” His knee brushed hers.

“Not really, I prefer books.”

“A solitary activity.”

“What is wrong with that?” she asked. Books had saved her sanity with all of the hours spent at the hospital. Waiting. They’d allowed her to escape and she easily consumed three books a week.

“It isn’t something we can do together, that’s all.” He dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin that was a lighter red than his crimson shirt.

She thought of the Kama Sutra, which was definitely a book for two. “Well, I won’t read for the next few days, how’s that?”

“I promise to keep you occupied.” His brows wagged.

She very much liked the sound of that. Offering him the rest of her steak, since there was no way she could finish all of it after the two rolls and the lobster tail, she sat back to observe him. He sliced into the meat.

“So, tell me about your coffee shop. What made you go from accountant to entrepreneur?” It seemed like a terrifyingly giant leap from logic to dream.

“I told you—you did.” He looked up from his plate with confusion.

She didn’t want to give away the gray spaces in her memory of that glorious night—she’d been drinking her demons away until Jacob had arrived. “I don’t recall that at all.”

“It was over Aunt Nancy’s homemade coffee cake, and lattes.” He resumed cutting off a small bite of tender steak. “We were keeping things pretty generic but I’d shared that I had lost my job due to downsizing. You said that was a good thing.”

She had? Her stomach clenched.

“I’d never liked it anyway but it paid the mortgage.”

She thought back…they’d been sitting in the hotel bed the morning after and he’d looked so downtrodden she’d advised him…oh, heaven, what had she said? “You said nobody likes paying what they owe and you were the enemy coming to collect.”  For some reason she’d assumed banking and loans.

His mouth twisted downward. “Exactly. I worked for the IRS and I was miserable. What do you do?”

In her sober moments she would have advised sticking with the day job and paying off the house. “The firm I work for has high-end investment clients.”

“Sounds glamorous.” His nostrils flared as he gestured to himself. “Tax attorney. Not the most popular guy at the party.”

Harper chuckled with understanding. A memory cleared in her mind of him feeding her a bite of coffee cake, from his lips to hers. Breakfast had never been so sexy. “I asked you what you wanted to do, but you never answered.”

Some things about that night were fuzzy but she was fairly sure he’d never said coffee shop. If he had she would have shared that cafes have a sixty percent failure rate. She rarely advised her clients to invest in them. If he lost his savings, she would feel responsible—what the hell had she said?

“You said that it was the best damn coffee cake you ever had.”

That was not enough to bet the farm, as her father used to say. “It was delicious…” She strangled the napkin beneath the table. Maybe he’d gotten in with partners, or was part of franchise. That had less personal risk.

“The day after you left, I was checking out of my hotel, despondent over you, when I saw the French bakery closing. I thought of what you’d said about living fully and I knew I had to try and get that lease.”

Harper snapped her jaw closed. “And you did?”

“I did,” he said with satisfaction. “Jane helped me write up a business proposal for the bank she works at, and I sold my house. I am the proud owner of an independent coffee store by the beach. Jacob’s Cuppa Joe. Everybody loves coffee or tea with a pastry.”

Her dinner rolled in her tummy. Dear God. He’d done all of that because of her?

What happened if it didn’t work out? She pressed her hand to her stomach.

He laughed at the look on her face and she quickly neutralized her expression. “How can you doubt that it wouldn’t work? You are the woman who just blindly stuck her finger on a map.” He pushed his plate away and lifted his wine glass. “To meet me. It was fate.”

“Fate?” She shook her head. If she could have backed away, she would have, but her chair would hit the diner behind her. Trapped. “I don’t think so, Mr. Orman.”

“It’s true.” His dark brows met in a V. “How can you, my angel, not believe in fate?”

“Facts are what matter.” In her line of work there was no room for gray—the numbers added up or something was wrong.

“Is that a British thing?” He wouldn’t release her gaze, and she couldn’t look away.

She straightened her posture. “You are being very American.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Rude?”

“Brash.”

Suddenly the tension peaked and hovered—it could be the end of the evening—but they both laughed and let the moment pass.

He reached across the table to take her hand, his thumb rubbing over her fingers. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I am quite thrilled to be here.”

Gabe offered dessert, which she declined with a barely constrained groan, as did Jacob. He brought the bill and Jacob snagged it before she could.

“Let’s go halves,” she suggested. He’d started one of the most unstable businesses imaginable on her drunken whim. She was not the woman he thought she was.

“You bought a plane ticket,” he countered. “Let me get dinner.”

It felt nice to be treated, so she let it go. “Thank you.”

“Shall we walk on the beach?” he asked.

Before dinner, she’d wanted to drag him to her hotel room and shag until dawn. But now that she realized how much he’d put into their past encounter, she wasn’t sure how to proceed with the evening. She still wanted him, with every feminine fiber of her being, but what did he expect?

This would give her time. “That would be nice. I promised Felicity that I would get my toes in the sand—and one does not break a promise to their dearest friend.”

“I hope to meet her someday.”

Felicity, meeting Jacob? She stood and put her napkin over her empty plate. “She’s a riot—but she’s a city girl.”

Gabe wished them a Merry Christmas, and gave them each a candy cane. She smiled in thanks. Jacob put his hand on her lower back, and guided her outside the restaurant.

“Have you always liked the beach?” His touch warmed where his fingers pressed.

“I didn’t really care about it,” she confessed. “I live in London. My parents live in Edinburgh.” She gave it a Scottish roll. “But I didn’t know this existed.” Beneath the moon the ocean was charcoal with white caps, and magical to her eyes.

Jacob held her arm, so she could slip off her heels. He toed off one of his shoes, then the other, stuffing socks inside. The slight chill from the wind off the ocean was nothing compared to where she came from, but still made her shiver.

“This is on the cool side,” Jacob said. “Should we buy you a sweater? A Lauderdale by the Sea sweatshirt?”

“Your arm is good enough.”

He immediately brought her close, and they walked through the sand to the surf by the pier. She reached down for a white shell, smooth and perfect, and put it in her purse with her candy cane. The stars twinkled brightly above them and the crescent moon shone.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said. “We can head back. My apartment is above the coffee shop and only five minutes from here.”

“You really found something so close?”

“Life is short, as you succinctly pointed out the last time we met.”

She winced. Had he truly sold his house? On the advice of a drunken woman? Who did that?

“I’m glad that you are in a happy place.” She looked up at him, her arm hooked through his. “I would love to see your apartment.” And the coffee shop. Maybe she could offer pointers on what made a successful café business. It would be the least she could do before she went back home.

Before she could get too caught up in details—she was inherently a planner—he took her hand and swung her from him and then twirled her, her feet in the warm surf.

“Let’s dance, Harper Angel. Want to?”

Oh, yes…she certainly did.

 

 

His feet practically glided over the hard-packed wet sand.  He directed them away from the pier and the restaurants to a more secluded section of the beach. Jacob couldn’t get enough of watching Harper’s face in the moonlight. Her skin seemed porcelain and delicate and he knew that she would taste like heaven.

It was because he wanted her so desperately that he danced with her instead of rushing back to his apartment. Two freaking days? That was all they had? He wanted to make memories. He wanted to keep her.

A year ago, he’d recognized his soulmate and she’d asked him to let her go.

He couldn’t do that again—the idea alone brought pain, so he banished the thought.

Twirled her again, thrilling at her laughter—so carefree and unabashed—they didn’t have music, but it didn’t matter. The sea was their soundtrack.

“Favorite fruit,” he asked. “Don’t say orange—that’s cheating.”

Her teeth glistened white as she smiled. “Banana.”

He liked the way she pronounced it-banahnah.

She held her stilettos by hooking two fingers through the straps, leaving one hand free to wrap around his waist. “You?”

“Grapes—as in, wine. Merlot.”

She turned to face him, standing on her tiptoes, the waves covering her ankles. “We have that in common.”

Jacob wanted to build a list of things they had in common, as if to knit them together despite the distance in their relationship.

What relationship?  He wasn’t an idiot and could tell from her reactions to family and friends that she was not on the same page as him.

He buried that thought too and two-stepped with her across the sand. The water splashed upward, soaking his pants to the knees but he didn’t care as he dipped her back, his hand buried in the hair at her nape.

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Don’t tell me you like eggplant, or that will be the end of us.”

“You’ve never had it done properly,” he said. “I can make you believe it’s pasta.”

“Why don’t we just eat pasta, then?” Her hand lowered to his hip, sensually sliding over the muscle.

He gritted his teeth to keep his composure rather than take her down in the sand. “Not that you need to worry, obviously, but some of us have to watch our carbs.”

“That’s something Felicity would say,” she teased.

“I love bread. I love cinnamon rolls and coffee cake and pie.” He twirled her again as a wave lapped up to their knees.

“I love lasagna too much,” she said, “too cheat with a vegetable I don’t like in the first place.” She glanced up at him between strands of blonde hair, the night sky behind her.

“I would love to cook for you. Your wise words that night a year ago, on this beach, gave me the courage to pursue a dream.” He put his hand over his heart.

Harper jumped into his arms, her dress rising up her thighs as she clasped her legs around him, one arm around his neck, the hand with her shoes at his back.

They stayed upright in the ocean, the waves swirling around them, her mouth hot on his. He clasped her tightly, not letting her go as he brought her to shore, still entwined. He found a spot on the beach that was out of the way of others strolling by. “Shall we sit?”

“Sure,” she said, ducking her head. Was she embarrassed that she’d been the impetus for his change? Each time he’d mentioned it, she’d reacted unexpectedly.

He wished they had the time to get to know one another in a slower way, in a longer way—if he pressed the issue she might disappear again and he couldn’t take that chance.

She’d challenged him to live fully, and that meant right now.

They sat, she in front, he wrapped around her, her legs drawn up as they watched the water. Desire pumped through him, steady as his heart beat.

“Would you like to come back to my place, for dessert?”

She nodded. “Yes. I even brought my toothbrush in the event I spent the night.”

“How forward thinking,” he laughed into her hair. He was seeing a practical side to his angel that he hadn’t suspected was there. “I want you to spend the night. I want to spend every second together.”

She turned to look up at him, lifting her face for a kiss. “Done.”

He managed to end the kiss, but only to catch his breath. He wanted her more, heart and soul, with each passing second. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deep, smelling coconut.

“Should we go?” he asked, ready to stop denying his need for her. If he could remind her how awesome they fit together then maybe she would see beyond the next two days.

But she shook her head, her eyes on the water that glistened like shiny onyx in the dark. “Not just yet.” She gestured toward the horizon. “What’s out there—do you know?”

He cuddled her close to make sure her bare arms were covered. Her legs had goosebumps. “Cuba. The Bahamas.”

She traced her finger over the ridge of bones along his knuckles. “I suppose you go all the time?”

“No. Just twice to the Bahamas because of company events.”

“Does that require a passport?”

“I’m not sure, but I have one.” Was she asking because she wanted to see if he could visit her in London? Maybe his charms were working.

“I love to travel,” she said wistfully.

“I assumed as much when you spun the globe.”

“I didn’t spin anything.” She glanced up at him from the cocoon of his embrace. “I had a map on the wall so I had a pretty good idea that I wouldn’t be choosing Russia.”

“You hedged your bets?” He gave a dramatic exhale. “And all of this time I was crediting you for being brave. You peeked between your fingers, didn’t you?”

She burst out laughing. “I did not!”

He shifted so that he was sitting in front of her, and took her hands to peer into her blue-gray eyes, silvery beneath the stars.

“Fate,” he said again, kissing her fingers.

“There is no such thing.”

She was cool now…it was time to leave the beach before she turned into a Popsicle. That wasn’t the plans he had for their Christmas Eve.

Although a nice hot shower could be fun...

He stood and lifted her with him.

He asked with his eyes and she answered, “Yes. I’ve been waiting all year for this.”