Twelve weeks earlier
“Congrats, Angela, on giving up your lumber imitation in only four days,” Jake said, loosening his embrace and brushing a wisp of hair from her face.
“Lumber imitation?”
“Yeah, you no longer stiffen up like a board when I hold you.”
“Ha. Very funny.” Warmth filled her in a comforting sensation. In the past few days, she had genuinely enjoyed Jake’s kisses and embraces. Only she knew how significant that was.
“Seriously, you’ve made a helluva lot of progress. I think you’re ready for step three. Don’t you?”
She wiggled out of his arms and turned away. “Depends on what it is.”
“Touching.”
Several awkward seconds ticked by.
“Where?”
He bent around so he could see her face. “Here. There. Everywhere.”
Her eyes widened. “Jesus, Jake, I don’t know.”
“Hell, we won’t know until we try.”
She slipped beyond his reach and stood up. Wringing her hands, she paced from the couch to the kitchen and back. Her gaze avoided his. “Let’s practice steps one and two for a few more days.”
When her path brought her closest to the couch, Jake sprang up and caught her by the shoulders. She tensed and pulled back.
“Hey, hey, what’s that about?” he asked. He brought her up close, lifted her chin, and kissed her lips lightly. “No backsliding, Angela. Talk to me.”
Her lips curled inward while she organized her thoughts. “Touching is so…so personal.”
He chuckled. “Of course it is. That’s the whole point.”
“I like what we’re doing. Why risk ruining it?”
He hugged her tighter. “I’m relieved to hear you like it, and we can’t ‘ruin’ it. If you don’t like the touching, we stop. Wait a while longer. No harm done.” Unconvinced, she rolled her eyes. “Hey, did I mention we stay fully clothed, and you can touch me first?”
“Fully clothed?” she said, skeptically.
“Yeah, but if you insist on taking something off, I won’t object.”
Finally, she smiled. “What if I strip you naked?”
His eyebrows bounced. “I definitely won’t object. Come on. Let’s try it.”
Her smile faded slightly, and she sighed. “Okay. How do we do this?”
“Would you rather I lie on the couch or on your bed?”
“Couch,” she said instantly. Inviting a man into her bedroom? Not a chance.
Jake grasped her hand and led her back to the couch. Anxiety building, she watched him toss the decorative pillows onto a chair and stretch out on his stomach. He patted the carpet next to the couch, and she knelt on the spot. He faced her and smiled encouragingly.
“Now, you can start anywhere you want, but I’d suggest my head. The idea is to give and get pleasure from the experience,” he explained. She frowned doubtfully. “Shit, Angela, keep an open mind, would you?”
“Okay, okay. Close your eyes. I don’t want you watching.”
“Can I trust you not to take advantage of me?” he quipped.
“Shut your mouth and eyes before I change my mind.”
He complied.
Angela’s hands hovered above his hair for several moments. She’d touched his hair before, but the simple action suddenly seemed very intimate. Her fingers trembled, and her chest tightened.
One gray eye peeked at her. “It’s okay, babe. It’s only hair, and I washed it this morning.”
The joke dispelled her tentativeness, and she laughed with relief.
Her slender fingers dove into the ebony waves near his ear, hesitated, and then glided to the top of his head. She paused, withdrew them, and repeated the motion, applying slightly more pressure. She splayed her fingers and massaged his scalp with her fingertips. With nails scratching lightly, she wove through his thick hair, captivated by the heavy strands parting and then enveloping her hands.
He moaned his approval.
While her hands continued losing themselves in his hair, she studied his face. Like the rest of his body, it was lean and chiseled. His nose bore subtle signs of two breaks. A strong jaw tapered to a rugged chin, all covered with the dark whisper of five o’clock shadow.
Absently, her fingers left his tousled hair and slowly traced his eyebrows. Thick, but not bushy. Her gaze settled on his long black eyelashes, lashes some women would die for. She marveled that they didn’t appear at all feminine on this masculine face. They evoked another impression. Sensual. A strange sensation tugged below her belly.
Her fingertips moved to the small creases in his forehead and between his brows. His worry lines seemed the only evidence of internal stress. Gently massaging the etched spaces, she wondered what a man like Jake Stone worried about. From all appearances, his life was full, orderly, successful. Happy? Probably. But appearances could be deceiving. Look at my own life.
Her palm drew circles on his cheek, alternating between smooth at his cheekbone and sandpapery at his jaw. Her index finger traced his earlobe and the sensitive area behind it. She ran a hand down his nape onto his back. Even in repose, his muscles felt strong and defined beneath his T-shirt.
Angela’s progress stopped at the waistband of his shorts. Her gaze lingered on his tantalizing ass while her mind coped with the idea of touching it. Not today, her brain decided, and her hands skipped to the outsides of his thighs.
Although she was sure he had noticed the omission, she appreciated that he didn’t comment. In fact, he lay perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing evenly. No signs of arousal.
She reached his ankles, massaged them briefly, and stopped.
Laying her hands in her lap, she announced with satisfaction, “Done.”
Jake’s eyes opened and met hers. “Great job. Now the other side.” As he rolled onto his back, Angela tensed. “You did my face already, so why don’t you start with my chest?”
“Chest?”
“Yeah.”
Her right hand landed in the middle of his chest and began to move. It must have operated on autopilot because her mind was on the first time she had seen his chest naked above a bath towel wrapped around his hips. As her palm circled one side and then the other, she remembered taut muscles, curly hair, and dark nipples, which now felt hard beneath the soft jersey shirt.
Hard.
Her eyes darted to the fly of his shorts. The rigid bulge was unmistakable.
Breathing grew harder.
“Angela?”
Her brown eyes flew back to meet his gray ones. “Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She gulped. His gaze refused to release hers. Panic tiptoed up her spine.
“Skip my dick, would ya, please.” He smiled sheepishly. “I might embarrass myself.”
She blinked rapidly with relief. “If you insist, Jake.”
She scooted sideways and finished with a strong rub of his long legs. “There. Done.”
Opening his eyes again, he arched his arms over his head and stretched his entire body. “God, that felt great. Now it’s your turn.” He rolled onto his side. “You’re up for it, right?”
Tamping down the jitters, she nodded.
They changed places, and before she was really ready, he knelt beside the couch and tunneled his hands into her hair.
“Wait,” she said, rising up onto her elbow.
“What?” His fingers froze.
“I…I’m not comfortable.”
He studied her face. “Physically or psychologically?”
She swallowed hard and ignored his question. “Why do we need to do this?”
He sighed, withdrew his hands, and rocked back onto his heels. “The goal is for you to enjoy sex again. Right?”
“Right,” she said after a slight hesitation.
“To reach your goal you have to be comfortable with a man touching your body and you touching a man’s body. Touching. Get it?”
“Don’t talk down to me.”
“Then toughen up. You didn’t get raped yesterday,” he said curtly.
She gasped.
“Don’t look at me like that, Angela. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Now lie down and shut up.”
She glared at him until she realized that he had successfully replaced her anxiety with anger. “You’re good, Jake Stone.”
“So they tell me.”
After his skillful massage of her scalp, she sighed when his fingers began their gentle exploration of her face. As if he were blind, his fingertips seemed to be reading every inch, rounding every curve, relishing every texture, and recording the entire image in his memory.
Although more often passionate and possessive, Jake’s kisses and embraces had also frequently been tender, so the tenderness in his touch was not a total shock. But the time and attention he put into each caress was.
When his fingers seemed reluctant to leave her slightly parted lips, she peeked at him from under her thick lashes. His expression caused her breath to catch. He must have felt it because his fingers stopped abruptly, and his gaze flicked to hers. His eyes bore the guilt of a young boy caught doing something forbidden. As their gazes melded, Angela’s tongue snuck between her lips to touch his fingers. The jolt registered in his eyes, but his fingers didn’t move.
“Angela?”
The lump in her throat prevented her from answering. Instead, she closed her lips and eyes.
The emotionally charged moment passed.
The touching exercise progressed down her back. His large hands softly squeezed her slender waist. With a moment’s hesitation, but without a word, he skipped over her butt and thighs and resumed at her calves. After slipping off her sandals, he massaged each foot for a few minutes.
His lips brushed her ear. “Roll over.”
Angela raised her eyelids, which had turned strangely heavy. “Okay.”
She rolled onto her back and squirmed into a comfortable position. Jake turned her face and firmly kissed her lips. His eyes, warm and soft, searched hers.
“Ready?” he asked, moving closer on his knees.
“Uh huh.” Her eyelids drifted shut.
All ten fingers brushed the hair away from her face. They caressed her cheeks, stroked her jaw, and dipped into the hollow of her neck.
When his hands splayed across her breasts and gently kneaded, she stiffened.
“Easy now, it’s okay,” he whispered.
She nodded jerkily.
His palms revolved around her nipples in ever-larger circles until he’d touched every inch of her breasts. She held her breath. His fingers lightly pinched her firm, erect nipples, which pressed urgently against the soft, stretchy material of her bra. Then he cupped both breasts and molded them under his strong hands. A groan of frustration escaped his lips.
Angela’s eyes popped open. “Stop!”
“Huh?” he said, trancelike, still holding her breasts.
Frantically, she pushed at his hands and scrambled to sit up. Her eyes widened, and her breathing turned ragged. “No, no.”
He blinked, shook his head, and then grabbed for her shoulders, but she batted his hands away. “It’s okay. Relax, babe.”
“No, it’s not. Damn you, don’t touch me.”
A spark ignited in his warm, gray eyes. They turned hot, smoldering. “Fine,” he snapped and raised his arms over his head in surrender. “I give up.”
Angela buried her face in her hands, inhaling and exhaling slowly through her mouth.
Wordlessly, Jake moved to the chair.
Once composed, she lowered her hands and glared at him defiantly. “I can’t do this. I’m not a chameleon that can change in the blink of an eye. You don’t understand what a torturous process this is for me. Do you want out now?”
He scowled, eyes flashing. “Why do you think I want out?”
“Because…because you want to…to screw me, and I won’t let you.”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
“Then deny it. Tell me that wasn’t what you were thinking about while you were playing with my breasts.”
“Guilty as charged, but damn it, I didn’t act on it. But I guess that doesn’t count for anything. To you, all guys are black-hearted, horny bastards.”
“Pretty much.”
His jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “I’m not the son of a bitch who raped you, Angela. I’m not a monster who would hurt an innocent wom—”
He seemed to choke on his words and grimaced. Angela tensed as she read the rare emotions on his face. Shock morphed into guilt and then regret.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
His face contorted as if he was in pain. He pinched the bridge of his nose for several seconds. When his hand dropped away, his self-control had been restored. No warmth, no fire, just silver ice staring at her.
“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled. “I have to go.” He stood up.
She jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm. “Jake, I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a black-hearted whatever-you-said.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I’m afraid I’m not as ready for step three as you thought.”
“You’ve got more guts than any woman I’ve ever met, Angela, so don’t tell me you’re afraid. I think you’re confused about what you want. Or maybe you are frightened of what you’re feeling. Cut me some slack if I occasionally get frustrated.” He peeled her hand off his arm.
“Please don’t be angry.”
She stared into eyes that had changed from warm to hot to cold in the span of a few minutes. Her breath caught at the realization: Jake was a chameleon. And now he looked down at her with unreadable steel eyes, his face as expressionless as an iron mask.
“I’m not angry, Angela. You’re doing great. Sometimes I push too hard, and you should tell me so.” He planted a quick kiss on her forehead.
“You are angry. I can tell.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t respond immediately. “All right. If I’m angry, it’s with myself, not you.” He grasped her shoulders, held her slightly away, and kissed her lips. “See you tomorrow.”
Angela stared after him until she heard the front door close. Then she dropped onto the couch and cradled her face in both hands.
“Oh God,” she muttered.
One of these days, Jake was going to walk out the door and never come back. She knew it. Knew it with the same certainty that told her the sun came up in the east, the sky was blue, and men were not to be trusted. She didn’t want to care that he would never come back, but she did.
What made Jake different from the other men who had flitted through her life in the past four years? She had known they would leave, and they had. And she hadn’t cared—at all. This time she cared, and that scared her to death.
She rubbed her hands across her forehead and then combed them through her hair. With her eyes closed, she raised her face toward the ceiling and breathed deeply.
Why is this so hard? If someone asked her if she wanted to be “normal” again, she would answer with a resounding yes. She didn’t want to be frigid. The road back was just so rough and full of potholes. No, not potholes, sinkholes. Sinkholes capable of burying her.
What’s different this time? The answer frightened her. She wanted to be “normal” as much for Jake as for herself. She didn’t want him to disappear from her life, but she knew that without sex, he would. He also ignited sensations inside her that she hadn’t felt in years. A spark here, a tingle there. A prickle. A tickle.
An ache.
She groaned. Was it desire or dread?
* * *
Jake stopped on her doorstep. He bent at the waist, braced his hands on his knees, and let his head droop. He drew several slow, fortifying breaths into his lungs. What the hell is happening to me?
Jake Stone didn’t suffer from feelings like this. Years ago, his emotions had petrified. But this woman was chiseling through the rock, fracturing it. Compassion and so many other unwanted emotions were bubbling up through the fissures like lava, burning reason and incinerating caution.
He was in trouble, big trouble. If he wasn’t careful, his world was going to come crashing down on his head. This contract wasn’t worth the risk. He wanted out. He had to get out.
After the epiphany hit him, he couldn’t get home fast enough. The Corvette flew across the Coronado Bay Bridge. He didn’t care if he got a hundred speeding tickets. He was blinded by the overwhelming need to void the contract.
He arrived home in record time. Within minutes, he stood in his bedroom, dialed, waited. The ringing stopped, and he spoke to the silence.
“The contract is off. I should never have come out of retirement for this. I’ll return the deposit the same way it was sent.”
Silence.
“Tell the Agency there’s a problem with their intel. No way has this woman stolen or sold State Department secrets.” His chest heaved with simmering anger. “Talk to me, damn it. I’m serious. No deal.”
The mechanically altered voice finally spoke. “You’ve been in the business long enough to know it doesn’t work that way. Is the price not high enough?”
“The price is not the issue.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to kill her,” Jake spat into the phone.
The Contractor’s laugh was chilling. “If you don’t, someone else will.”
“Shit, I know that. It’s why I want you to put the Agency in touch with me so I can talk them out of this. The contract should be canceled completely. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. Just do your job. And you know I can’t connect you directly to the Agency. Anonymity is mandatory. I’m simply the facilitator.”
“A perfect, upstanding CIA operative hiding in the shadows. What if I yanked your ass out of the darkness and into the light?”
Silence. Then, “You wouldn’t want to do that.”
“Then get the contract canceled. Completely.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind. It’s not going to happen. And if you back out, you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard stories.”
“They aren’t fiction.”
Jake scrubbed a hand across his face. “Look, we’ve done business for a long time. I’ve never asked a favor before, and I know this is a big one. Convince the Agency to cancel the contract. I don’t know how to get through to you, but this woman shouldn’t be a target.”
The Contractor laughed. “Have you suddenly grown a conscience?”
“Possibly. Are you going to talk to them or not?”
“No, I’m not. Think this through, asshole. You decide not to consummate the contract because suddenly you have a big hard-on. The Agency isn’t going to just walk away. I have other Agency assassins willing to make the hit. So it goes down anyway, and you have no control over how or when. Could be a lot messier than how you would handle it. Then there’s the issue of what to do with you for backing out. Rogues are bad for business. The best approach is to eliminate them.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I’d say you’re in a no-win situation here.”
Jake squeezed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to admit defeat, but everything the Contractor said was true.
“Would you at least insist the Agency verify the intel? This target is so clean, it squeaks.”
“I told you before that the Agency’s motivation is irrelevant.”
“It’s relevant to me, asshole.”
“Why?”
“I like to believe I’m making the world a better place by offing someone. It helps me sleep at night.”
“My, aren’t we moral these days. Have you gone soft on me?”
“Maybe so. Remember, I wanted to stay retired. This is your fault.”
The Contractor snorted. “So sue me.”
Jake was left listening to the dial tone. He yelled obscenities and hurled the phone across the room.
It was a no-win situation. He had known that before the call, but he’d also known he had to try.
Someone was going to kill Angela Reardon. If he stayed on the contract, at least he could control it. He could make it as painless as possible.
What else could he do? He had no other options.
* * *
Angela negotiated the last curve and slowed to turn into Jake’s driveway. As the BMW climbed the winding concrete, she glanced at her watch. It was not quite 9:00 a.m. Jake would be up; she hoped he was home.
After last night’s disaster, she wanted to surprise him so she hadn’t called this morning. Showing up at his door, unannounced, with fresh bagels would certainly be a huge surprise since she hadn’t been to his house since the night she’d fled in panic more than three weeks ago. Her throat tightened at the thought.
Several times during the drive, she’d almost changed her mind. She was saved by the epiphany she’d had last night after Jake left. She wanted to be with Jake Stone, emotionally, physically, sexually. For the first time since the rape, she cared about a man. Cared? Liked? Whatever the label, she didn’t want it to end. And that meant finding the courage to continue with the twelve-step program.
After rounding the last bend at the top of the hill, the car cruised into the circular drive. She slammed on the brakes. A silver Eclipse was parked near the front of the house.
Reflexively, she slapped a hand across her mouth to stifle her cry. Tears stung so sharply she whimpered and closed her eyes. Panic attacked.
Her hand dropped away, and her chest heaved rapidly as she gasped for breath. She pressed her palms against her eyelids until the stinging stopped.
Don’t panic. Breathe slowly. Be strong. Relax. Relax. Relax.
She coaxed herself away from the edge. Then she opened her eyes and fled.
As the BMW raced down the hillside, she struggled for self-control. What had she expected of Jake? He wasn’t a saint. A week ago, he’d told her he hadn’t had sex since they’d started dating. That was probably a record for him. And now she’d halted the twelve-step program in its tracks. Could she blame him for being frustrated, especially sexually frustrated?
She stopped the car at the bottom of the hill and gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline. The objective argument sounded fine, but it didn’t feel fine. She felt betrayed. Disappointed. Why did everything have to be so painful? Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed her head back against the headrest. What should she do?
Minutes passed. She didn’t want to leave. If she did, she would have already escaped.
Angela pulled onto the road in the opposite direction from the route to town and the freeway. Fifty yards down the road, she pulled a U-turn and parked on the shoulder in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. After lowering the window, she killed the engine and slouched in the seat to wait.
The wait was only fifteen minutes. The Eclipse appeared at the end of the driveway and turned down the road away from Angela’s hiding place. She inhaled slowly and started the car.
Before she could reconsider, she sped up the hill to the house. She grabbed her purse and the bag of bagels and jumped out. Heart pounding in her ears, she rang the bell. No answer. She pushed the button a second time. Her upper teeth clamped down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
“Angela?”
She jumped before squinting at the peephole. “Jake?”
“Look up,” the disembodied voice from the intercom speaker instructed.
She did and spotted a shiny circle the size of a nickel above the doorframe. “Oh.”
“Uh, this is a surprise. I just got out of the shower so I’ll let you in from up here. Make yourself at home. I’ll be down in a minute.”
A loud click sounded in the door handle. Angela opened the front door and exhaled loudly, steeling herself for what she feared would be a hostile confrontation.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. She dropped her purse and the bagels on the foyer table and raced up the stairs. She reached the master bedroom just as Jake emerged, bare-chested, through the closet archway.
But her eyes weren’t on him. They focused on the bed. The neatly made, un-rumpled bed. Even the accent pillows were perfectly arranged. No condom wrappers adorned the nightstand. Her gaze swept around the room to the massage table in the exercise area. A towel was draped haphazardly across it. Two small, colorful bottles lay on the carpet beneath it. Angela sniffed. Spicy. Woodsy.
“Are you going to faint?”
She blinked and faced him. His expression grim, Jake stomped around the room toward her.
“I didn’t fuck her,” he growled.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You didn’t have to. Your eyes made the accusation.”
“I…I thought—”
“Forget it. I know what you thought. Maybe I should have. She was pissed that I only wanted the massage. At least if I’d screwed her brains out, I’d deserve your distrust.”
He marched past Angela into the hallway.
“Jake.”
He stopped, hung his head, and sighed. “What?” She didn’t answer. “What?” he repeated irritably, peering back over his shoulder.
She swallowed hard. “Can we finish what we started yesterday?”
He frowned, suspicious. “You mean—”
“Yes.”
“In there?”
She glanced down at the bed and nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“No, but I’m willing to try.”