Make Me Tremble (3 page)

“I
can’t
. He’ll kill me,” Jake whispered. Wild to do something, he clawed in his jeans pocket. “Here. I brought you some Pop-Tarts,” he said, holding up the package triumphantly. “They were from my grandma Rose’s groceries, but I don’t think she’ll notice if a few are missing. They aren’t good for her heart anyway, but she loves them so much, I talk Emmitt into getting her some once in a while . . .”

She stared at him like he’d gone mad. He realized how lame his offering was, given the direness of her situation. It struck home again just how lame
he
was. How inadequate.

“He tied my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t try and get down the ladder,” she whispered. She blinked the tears swelling in her eyes. He felt himself dying a little inside.

“Oh.”

“But I am hungry. And weak,” she added.

“I’ll feed it to you,” he whispered. He ripped open the paper package. “Come closer,” he directed. She came nearer, and the sunlight fully illuminated her face. There was a sprinkle of light freckles on her nose. He saw the mottled bruise on the left side of her forehead. It stood in such contrast to her pretty face and pale, smooth skin. He paused in the action of extending his hand.

Anger pierced his helplessness. He recognized Emmitt’s handiwork. She was staring hungrily at his hand, which held the Pop-Tart. She parted her lips, and he got a hold of himself.

He shimmied out further. The limb dipped alarmingly. Her eyes went wide.

“’S okay. It’ll hold,” he assured. He held out his hand and it crossed the pane of the window. She craned her neck and took a large bite out of the Pop-Tart and, without chewing, bit off another. She
was
hungry. When had Emmitt taken her? Had it been before she’d had her evening meal? Or were fear, adrenaline, and her injury responsible for her sharp hunger? He wanted to ask her, but her mouth was full as she demolished the Pop-Tart. Then, when she slowed down a little, something else preoccupied him.

Her even, small white teeth and pink mouth.

The Pop-Tart almost gone, he extended his thumb and forefinger with the last bite. Her lips brushed against his skin as she nabbed it. Pleasure tingled through him. Her gaze darted to his face and she abruptly ceased chewing. Had she felt it, too?

“You have to get me out of here,” she whispered after she’d swallowed the last of the Pop-Tart with effort.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Harper. Harper McFadden. He hit me when I was in the showers at the campground.”

“Which one? Which campground?” he added when she just stared at him blankly.

“I don’t know the name. It’s on the river. My parents are Philip and Jane McFadden. Go to the police and tell them I’m here!” she hissed, the idea seemingly enflaming her.

“I can’t do that,” he whispered, thinking intently. “Town is too far away. He might have moved you by the time I got there.”

“You have to do
something
,”
she insisted. A tear spilled down her cheek. She clenched her eyelids shut. He sensed her misery. “He . . . he took off my clothes. I’m . . .”

Her face collapsed. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her mortification at her nakedness and vulnerability, the stark evidence that she’d been robbed of her basic dignity, made something new and unexpected happen inside Jake. His anger at her mistreatment at the hands of his uncle made him go cold . . .

Cold and hard.

He
did
have to do something.

She’d lost herself to distress. Her eyelids remained clamped but a few tears escaped down her cheeks. She was holding her breath. He recognized that she was trying to contain her fear and admired her for it. He sensed her terror, and it was huge, but she was fighting it like crazy.

“Breathe, Harper,” he prompted firmly. Her eyelids remained squeezed shut. He stretched his arm and touched her damp cheek. He felt a tremor go through her. Her shimmering eyes locked on him.

“Okay. I’m going to get you out of here,” he said. “But you’re going to have to wait here for a few hours. There are some things I’m going to have to do to make this work. When I do come to get you, you’re going to have to do
exactly
what I tell you to.”

“I don’t want to stay here alone.
Get
me out of here now,” she pleaded in a shaky whisper.

He steeled himself. “You
have
to. I’m sorry. If I don’t put a plan in place, Emmitt will catch us in about two hours flat after he wakes up, probably less. The only way we’re going to get you back to your mom and dad is if you stay strong and
stay
put
. You’re safe, for now.”

“What are you going to do?” she whispered as he started to inch back on the limb.

“Lay a false trail. Then sedate the animals. All of ’em. Including my uncle,” he replied before he shimmied backward on the branch.

* * *

Present Day

Jacob jerked on his bed at the still-vivid memory, his hand thumping on the luxurious, cool bedding.

So different
, Jake Tharp from him.

He wasn’t sure what drove him to do it, but he switched on a lamp and rose from the bed. He entered his large closet. Behind stacks and stacks of glossy shoe boxes, he found what he was looking for. He pulled down the ragged, faded Converse All Star box and walked with it back to the bed. He tossed off the lid and picked up a folded piece of notebook paper, a feeling of mixed sadness, pity, and irritation going through him at seeing the scrawl.

Harper,

How’s it going? Do you like the seventh grade? I hope math isn’t as bad as you were worried it’d be. It’s been so hot here, they might as well have just extended our summer vacation. Kids’ brains don’t work in this kind of weather. Billy Crider got sent home because he kept falling asleep in science, and about six detentions and threats of more wouldn’t wake him up any. You probably have air-conditioning in your school at Georgetown, right? The heat sure hasn’t been good for Grandma Rose, either. She’s been pretty weak, and she hasn’t hardly eaten anything but half of a Pop-Tart once in a while. I know I should give her something healthier, but it’s the only thing she’ll eat except for some crackers once in a while. It’ll be okay, though. Weather forecast says it’ll get cooler next week.

I started reading The Hobbit, since you said it came before Lord of the Rings. I feel like I already read LOR, though, because you told me every detail of it. Remember? That night in the cave?

Hope I’ll get a letter from you soon. Thought I’d have one by now, but the mail service to Grandma Rose’s isn’t that great. I’m looking for an after-school job. If I get one, maybe I’ll get a P.O. box so I’ll be sure to get all your letters.

I guess you must know how much I miss you.

Jake

A sharp pain of longing went through him. Longing for what, he couldn’t say. He refolded the piece of notebook paper and shoved it back in the Converse box. He sprawled back on the bed.

She’d never written. Not even one letter.

Despite his bitterness at that, Jacob knew Harper would always be special to him. That was a given, even if there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition in her eyes when she looked at him today.

He hadn’t realized it as a kid, but Jacob recognized it now twenty years later in spades. The moment Jake had made the decision to free Harper McFadden had been the precise moment he’d saved his own life.

Harper plunged into work the next day, glad for the mayoral press conference and the tangible bit of news that came from it. It helped, having something to focus on beyond the bewildering, mind-blowing memory of what had happened on Jacob Latimer’s moonlit terrace last night. Being in South Lake also helped her avoid the newsroom, Ruth Dannen, and her prying questions. It did until two o’clock that afternoon, that is.

“Well? What’s the news from the king’s palace?”

Harper looked up from her layouts. Ruth leaned inside the doorway of Harper’s office.

“Nothing really,” Harper said levelly, glancing back to her layouts. For some reason, she felt a need to protect Jacob Latimer. Or maybe she just felt the need to hide her outlandish behavior on his terrace last night.

“Did you figure out why they asked you?” Ruth persisted, stepping into Harper’s office.

Harper exhaled in mild frustration. Ruth wasn’t going to be easily shaken. Might as well spoon out a small measure of the truth. “I did, in fact. As it turns out, Latimer was a fan of a feature I did at the
Chronicle
—the one about Ellie and the homeless children of San Francisco? He’d mentioned it to Cyril Atwater—”

“The director?”

Harper shrugged sheepishly and nodded. “I’d never heard of Atwater until last night.”

“I’ll bet Cyril loved
that
,” Ruth said, smirking. “That man has an ego the size of Texas.”

“You know him?”

“Sure, Cyril is another one of our local celebrities. He gives me an interview once a year about his latest film project. Go on.”

“Well, apparently Latimer mentioned my story to Atwater in regard to making it into a film, and Atwater loved the idea,” she said, hoping to bring the conversation to an end. “I’m going to call Ellie about it. It’s completely up to her whether or not she’d want her life put on film.”

“That’s it?” Ruth asked when she shifted her attention back to her layouts. “Who else was at the party?”

“I really only met Atwater. And Elizabeth, of course.”

“What about Latimer? Did he make an appearance?”

“He did, in fact,” Harper said nonchalantly as she did a markup. “A brief one.”

“
Well
?” Ruth demanded. “Give me details, the dirtier the better.”

“I haven’t got much to tell,” Harper eluded. “The chardonnay was excellent. I caught a glimpse of the bottle. Apparently, Latimer has his own label.”

“He owns a small winery in Napa.”

“The terrace was fantastic, and so was the house. There was a jazz band.” Ruth looked like she wanted to bite her head off for giving such boring details. Harper hid a smile. Thankfully, her phone started to ring. She reached for it, but Ruth put her hand on the receiver, halting her.

“Did you speak to him? If not, to whom did Latimer talk? How long did he stay? What was his mood like? What was he wearing?”

“What was he
wearing
? Seriously?”

“The juice is squeezed from every detail, no matter how small.”

“There isn’t any
juice
. I told you, he only showed up briefly.” She shooed the other woman’s hand from her phone, scowling pointedly at her as she picked up the receiver.

“
Sierra Tahoe Gazette
, Harper McFadden speaking.”

“Hi.”

A shock went through her. She blinked, her gaze darting to Ruth. Ruth’s expression segued slowly from irritation to dawning curiosity.

“Hi,” Harper managed after a pause.

“I hope you don’t mind me calling you at the office. I’m often told I’m not a patient man,” Latimer said.

She picked up her cup, taking a sip of cold coffee in an attempt to look normal. “What is it you’re so impatient about?” she prevaricated.

“Your answer.”

“Oh. Yes, that. I haven’t spoken to Ellie yet.”

From the corner of her vision, she saw Ruth place her hands on Harper’s desk and lean in.

“That isn’t the answer I was referring to.”

She felt a flickering sensation in her lower belly at the sound of his low, compelling voice. She glanced up at Ruth, who was watching her like a hawk.

“It’s more complicated than you’re assuming,” she said, her manner brisk and professional.

“Is there someone there?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, I’ll make this brief. I’m picking you up at your place for dinner tonight. Six thirty? Does that simplify things for you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harper said, squinting at her layout and making a nonsensical change.

“Yes. Well, like I said last night, some complications are unavoidable. Say yes.”

“Yes?” she muttered, confused momentarily as to what he meant.

“Perfect. I’ll see you at six thirty. Dress casual.”

“But—”

The line went dead.

“Who was—”

“Not now, Ruth,” Harper said more sharply than she’d intended, slamming down the receiver. She gathered up several papers from her desk in a random fashion. “Excuse me. I have to see Sangar.”

She glided past a furious-looking Ruth.

* * *

As the clock inched toward six thirty that evening, Harper grew increasingly anxious. Latimer had said to dress casual, but what did that mean, exactly? Casual as in taking a lakeside stroll, or casual as in going to a classy, but easygoing restaurant. Plus . . . her townhome was in a gated community. He had to call to be buzzed in, and he didn’t have her cell phone number or her residence number. Of course, she still had no way to reach
him
, so she was stuck.

She shouldn’t have let him bulldoze her into making a decision.

It’s just dinner
, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror.
You don’t have to make any huge decisions—like about whether or not you want to have a physical affair with a gorgeous, mysterious, complicated male—until you’re good and ready.

She’d finally decided that a silvery gray, button down maxi-dress along with a soft, cropped pink sweater in deference to the recent cool evenings, could be interpreted as casual. She wasn’t showing much skin, which was good. Although did the sweater accentuate her breasts in a manner that perhaps Latimer would think was intentionally provocative?

Was
she being provocative?

Her uncertainty on that topic loomed large.

Her doorbell rang as she began to unbutton the pink sweater in preparation to change it. Flustered, she refastened it and hurried to find her purse.

By the time she jogged downstairs and got to the front door, she was breathless. The sight of Latimer waiting patiently on her front porch made it even harder to get air into her lungs. Did one ever get used to looking at him?

His short hair was sexily mussed. There was an evening scruff on his lean jaw. He wore a cobalt blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back, a pair of worn jeans that fit his long legs and narrow hips with a casual, sexy perfection, and a pair of deck shoes. His hands were in his pockets. Harper’s gaze stuck on the vision of his bare, strong-looking, hair-dusted forearms.

She realized uncomfortably that he hadn’t spoken, either. He’d been checking her out like she’d been checking him out, his sharp, hazel eyes moving slowly down the length of her. Did his stare linger on her breasts? He seemed so solemn, despite the male heat in his eyes. Latimer’s brand of appreciation was unlike any other she’d experienced before. By the time he met her stare, only a few breathless seconds had passed, but he’d managed to make her breasts feel conspicuous and tingly, and a warm, pleasant ache to expand in her core. She recalled vividly what it’d been like to have him touch her, and found herself craving the feeling of his skin against hers.

She cleared her throat. “How did you get in?” she asked, forcing a smile.

His eyebrows arched. “I’m not ‘in’ yet,” he replied, deadpan, nodding at the threshold and then at her, his eyebrows quirked slightly.

She laughed and stepped back, waving him into her townhome. He moved past her and she shut the door behind him. “No, I meant how did you get past the gate?”

“I came from the lake, not the road,” he said, glancing around her foyer and peering into her distant living room. He looked especially tall and striking in the familiar setting. And he smelled
good
.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Thanks. Do you want to look around a little?”

He nodded and she led him into the great room, which was a large, airy space that included her kitchen, dining area, and living room. “It came fully furnished, so I don’t know how much it actually represents me yet.”

“Yet? Does that mean you plan to redecorate? Plant roots in Tahoe Shores?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “This whole thing with me taking this job has been a sort of . . .”

“An unexpected detour off the main road?” he finished for her when she trailed off.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She met his stare and found herself lost there for a moment. He had the longest lashes. The dark ring around the outside of his iris highlighted the complex, fascinating color of his eyes. His gaze had an almost hypnotic quality on her. No . . . it wasn’t that. It evoked the opposite of the hazy, dreamy quality of hypnosis. She knew that from experience. Instead, Latimer’s stare was almost alarmingly alert. It seemed to slice down to the heart of her.

Also: His mouth was indecently sexy. When she looked at it, she couldn’t help but think of him doing
things
with it.

“I’m not usually so impulsive,” she found herself saying. “Any detours I take are usually well thought out and planned.” His lips twitched slightly.

“Then it’s not much of an adventure, is it?”

She laughed and tore her gaze off his face. “I suppose that’s what you think I should consider you as well?” she asked, trying to make light of things. “An adventure?”

“Would that help?” His low, mellow voice seemed to caress the side of her cheek and neck.

“I’m not very good at adventures.”

His hand enclosed hers. She glanced up at him in surprise.

“That’s okay. I am.” His eyebrows arched. He gave her that small, heart-knocking smile that always struck her as sweet and mind-bogglingly sexy at once. “I’ll keep you safe, Harper.”

For a few seconds, she just stared at him, a sense of strong familiarity going through her again. She gave an anxious laugh.

The confusing thing was, she had the strangest feeling that he hadn’t been teasing her at all. That in fact, he’d just uttered a solemn promise.

* * *

He really
had
arrived by water. He led her to her townhome association’s pier and a huge moored black and white boat. She recognized it as one of the two boats that had been tied to buoys last night at his home.

“I hope you don’t mind dinner on the water,” he said, leaping gracefully onto the boat and turning to extend his hand to her.

“No, that’d be great,” Harper assured, her feet landing on a polished wood deck. She looked around the boat while he unfastened the moorings with quick precision. He was obviously very comfortable on the water. She enjoyed boating, but had never been on a craft this large. Strangely, although it was enormous compared to a typical motorboat, its sleekness and aerodynamic design made her think of speed. “Is this a yacht?” she asked him when he approached her again.

“A small one. But it’s unique because it’s deft and fast, as well. It was specially made for me by a man I know. I liked the design so much, I decided to go into business with him,” Jacob said, his tone making it seem like it was a common, everyday practice for him to start a new company.

Which maybe it was, Harper mused.

He reached for her hand. Harper liked not only that he did it, but that he made the gesture seem so natural. Not only on his part. On hers. It felt nice, feeling his hand enclosing hers. Comfortable, and yet thrilling at once.

He led her up some stairs. Harper counted four separate levels on the small yacht. She noticed another flight of steps going downward from the main deck. She caught sight of a salon of sorts with indoor and outdoor seating, then on the next level—miraculously—a small outdoor pool and cabana. Jacob took her all the way to the top level, where he guided her over to an open-air bridge. He settled behind the controls. Harper sat in the leather chair next to him.

They didn’t talk as he maneuvered the craft away from the pier and then slowly took it out of the small harbor. The bridge had a lot of high-tech and sonar equipment that Harper couldn’t make heads or tails of, but it was clear Jacob was completely at home. She settled in her chair, surprisingly okay with the silence between them.

They left the harbor behind and soared into a gorgeous Tahoe evening. The lake sparkled and flashed in her eyes, the brilliant azure color a striking contrast to the dark green, pine-covered mountains, the pure blue sky and the white wispy clouds. She liked watching him handle the craft even more than admiring the stunning scenery. She kept stealing glances at his solemn profile and his agile, comfortable movements as he navigated the craft. Her gaze kept sticking on his strong-looking hands. She thought of what he’d done to her with those hands on the terrace last night—what he’d done to himself.

She turned her hot cheeks into the fresh breeze, cooling her flash of embarrassment and lust.

“I thought we could anchor at Emerald Bay for our dinner,” he said, speaking loudly over the sound of the engine and water rushing against the boat.

“That’d be nice,” she said, gathering her windblown hair at her nape. He did a double take, and she realized she was smiling broadly.

“You like the water,” he stated more than asked.

“I do, very much. So do you, obviously. How long have you liked boating?”

“I was around water and fishing boats my whole life, but when I was about fifteen, I moved to a place that was on a lake,” he said, keeping his profile turned to her as he steered. “I met a man there—a neighbor—who kind of took me under his wing and taught me how to drive his boats. He had a whole collection of motorboats, sailboats, and Jet Skis. I started working for him after school and in the summers. When I got a little older, he’d let me and my friends take his boats for water-skiing and camping trips.”