CHAPTER SEVEN
Shane
Jake smiles—a sexy, secret smile that makes me melt. “If you say so, Shane, but my gut says that’s not true.”
I pull in a deeper breath, shocked by how hot it is to hear him say my name.
“My gut says that you’re looking for a reason to stop,” he continues, his lips so close I could be kissing him in half a second. “A reason to slow down and get out of your pretty head once in a while.”
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, willing myself to take a step back, which my feet inform me won’t be happening. “I’m not like that at all.”
“Your friends never tell you that you think too much?”
“No. I talk first and think about what I’m saying when it’s too late to do anyone any good. I don’t usually try so hard to say the right thing.”
“Should I feel special?” His hand molds to my ribs through my soft sweater, making my nipples tighten. “Or insulted?”
“I don’t know.” My breath rushes out as I brace my hands against his chest, enjoying the feel of his bare skin beneath my fingertips way more than I should.
I’m enjoying it so much that I’m on the verge of losing myself in the sex fog. But I can’t let that happen, not now, not ever. Jake is off-limits for too many reasons, not the least of which being that he affects me the way only one man ever has. One other man, who lied to me, ripped my heart out through my nose with an embalming hook, and then went and got so sick there was no way I could be mad at him for putting me through hell.
Remembering the day Wesley finally told me the truth, explaining that our wedding would have to be put on hold until after he made it through a few rounds of occupational therapy and an experimental drug trial, is enough to give me the strength to push my palms against Jake’s chest and move away.
“You should head home and get some rest,” I say, picking up my copy of Yoga Journal and holding it between us like a shield. “I’m going to send you home with fish medicine and dosage directions. I want you to take your first pill with food and then relax on the sofa with some yoga reading for the rest of the afternoon. Check out the article on hip openers. Great stuff.”
“Do I look like my hips need opening?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice that makes my face flush hotter.
“All hips could use some opening now and then,” I say flatly, refusing to flirt with him.
“What about the rest of orientation?” He eyes the magazine, but makes no move to pluck it from my fingers. “I thought we were supposed to go over the questionnaire together, learn more about each other so we can pull off pretending to be in love.”
“We are. We will.” I nod with more certainty than I feel. “We can start via text tonight if you have the energy, but I think rest is important now.”
“I don’t need rest. I feel fine.”
“You’re running a low grade fever and your body is fighting an infection.”
“I also have an ex-girlfriend whipping the press into a feeding frenzy and a limited amount of time to get control of this situation,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m ready to go to work.”
“Rest, medicine, lots of fluids—doctor’s orders.” I lift the magazine, pressing it into his chest, holding him at a distance. “Getting to know each other and planning Keri domination can wait until tomorrow if it has to.”
Jake sighs, but finally reaches out and takes the magazine. “All right. But I am going to text you later. There are some things I want you to know before we get started.”
“Sounds good.” I’m tempted to tell him to spill the juicy stuff now, but I can’t risk him lingering in my apartment any longer. I need to get some distance and some perspective before I expose myself to his out of control animal magnetism a second time.
I fetch him a bottle of Fish Flex, write out quick instructions on dosage and how often to take the antibiotic, and walk him to the door. I’m reaching for the doorknob—holding my breath as I lean in so I won’t be distracted by his swoon-worthy smell, when his arm is suddenly around my waist.
A second later I’ve been spun through the air and pressed up against the door and Jake Falcone’s face is a breath away from mine.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says softly. “But I think we should get the kissing practice out of the way. If we’re going to have trouble making it look natural, I’d like to know sooner rather than later.”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine and my lips are igniting with a sizzle heard around the world. Some small, squeaky part of me insists that I should try to play it cool, but the rest of me is too busy responding to care.
I’m not cool; I’m on fire.
As I twine my arms around Jake’s shoulders and he pulls me close enough to feel every hard, muscled inch of his fantastic body pressed tight to mine, my skin flushes so hot it feels like I’m the one with a low grade fever. His tongue slips between my lips, and his hands cup my ass, and I melt into him, into this kiss that is the most erotic thing to happen to my body in years.
We kiss and kiss, until my insides turn to lava and my mind turns to mush and all I’m thinking about is Jake’s lips and his tongue and his big hands and the pulse beating thick and heavy between my legs, begging for him to put all those wonderful parts of himself to even better use.
By the time he pulls away I’m dizzy, breathless, and ready to strip off my clothes and race him naked to my bedroom.
Or maybe pull him to the floor right here by the door.
Who needs a bed? Not me. I don’t need a bed or sweet talk or answers to uncomfortable questions. I just need Jake naked and hard and ready for me to ride him like Seabiscuit across the finish line.
Bad, Shane! Bad!
No one is riding anyone like Seabiscuit or any other legendary racehorse. Get a handle on yourself, Willoughby!
“Well, then,” I whisper, too buzzed on Jake’s kiss to take the inner voice too seriously. “Guess you’re pretty good at that.”
“You’re not bad yourself.” His voice is husky and thick, sending visions of racehorses thundering through my head all over again. “I think that’ll work out just fine.”
“Just fine,” I echo with a happy sigh.
His lips curve in a smile that destroys what’s left of my panties. “Text you later, doc. Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” I mumble, somehow managing to move aside so he can let himself out the door.
I remain upright until I hear the elevator close behind him and the hum of the car moving down toward the ground level. Only when I’m certain that he’s really gone do I sink to the floor, close my eyes, and drop my forehead to my knees, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.