Make Me Feel (6 page)
But she’d seen the way the shutters came down over his eyes as he stood by the bed just now.
No
. He wasn’t going to be making any more revelations anytime soon, she realized with a sinking feeling.
If ever.
But he had told her he cared, hadn’t he? Wasn’t his volatility a result of him admitting that to her, and to himself?
When he returned to the bed, she saw that he’d changed into dark blue pajama bottoms. Otherwise, he was nude. He didn’t speak as he sat on the edge of the bed. He removed her dress over her head and carefully drew the thong he’d torn off her leg. He took off her pumps, his touch on her achingly tender. She watched him as he solemnly washed away his essence from her skin with a warm, damp cloth and then dried her with a towel. Emotion swelled in her chest cavity.
Such a beautiful, haunted man.
There was nothing she could think of to say. Everything seemed trite and without substance in comparison to what she experienced on the inside. Even her doubts were washed away by an onslaught of raw feeling.
When he’d finished and set aside the towel and cloth, she shifted on the bed, crawling under the covers. She put her arms up to him, and he came on the bed with her. He held her tight against him, stroking her hair. She felt that inexplicable bond between them surge and quiver, almost like it was a living thing.
He smoothed back her hair with his hand and pressed his lips to her temple.
“I hate wearing a condom with you,” he said in a hoarse voice next to her skin. “I hate even that coming between us.”
She made a sound of anguished longing and pressed closer to him.
“Harper?” He nudged her cheek and she lifted her head to look at him. “Are you on birth control?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“When we get back to Tahoe, let’s have a doctor examine us both. If we get clean bills of health, I want to be inside you. No more barriers.”
“Okay,” she agreed shakily, unable there, in his arms, to say anything different.
He opened his hand along the side of her head, holding her stare.
“And I want you to spend the nights with me when we return, too.”
“Every one?” she asked, stunned.
He nodded. “For as many as possible. For as many nights as we need, I want you with me. And I want you to know that
I’m
there. I don’t want you wondering—or doubting—because we’re separated.”
“You mean wondering if you’re with another woman?” she asked, the image of the beautiful, troubled Regina leaping into her mind’s eye against her will.
“I don’t want you doubting or worrying about anything. I don’t want to worry about you.”
“I worry about the end,” she admitted impulsively, her face and throat tightening with emotion. “
Our
end. Especially if I agree to what you’re proposing.”
Because wasn’t that the unspoken part of his proposal? Wasn’t he saying that their attraction was so strong, that they may as well play it out at its fullest, give the fire all the fuel it demanded until it banked, and they were finally free of the compulsion of it?
Or at least . . . one of them was. Her fear about getting involved with him surged inside her.
His hand shifted on her head, his fingers stroking her hair. She’d never seen so much compassion in his agate eyes than she did at that moment.
“It’s too late, Harper. I care too much, whether I wanted to or not. I think you feel it, too. We can’t go back, only forward. No matter what happens. Surely you sense that, too?”
She made a choked sound and pressed her cheek to his chest. Neither the word yes or the word no would leave her throat. She felt trapped. His mouth pressed against the top of her head.
It would be nice to believe that she had a solid choice in all this, to cling to the idea that she would never willingly steer herself toward catastrophe or heartache. She hugged him tighter and sensed the powerful bond between them tighten until it hurt. Maybe the volatile attraction between them would eventually wane; who knew?
But maybe Jacob was right.
In that full, poignant moment with him, Harper couldn’t help but wonder wildly if it were even
possible
for either her fears or Jacob’s ghosts to sever their bond.
* * *
By the time it came for them to leave San Francisco on Sunday morning, Jacob hadn’t pressed Harper any further about his proposal for her to stay with him in his Tahoe mansion as much as was possible. She couldn’t decide if she was glad or disappointed about that.
She kept thinking about his unexpected mood shifts. Was he moody like that with everyone? No. Somehow, she didn’t think he was.
It’s
me
who has him so edgy.
She detailed in her mind the topics they’d been discussing when he behaved so strangely, trying to make sense of what had touched him off. Her ruminations only made her more confused.
When they returned to Tahoe Shores at around noon, Harper peered out the sedan window onto a gorgeous, crystalline summer day. Tahoe Shores brimmed with bustling vacationers, everyone seeming intent on squeezing every last bit of fun out of the waning summer. Lakeview Boulevard was lined bumper-to-bumper with beachgoers’ cars.
Harper’s attention on what was happening outside the window was fractured slightly when Jacob received a call from Elizabeth. He’d told her that Elizabeth had gone with Regina back to Napa. Was his assistant calling because there was more trouble? He barely said more than five words to Elizabeth before he hung up. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a newspaper he’d bought at the airport in San Francisco. He began leafing through it.
“Look at all the cars and people,” Harper murmured.
“It is a holiday weekend,” Jacob said distractedly, frowning down at the newspaper.
“Is something wrong?” Harper asked him.
“No, not at all,” he replied briskly, folding up the paper and shoving it back in his briefcase. Jim had picked them up at the airport. Jacob opened up the window to the driver’s area of the car and spoke to him.
“Can you take us to Harper’s first? She’s going to run in and get some things to take to my place, then come right back out.”
Her heart jumped. Again, she had that feeling of being trapped between her desire and caution. She longed to be with him, of course, to indulge in the lush, sensual connection they shared. She wanted it
too
much. The velocity of their growing attachment to one another, the sheer power of it, left her vaguely panicked that they were on a path together that could only end in catastrophe.
And that didn’t even take into account that she was increasingly feeling like she wasn’t fully getting what was going on with her and Jacob . . . what was going on with
him.
“Jacob, I really should run some errands and check the mail,” she prevaricated when Jim pulled up to her townhome entrance. She leaned forward to hand Jim the clicker that activated the privacy gate. She looked back at Jacob when he grasped her extended hand, and was abruptly caught in his stare.
He’d dressed casually for their return trip to Tahoe in jeans and a forest green collarless shirt that emphasized his riveting eyes and broad shoulders. He pulled her hand into his lap and pushed a button, and the window between them and Jim silently closed. She didn’t say anything when he silently drew her against him, his hand at her lower back. She put her hands palms down on his chest and inhaled his scent, her logic about why she should resist his demands already melting.
He touched her hair. “It’s still the weekend. Still the holiday. Surely you can wait to do errands.”
She pressed her nose to his chest and inhaled, sacrificing her last remnants of resistance. His fingers moved in her hair, and she shivered. He slid two fingers beneath her chin and lifted it, so that she met his stare.
“Do you really want to go home?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Then why are you hesitating?” he asked, his brows slanting.
“It’s nothing.” She shrugged helplessly. It was hard to put her insecurities into words. “I just have this feeling—”
The sedan came to a halt outside her townhome. Jacob’s hold on her didn’t flinch.
“What kind of feeling?” he asked.
“That the faster we go, the more intense we are, the quicker it will end,” she admitted.
“You can’t know that, Harper.”
“I know I can’t,” she admitted, staring at his chest. “I told you. It’s just this feeling.”
“Of dread?”
She looked up sharply, stunned by his insight. “Yes.”
He nodded. “I think I know what you mean.”
“You
do
?”
“Yeah. But it’s like I said last night. We can’t go back. We can’t tread water. The only way to go is forward.” He caressed her cheek, and she instinctively moved her face toward his touch. “Besides. It’s not just dread, what I’m feeling. Far from it, Harper. Is it for you?”
“God, no. I wouldn’t be here, if it were. But aren’t you even a little worried we’re moving too fast?” she asked softly.
That there’s some big unnamable thing happening, something either threatening or wondrous.
She couldn’t tell which
. . .
“I told you before. I don’t think I can be with you in any way but all the way. One hundred percent. Look at me.” She met his stare reluctantly. “Everything’s going to be okay, Harper. Trust me.”
She drank in his quiet confidence. How could she be so intimidated by him and everything he represented, and yet feel incredibly secure with him at the same time?
“The only thing you have to agree to is this afternoon. Tonight,” he said.
“What about tomorrow night? And the night after that? You said in San Francisco that you wanted us to spend every night together that we could—”
“Then I’ll take it back, if it makes you feel better about it. I guess I’ll just have to talk you into every night each day at a time.” He reached up the back of her head firmly, his gaze on her a smoldering demand. “I want you with me tonight. I want to go out on the boat and spoil you a little, and make love to you a lot. I want to watch the fireworks with you and fall asleep under the stars with you in my arms. Do you think you can manage that?”
She stared at him, her lips parting in bemused arousal. “How do you do that?” she whispered. She felt his little smile like a tickle in her lower belly.
“Is that a yes?” he murmured.
Of course it was. She was beginning to wonder if she’d lost the ability to even say no in his presence.
Harper returned to the sedan a few minutes later, having emptied her clothes from San Francisco and replaced them hastily with clean ones and a few more toiletries.
“Did you bring a swimsuit?” he asked her when she returned, and they resumed their journey via limo to his home.
She glanced over at him and saw his nearly imperceptible smile. “Of course I did. You didn’t think I was going to wear that itsy-bitsy one from before, did you?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t see the problem. “I liked that swimsuit.”
She snorted with laughter, her anxiety fracturing, her happiness swelling when he grinned full out and reached for her, bringing her against him.
Even as she drowned in the bliss of the moment, a flickering, dark thought took shape. Jacob hugged her closer, and it faded.
But maybe it burrowed into her unconscious, like a persistent worm.
How
had it happened, that she’d fallen to this dangerous depth, when she was so unsure of him? How was it even
possible
that he could disarm her so completely, when she’d only known him for such a short period of time?
Admit it, Harper.
Why was she having so much difficulty acknowledging her growing, unsettling suspicions to herself?
Because what you’re considering isn’t a remote possibility, that’s why. Because to
actually
believe you’ve known Jacob Latimer in some other time or place—in some other life—is to admit that you’re losing it.
It was just her confusion and longing making her consider such bizarre possibilities. Everything was blending together: her grief over her parents’ sudden death, her ruminations about her childhood, and Jacob’s inexplicable, powerful effect on her.
The present loss was making her relive the past one.
It hit her then, how odd it was that he’d told her she reminded her of someone else, when she’d been making similar connections,
impossible
comparisons. For the most part, her musings seemed totally wrong, nonsensical . . . just plain crazy.
She rubbed her cheek against Jacob’s chest and stared out the window, tears filling her eyes. Jacob pulled her closer against him. The pain of what she’d done so long ago had dulled over the years. But at that moment, the memory of that childhood ghost—that beautiful, brave boy—rose and stabbed at her brutally.
He’d vanished from her life. But unlike in the case of her parents, Harper herself had been the one responsible for that loss.
Keep reading for an excerpt from SINCE I SAW YOU, available now from Berkley.
Lin Soong hurried down the sidewalk, her face coated in a thin layer of perspiration overlaid with an autumn mist. Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks. She’d finally ended up just walking the three-quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her, wielding a comb and a flatiron like a warrior’s weapons.
“You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish, just like everything else in life.
Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart. She despised feeling flustered, and this situation called for even more than her usual aplomb.
By the time she entered the crowded, elegant restaurant, she’d repinned her waving, curling hair and used a tissue to dry her damp face. She immediately spotted him sitting at the bar. He was impossible to miss. For a stretched few seconds, she just stared. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbled in her belly.
Why didn’t Ian mention that his half brother looked so much like him?
She soaked in the image of him. He was very good-looking, even if that frown was a little off-putting. He wore a dark blue shirt, and the rich brown of a rugged suede jacket brought out the russet highlights in his hair. Kam Reardon didn’t know it—and she’d never tell him—but she herself had picked out the clothing he wore. It’d been part of the mission Ian had assigned her to make his half brother presentable for a potentially lucrative business deal here in Chicago. Ian had suggested a new wardrobe for his trip to the States. Kam had grudgingly agreed after some skillful nudging on Ian’s part, but insisted upon paying for everything. It’d been Lin who actually chose the items, however, and sent the articles to Aurore Manor in France. In fact, she’d been choosing and sending home furnishings to Aurore Manor—Kam’s once grand home that had fallen into disrepair—as well.
It warmed her to see him wearing the garments, firsthand evidence that he’d considered the clothing suitable to his taste. Her clothing selection hadn’t helped much in getting Kam to blend in, however. He was too large for the delicate chairs lined up at the supersleek, minimalist bar. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the trendy establishment, all bold, masculine lines and unrelenting angles.
No . . . not like a sore thumb, Lin amended. More like a lion that found itself in the midst of a herd of antelope. His utter stillness and watchful alertness seemed slightly ominous amidst the sea of idly chatting, well-heeled patrons.
Suddenly, she realized his gaze had locked on her from across the crowded dining area.
“Bonsoir, beautiful. We have your table waiting,” a man with a mellow French-accented voice said.
Lin blinked and jerked her gaze off the man who was a stranger to her, and yet wasn’t: her boss’s infamous half brother, the wild man she’d been sent to tame.
She focused instead on Richard St. Claire’s smiling face. Richard was a neighbor, good friend, and the manager of the restaurant where she stood, Savaur. He owned the world-renowned establishment with his partner, chef Emile Savaur. Lin was a regular here.
She returned Richard’s greeting warmly as they hugged and he kissed her on the cheek. “Can you hold the table for just a moment, Richard? My dinner companion is waiting at the bar. I’d like to go and introduce myself,” Lin said, turning as he began to remove her coat.
“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scowling?” Richard muttered under his breath as he draped her coat elegantly over his forearm, looking amused. He noticed her surprised glance as she faced him again. How did Richard know her dinner companion was the man at the bar? “You mentioned you were having dinner with Noble’s half brother on the phone when you made the reservations. I noticed the resemblance; who wouldn’t? I can’t wait to hear the full story behind this little scenario,” Richard said with a mischievous glance in Kam’s direction. “He’s like Ian Noble posing as a Brazilian street fighter, but with the added bonus of having Lucien’s seduce-like-the-devil eyes.”
Lin stifled a laugh at the apt description. Richard was good friends with Lucien Lenault also, Kam and Ian’s other half brother. He’d undoubtedly heard part, if not all, of Kam’s story from Lucien. “He’s actually cleaned up quite nicely,” Lin murmured. “Not six months ago, the people from the village near where he lived thought him homeless and mad, when he’s truly brilliant and extremely focused,” she added, her head lowered. She smoothed her expression, acutely aware of Kam’s sharp gaze still cast in her direction.
“He hardly seems like a vagrant, but he has been sitting at the bar, looking like he’s been chewing nails for the past ten minutes. Victor doesn’t know if he’s scared to death of the man or in love with him,” Richard said under his breath, referring to the bartender serving Kam. Indeed, Victor was surreptitiously studying the tower of whiskered, glowering brawn seated at the bar, with a mixture of wariness and stark admiration as he dried a glass.
Lin threw her friend a repressive, amused glance and walked over to meet Ian’s brother. Kam was one of the few people seated at the teak bar, a half-full glass of beer in front of him.
“I’m so sorry for being late. Work was crazy, and there wasn’t a single available cab to be found when I finally did get away. You must be Kam. I’d have recognized you anywhere,” she said when she approached him, smiling in greeting. “Ian never told me how much you two resembled one another.”
He turned slightly in his chair, giving her an unhurried once-over. She remained completely still beneath his perusal, her expression calm and impassive. Inwardly, she squirmed. Ian had also failed to warn her that Kam Reardon oozed raw sex appeal—not that Ian would ever say that about his brother.
Although it couldn’t have been any more than a second that he studied her, it felt like minutes before he finally met her stare. She recognized the hard glint of male appreciation in his eye. A strange sensation rippled down her spine. Was it excitement? Or that uncommon brand of lust that strikes like lightning during a rare, uncommon rush of attraction? His face and form were similar to Ian’s, although up close, there were notable differences: the nose was slightly larger, the skin swarthier, the mouth fuller, the hair not quite as dark as Ian’s, with hints of russet in the thick waves. Gorgeous man-hair, Lin assessed. It had to have dozens of females longing to sink their fingers into it on a daily basis.
Ian would certainly never go into public with a day-and-a-half’s growth of stubble on his jaw. Although Kam’s clothing was suitable for the restaurant, it was far more casual than Ian’s typical Savile Row suits. It was like seeing Ian in some kind of magical mirror—a shadowy, savage version of her debonair boss. Kam’s silvery-gray eyes, with the defining black ring around the iris, were certainly strikingly unique, despite what Richard had said about them being similar to Lucien’s.
Maybe it was more the effect they had on Lin that was singular.
“Ian probably never noticed our similarity,” Kam replied. “He’s never seen me without a full beard.”
Another stark difference. Much like that of her grandmother, who had learned English in Hong Kong, Ian’s accent was all crisp, cool control. Kam’s French-accented, roughened voice struck her like a gentle, arousing abrasion along the skin of her neck and ear.
She put out her hand. “I’m Lin Soong. As you probably already know, I work for Ian. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”
He took her hand but didn’t shake it, merely grasped it and held on. His hand was large and warm, encompassing her own. The pad of his forefinger pressed lightly against her inner wrist.
“Does my brother make a habit of overworking minors?” he asked.
She flushed, the temporary trance inspired by his voice and touch fracturing. She knew she looked younger than her age, especially with her makeup faded from the mist and her hair curling around her face like a dark cloud. Besides, she was young for the position she held at Noble Enterprises as Ian’s right-hand woman. She was used to the observation, although it typically didn’t fluster as much as it did at the moment.
“I’m hardly a minor. Ian seems to find me capable enough for all my duties,” she said smoothly, arching her brows in a mild, amused remonstrance.
“No doubt.” She blinked at the steel of certainty in his tone. His finger moved on her wrist, and she suddenly pulled her hand away, afraid he’d notice the leap in her pulse.
“Actually, I’m twenty-eight,” she said.
“Isn’t that young for the position you hold at Noble Enterprises? I’ve heard the stories from Ian and Lucien and Francesca. He can’t seem to function without you,” he said.
She flushed at the compliment. “You might say I was groomed for the role. My grandmother was the vice president of finance for Noble. She got me regular summer internships during college and graduate school.”
“And one day you ended up in Ian’s lap?” he asked, silvery-gray eyes gleaming with what appeared to be a mixture of humor and interest. “Does your grandmother still work for Ian?”
“No. She passed two years ago this Christmas.”
Her breath stuck when he reached around her waist. Was he going to touch her? She jumped slightly when a chair leg made a scraping sound on the wood floor. She exhaled when she realized he was pulling back on the chair next to him so that she could sit.
“Our table is ready,” she explained.
“I’d rather eat at the bar.”
“Of course,” she said, refusing to be flustered. She set down her briefcase in the seat next to her and reached for her chair. A frown creased his brow and he stood. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprised when she realized he’d grudgingly stood to seat her. Maybe he wasn’t so rough around the edges, after all.
“You’re a cool one,” he said as he sat back down next to her, his jean-covered knees brushing her hip and thigh.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged slightly, his eyes gleaming as he fixed her with his stare. “I thought you’d take offense to sitting at the bar.”
“Don’t you mean you’d hoped I would?” she challenged quietly. She transferred her gaze to Victor when the bartender approached, speaking before Kam had a chance to refute her. “Victor often serves me at the bar when I stumble in after a long day’s work. He takes good care of me,” she said.
“And it’s always a pleasure. The usual, Ms. Soong?” Victor asked.
“Yes, thank you. And will you please let Richard know he can give our table to someone else?”
Victor nodded, giving Kam a nervous, covetous glance before he walked away.
“Goodness, what did you do to that poor man?” Lin asked in a hushed tone, leaning her elbows against the bar and meeting Kam’s gaze with amusement.
“Nothing. I asked him to give me a beer.”
“That’s all?” Lin asked doubtfully.
He shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe not. Might have said something like, ‘Forget all that crap and just give me a damn beer.’” He noticed her raised eyebrows. “He was trying to get me to buy some fancy drinks and two bites of food and a sprinkle on a plate.”
“Imagine him suggesting you eat and drink in a restaurant.”
Much to her surprise, he grinned widely, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “The guy’s got balls, doesn’t he?”
Lin forced herself to look away from the magnetic sight of Kam Reardon’s smile. It was a tad devilish, no doubt, and full-out sexy, but there was also just a hint of shyness to him in that moment, as if his interest was unexpectedly piqued in meeting her. And like her, he hadn’t been prepared for it. It was potent stuff. Perhaps she could forgive Ian for not giving her warning about his half brother, but surely his new wife, Francesca—as a fellow female—should have hinted at something that might prepare her for the impact of Kam.
“Most people who belly up to the bar expect a friendly chat with the bartender,” she chided lightly.
“I’m not most people,” he said, watching her as he also placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, matching her pose.
“Yes. I think we’ve established that,” she murmured humorously, studying him with her chin brushing her shoulder. They sat close. Much closer than they would have if they’d been seated at a table. Their elbows touched lightly; their poses were intimate. Too much so for having just met. She instinctively glanced downward, taking in his crotch and strong, jean-covered thighs.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She fixed her gaze blindly on the glassware hanging behind the bar.
She silenced the voice in her head telling her to lean back and gain perspective. Lin Soong didn’t hunch down over bars flirting with rugged, sexy men. His face fascinated her, though. She wanted to turn again and study it, the desire an almost magnetic pull on her attention. And . . . she could smell him. His scent was simple: soap and freshly showered male skin. No, it should have been simple, but was somehow light-headedly complex. Delicious.
“I wasn’t trying to insult you by saying I’d rather eat at the bar,” he said, referring to her earlier, subtle gibe that he’d intended to insult her. “I’m more comfortable here. I’m out of practice. I’m not used to places like this,” he said, glancing around without moving his head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. With a sinking feeling, she thought of the schedule she had planned for him in the next few weeks. Ian had approved of it, but clearly Kam wouldn’t. Perhaps it’d be best to ease him into things, maybe just tell him about each appointment a day or two in advance so that he didn’t have time to dread them too much? “I wasn’t trying to be pretentious by asking you to meet here. Even though Savaur might seem upscale, I consider it the opposite. It’s almost like a second home for me. I’m good friends with the owners—they’re neighbors of mine, in fact.”
