Chapter Five
Jake wasn’t sure when, or if, the hurricane would hit landfall, or how long the storm might last, but he’d prepared as if they’d be facing the apocalypse. Growing up in a situation that felt like the bottom might drop at any minute had made him a guy who prepared. Lots of folks gave him a hard time for being rigid, emotionally distant, always seeking perfection, but he felt more grounded when everything was in order. Dealing with a father who bullied his family over a lost hoodie or a late dinner made a kid grow up fast. Shut down fast, too.
He gave his preparations the once-over. Boarded up, the living room fell dark without the electricity, lit only by two hurricane lamps and the candles he’d set out in mason jars on every table and in the fireplace. He was surprised by the effect. If he hadn’t uttered the words “stuck here all night” the upshot might have been romantic. Not that he was aiming for romance. He most certainly was not. But stuck here all night? Not the most generous way to frame the situation, even if he hadn’t been expecting an overnight guest. Especially not one with a set of curves and legs that wouldn’t quit.
Suddenly claustrophobic, he pulled at his crewneck and shoved aside the disarming thoughts. His brusque words and uncomfortable feelings had nothing to do with Kate Bell or her idealized notions about soulmates and outspoken desire for perfect sex.
Perfect sex. The words were still echoing through his brain when he heard the soft footfalls of bare feet against the hardwood. He turned to see her approaching the fireplace, following a path lit by the glow of her flashlight. The room’s shadows played across her face. She was beautiful, straight up, pin-up girl gorgeous, all curvy and blonde. Clad in a killer red dress with barely-there straps and a sheer skirt, she was like a vision out of a man’s dreams.
His dreams.
But there was something else. Something she’d said earlier rang in his ears. “Don’t give me the sweetheart treatment.” As if she was judged on her femininity more than she liked. Jake suspected there was more to her than beauty—although there was a helluva lot of that going on. But more, too. Intelligence. Determination. A kind heart. He was curious, more so than he’d been about a woman in a long time.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He swallowed hard and gestured toward the floor. “Ready to ride out the storm?”
In a spot away from the unprotected skylights, he’d set up a makeshift camp next to the fireplace. Bottled water, a stack of sandwiches, a Thermos of coffee, an open game of Scrabble, a few other board games, and a battery-operated radio. Plus, all kinds of snacks.
Kate wrapped both arms around her chest in a sweet, protective gesture that inadvertently enhanced the whole pin-up girl view. “Looks like we’ve got enough supplies for a week.”
Jake nodded his acknowledgment and looked away. Hell, he was only human. He cleared his throat. “Never hurts to be prepared. And Scrabble is…”
“The best board game ever.”
“Love Scrabble.” He pinned her with a look. “But I’m competitive. Don’t go easy on me.”
A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Thank you,” she said, their words overlapping. “I am…hungry.” She drew in a breath and handed him the pain reliever. “And…I’m also really sorry.”
He held up the bottle. “For emptying my Tylenol supply?”
“No, I mean…” Still wrapped in that protective gesture, she looped her index finger inside the tiny red strap at her shoulder. “I’m sorry about my behavior.”
Jake tried to concentrate, but his gaze kept drifting to her shoulder. He’d been in a sex-free zone for longer than he cared to admit. Concentration was tough. “Your behavior?”
“Earlier. On the tarmac. In the hallway.” She let out a long sigh. “The martinis and the winking and the less-than-appropriate questions.”
He waved her off. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Do you feel better?”
“Yes, I do.” Kate shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Or I would if we could forget everything I said about my ex and the whole star-spangled sex thing…” Her words drifted off in a mixture of desperation and hope.
“Yeah, that’ll be difficult.” Jake smiled, amused by her obvious chagrin. “And, not to get too personal, but I think your point was that the sex was less than star-spangled.”
A charming pink blush colored her cheeks. “Yes.”
“No worries. All’s forgotten.” He set the plastic bottle on the mantle above the fireplace. “Pain officially killed.”
She smiled over at him. He returned the smile and took a step back. Then another. Kate Bell was a love blogger sent to fuck up his peaceful world. He needed to remember that. But damned if he could keep from smiling.
She nodded at the radio. “Any news?”
Putting more distance between them, Jake picked up the battery-operated radio. “Only one way to find out.” He flipped on the power, tuned to the AM frequency, and dialed through the interference to a local emergency station.
A series of high pitched sounds preceded the start of the announcement. “According to the Caribbean Oceanic & Atmospheric Center, Dante has been downgraded from a Category 1 hurricane to a tropical storm. Atmospheric conditions associated with El Niño have made it difficult for hurricanes to develop this season and Dante will be no exception. Nevertheless, island officials ask people to remain vigilant and indoors.”
The broadcaster delivered additional news and instructions in an easy islander accent. But no crisis data, no evacuation order. “Sounds like we’re going to get lucky.”
Her eyes widened comically at the edges. “Oh yeah?”
“Not that kind of lucky,” he teased. “But it does sound like we’re not going anywhere tonight.” He tuned in to the classic blues station and eased onto the faux fur blanket next to the stone hearth. Once settled, he placed a sandwich and a single serving bag of Sunchips onto a paper plate. “Not exactly five star, but…”
“Thank you.” Accepting his no-cook, emergency-style meal, she took a seat next to him on the blanket. Close, but not too close. The room grew quiet, save the wind whistling outside the paneled windows. He ripped open his chips.
She cleared her throat. Took a bite of the sandwich. “This is good. Better than my usual Friday afternoon splurge at the deli on 4th and Lex.” She made a sound of appreciation that had him wishing he’d meant the other kind of lucky, but he’d be a damned fool if he gave in to that kind of thought. She plainly wanted—needed—love and romance, the whole package he couldn’t give. Except her mouth was so inviting. And her neck… But then she said, “Do you ever miss New York?”
And—boom. Just like that, he felt the immediate shutdown of his expression. His self-imposed exile from New York was a personal topic and a great place to start an interview. He drew in a breath and tried to stay cool. “Part of Smart Cupid’s company line?”
“What? No. I only meant…” Her words trailed off, and he waited silently, hoping to be wrong, hoping he wasn’t being played. “From what I can tell, you’ve been away a long while, and I know what that’s like. To be away from your family. Away from home.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched. The subject of home and family was as off-limits as his boxer briefs. “And yet, you’re not in Ohio.”
She set down her plate, not looking at him as she straightened. “No, I’m not.”
“Why not?” He watched her from across the blanket as the sound of the rainfall against the skylights reverberated between them. Time to put the love blogger in the hot seat.
Her response was quiet but certain. “Because I need to be my own person.”
Surprised by her candor, he pressed for more. “And how is that different than me?”
Still avoiding his gaze, she continued. “Because unlike you, I’ve never been taken seriously, and I want to be.” She moved the plate in a circle, clockwise. “But until my dad can go into the Arcadia grocery store and hold my by-lined, full-colored copy in his hands, well, to him, to my whole family, I’ll just be the dream-filled girl wasting her time in New York, when I should be home, running the business.”
A bitter sound formed in the back of his throat. “Being taken seriously isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Her next softly spoken words were a challenge. “Well, at least I’m not hiding.”
“And I am?” He hated the sudden cynicism in his voice, but living through the fallout of that damned book, not to mention his marriage, had killed some deep-rooted part of him. “Is that the theory my sister is currently floating? Or are you just another woman who’s read the book and feels like she knows me?”
Her eyes flashed, stormy as the skies outside. “Who says I read your book?”
The muscles tightened in his jaw. “By a ‘factor of sex,’” he said, adding air quotes as a reminder. “A few hours ago you were citing the damn thing. Or was that the martinis talking?”
She winced. “Knowing the title of your bestseller isn’t exactly ‘citing the damn thing,’” she said, throwing in a set of air quotes for good measure. “Why are you being so defensive?”
“Defensive?” He jumped on her words, not believing for a second she wasn’t working an angle for her interview. He stabbed at his glasses. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“About my marriage, my career…the blowback from the whole mess.” Her reply was a simple shake of her head. “Well, you are one in a million.”
He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, drifting back in time. The Sex Factor had hit all the lists. He’d made it. He was successful. Out of Brooklyn. Best time of his life. Blessed with a great marriage—or so he’d thought—a strong, respectable counseling practice and a commercial literary triumph that would’ve allowed him to focus on serious psychological study, he was flying high. And then—bam—all of it, gone.
Overnight he’d become the relationship therapist with the cheating wife. He remembered the humiliation, the professional embarrassment. Rather than stay in New York, he’d taken the money left after the divorce and bought the island. A year later, he built the resort, a place for couples to get away from all the bullshit, to rediscover love. But not him. Never him.
Had he ever been able to feel that way? He wanted to think so. But if he ever had been able to, he couldn’t anymore. Not now. He was broken.
“If you want to talk…” He shook away his thoughts and watched her absently moving a few tiles around the Scrabble board. “Off the record.”
“Off the record?”
She offered a small smile. A short nod. Stacked up a few game tiles.
Damn. She was sweet, and he hadn’t talked, really talked, with anyone in… “Off the record, my ex is the reason I came to Paradise. To get away from the media circus of my divorce.” Forget the promises thrown back in my face.
Hell, even standing at the altar in his monkey suit, he’d felt uneasy, unsettled. Fashion shows and the Grammys were held in Gotham Hall, not weddings. Not his kind anyway. He’d wanted St. Brigid’s in the East Village, but the 19th century church wasn’t built to accommodate the four-hundred strangers gathered to wish him well. His ex had always been more interested in his celebrity than in him. He’d simply failed to notice.
He felt a sharp pain in his chest, like his heart flinched. Yeah, he’d felt like something was missing with his ex. But she’d seemingly adored him. His instincts had told him that whatever was missing, they’d figure it out. They’d build it. Together. Forever.
Wrong. Wrong in every single way.
How could he trust his instincts again?
The room grew quiet except for the wind, the rain, the click-clack of letter tiles rising in a tower at the edge of the board. Kate sighed. “My ex, the one who fit the company-line package to a T, emptied out his side of the closet and left me with a box of donuts.”
Jake made a sound at the back of his throat. So she’d had it rough, too. “Not a nice guy.”
“No,” she said in a soft, faraway voice. “Not a nice guy.”
Stupid jackass. His mouth twisted to one side. “Mine slept with my agent, or rather, my ex-agent, all while I was building my career as an authority on romantic relationships.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, not quite believing he’d told her. “Didn’t exactly make me look like an expert.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah—ouch.”
Thinking about it made his teeth ache. Maybe he was hiding, but fighting it out in New York had felt impossible. Even now, the last thing he wanted to do was respond to his ex-agent’s calls demanding that he get back to the city and stand by his commitment to a second book. What a joke. Jake could terminate the damn contract based on the little known who-can-write-a-book-for-an-asshole clause. If there wasn’t such a clause, well, for fuck’s sake, there ought to be. He scrubbed his face with both hands.
Kate cleared his throat before saying, “So your wife—”
“Ex-wife.”
“Ex-wife.” She met his gaze with what felt like a combination of empathy and surprise. Empathy, courtesy of the fact that she’d experienced a recent love disaster, and surprise that he’d revealed something so personal. “So she didn’t love you the right way. That doesn’t need to make you cynical. Not forever anyway. You’ve got to know what you wrote is amazing.”
Jake slanted his gaze in her direction. “So you admit you’ve read it?”
“No. Yes. Part of it.” She picked up a bottle of water, opened it and took a swallow. “I may have bought a new copy on the way to the airport.”
He raised his brows above the glasses. “A new copy?”
“Let’s just say, this was a last minute assignment. I’m only here because…long story, short…it might be the only way to save my career.”
“Since I’m not going to do the interview…” He gave her a smile that let her know he was no longer completely averse to the idea. “What’s your backup plan?”
She snapped the strap of the sundress. “Oh, I brought plenty of things for a backup plan.”
He kept his expression neutral. “The dress?”
“Definitely the dress.” She laid down tiles for the word “BIKINIS” in the center of the board. “Maybe even a few bikinis…”
“Bikinis, huh?”
“Several bikinis, actually.” She laughed and tilted her head toward the board. “Twenty-six points. Double word score.”
Jake nodded, amused, and a little impressed by her game. Not to mention her laugh. Man, she had a great laugh. “So you’re here to save your career and get over your ex?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Not necessarily in that order.”
He nodded. Interesting. “Career versus love. The age-old question.”
LOVE. She built the word on the edge the board. “Not much of a question for me. I always go into a relationship looking for love.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s my problem.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“What’s the alternative?”
“To love?” She blushed a pretty pink that had him wondering how far past the edge of her sexy dress that sweet blush extended. “Take things as they come.”
Man did he want to see where a kiss with her could lead. But that was stupid. She wasn’t here for that. Certainly not from him.
Right?
“So you’re not here for a relationship?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, which only made him want to kiss her more. “I know that’s what I want. One day. But maybe forgetting about that for a while is what I need for now. Thinking it’s time for something different. Spontaneous.”
He’d kill for that to be true. “You sure about that?”
“Hard to say. I’ve never done that sort of thing.” Another glance up from beneath those lashes. “Just forgotten about the future and jumped a guy.” Her voice had gone low. Become sultry. Irresistible. “First time for everything, right?”
“First time.” First time in a long time. Not smart. Not smart at all. He cracked open a bottle of water, hoping it would cool down his thoughts. “What else do you write for Smart Cupid? Besides the Man Candy Crush of the Month.”
“You mean, besides the bachelor profile,” she said, her tone laced with teasing reproach. “I write a daily blog about the dating scene in Manhattan. Modern Love. Relationships.”
“Ah, relationships,” he repeated, raising the water bottle in a mock toast.
“With a capital R.” Her fingers sifted through the letters, adding the R-word to the game. “But there’s room for other possibilities, too.” She offered a smile. “Flirtations. Passions. I blog about everything. Friday Night Love Bingo at the Brooklyn fire station. Speed dating in Tribeca. No topic is off-limits.” She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear, a gesture he found oddly endearing. “Last week, we featured an online quiz about finding his passion threshold.”
“His passion threshold?”
She gave a short nod. “Defines how much passion a man can handle.” A smile played at the edges of her mouth. “Want to give it a shot?” He cocked an eyebrow, and she clarified, “The quiz.”
“Right. The quiz.” He leaned back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. “Tonight’s off the record, so…why not?” Might not fall into the wise category, but if it meant a chance to flip the tables and define her threshold, gain insight into her limits, he was all in.
Her smile widened. “Okay…first question.”
She tilted her head in thought, and the simple movement exposed her curves in a way that made focusing on her quiz next to impossible. “Let’s see, the first question was…”
He felt captivated—that’s how he felt. Captivated by her curves, her smile, the way the velvety hum of her voice echoed the pulse of the rain. How long had it been since he’d noticed a woman for any reason, much less for the tone of her voice or the fabulousness of her curves?
“Favorite type of music. Classical, rock’n roll, elevator, or rhythm & blues?”
He looked over and caught her gaze. She smiled back at him. Damn. Totally captivated. “Gotta be rhythm & blues…soulful, slow, sexy…that’s the way I like it.” He heard the soft breath hitch in her throat, and suddenly, he was smiling, too. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling the strange electricity building between them. “What about you? What’s your favorite?”
“I’m the one asking the questions, remember?”
“I don’t recall any restrictions on the quiz.”
She opened her mouth—probably to debate the quiz-taking rules—but stopped and said simply, “Fine. Classic rock.”
He gave a slow nod of approval. “Loud and bold. I like it.”
She pinned him with a look. “Next question—movie genre. Mystery, Comedy, Thriller, or Action.”
“Action, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she said, a teasing gleam in her eyes, “Rogue One or Jason Bourne?”
“Do you really need to ask? Jason Bourne. All those super-cool operative skills.”
The look on her face was dubious at best. “Oh, right, I can definitely see that.”
He reached for the edge of the blanket and tugged her closer. “Hey, don’t doubt me. I am all about the covert…”
“Action?”
“Exactly,” he said with a small smile. “The spontaneous covert action.” He added the word to the Scrabble board, noting that, despite the rain pummeling the island, he felt lighter than he had in years. Nice to have a woman around. “And you?” he asked, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “I imagine you love romance.”
“Obviously.”
“Sweet or sexy?”He held her gaze, noting the way her eyes darkened slightly. Almost as if she…what? Wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her? God, he hoped he was that lucky.
She moved the strap of the dress back onto her shoulder, a casual move that sent a shot of unexpected raw desire through his system. “Both.”
“Best answer so far.” If she wasn’t the sweetest, sexiest woman he’d seen in a while…damn.
Blame it on the storm, or the unexpected intimacy of the situation, whatever the reason, in that moment, he knew one thing. If this woman gave even the smallest indication that she wanted to kiss him, then not kissing her was going to be next to impossible.
“What about your favorite breakfast?”
“Do I like it sweet or sexy?”
“No—I mean, well, sweet, maybe, if you like Belgian waffles or French toast or… ”
“Coffee. Just coffee.” He nodded toward the Thermos. “But a bagel from Shelsky’s on Court Street? Definitely sexy. The sexiest in Brooklyn.”
“The sexiest, huh?”
“By far.”
She laughed again—and damn. He was grinning. “So is Shelsky’s, home of the world’s sexiest bagel, your favorite breakfast place?”
“Not by a long shot,” he said, leaning closer, his smile still playing at the edges of his mouth. Because, God help him, she was making him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Another subtly sexy comment or two would show if she was feeling the same way. And he hoped she did. “No, my favorite breakfast place is in bed.”
Her lips rounded into a small circle. “Oh…well, that is sexy.”
“Think it ups the passion threshold?”
“Definitely ups the passion…threshold, yes.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s move on to the next section. Favorite part about dating.”
He leaned closer. “I’d much rather talk about kissing.”
Another blush stained her cheeks. “Okay, that’s the same area. I guess.” She swallowed. “So your favorite part about kissing?”
He’d meant the question to put her on edge, but instead she’d turned it around on him without even trying. “The buildup. The sense that maybe, just maybe, you’re going to kiss.”
She bit down on her bottom lip as if to hold back her next words. “Me too. I love the good night kiss. The anticipation. The possibilities.” She shifted onto her hip and the strap of her dress fell away, leaving only the red lace of her bra against her bare shoulder. His mouth went dry. So many possibilities. She looked over at him. Caught his gaze. Held it. “So…when was the last time you gave someone a good night kiss?”
“Too long,” he said in a low voice. “Far too long.”
He smiled. She smiled back. “So when is a good night kiss appropriate?” she asked. “After the first date? Or maybe…the second?”
Or now. Right now.
“A better question might be: why limit a kiss to good night?” He leaned closer, his gaze drifting to her mouth. Jesus, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to find out if her lips tasted like strawberries. He felt certain they would.
“That is a much better question.”
Her answer was a near whisper, soft and sweet, and he couldn’t take his eyes off those soft, crushable lips. He shifted closer, wanting to feel her mouth beneath his, wanting to kiss her until she was gasping for breath. But could he trust those desires? Hell, it’d been forever since he wanted to carry a woman across her passion threshold—any threshold. But with this woman…“A kiss is just the beginning.”
He looked at Kate. She looked back. They’d both been hurt, and while she still believed in love, love was out of the question for him. But he could be her rebound guy. Make her feel things she’d never felt before. Give her all the hot chips she deserved. “A kiss can lead anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” A quiet sigh fell from her parted lips, inviting him closer. “One little kiss?”
“One little kiss.” His full attention focused on her mouth.
“Never had a kiss lead…anywhere.”
He could stop here. Back away before this went any further. Maybe he should. She wanted this and had been plain that she wasn’t expecting anything, but he’d been here before. Taken chances. Let his heart—and other things—guide him.
“Are you sure you can still kiss, considering how it’s been ‘far too long?’”
“Excuse me?”
A mischievous twinkle at the back of her eyes. “You heard me.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She wet her lips, a move so enticing that he knew he was going to kiss her if he didn’t stop right now. “I love a good challenge.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Who doesn’t?”
A low chuckle sounded in the back of his throat. Damn, this was fun. She was fun. He gave the blanket a quick tug, and suddenly, she was just inches way. He slanted his mouth over her already parted lips, hovering there in anticipation, feeling her warm breath. In that moment, he almost believed a kiss could lead anywhere. He brushed her lips gently, barely a touch, and she let go a soft sigh. An invitation.
His lips captured hers again, tenderly, as his hands moved up her back and tangled in the curls at the nape of her neck. He deepened his kiss slowly, adding intensity with her every quiet sound of encouragement. God, he’d missed the feel of a woman in his arms, and this woman made him realize just how much he’d been missing. Made him feel how much he wanted her, maybe even needed her, if just for this one night. Here. In the middle of the storm.
He pulled away slowly and took in the sight of her. Eyes gone dark, her lips wet from kissing, her skin flushed and warm—she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in a very long time.
A very long time.
“Great kiss.”
“Great kiss.”
He raised his eyes to meet her gaze, not quite believing what he was about to say. “Kate, I may not be that whole company-line package, but I can promise you more great kisses, and if you’ll let me show you exactly where a kiss can lead…” He stopped. Drew in a breath. What the hell? Nothing to lose. “I can guarantee you really great sex.”