Sweet Seduction (The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series) (9 page)

“Jessica,” he said, his voice mere whisper. 
“Jessica.”  That was as far as he got.

His heart swell inside him and he felt like it would
burst from his chest.  It was such agony, kneeling there at her feet, knowing
that she was lying beneath the ground – but it was not her.  Not really.  The
real Jessica, the one he’d known and loved, the true essence of who she’d been,
had departed three years ago.

Since the funeral Jake had been back to Jessica’s
grave three times but this trip was hardest of all.  Each time before he’d told
her he loved her but now he couldn’t speak.  There was a lump in his throat,
choking him as he fought hard for control.

But it was no use.  He slumped forward, his forehead
pressed into the grass, and for the first time since the funeral the tears
came.

Jake dug his fingers into the grass, his shoulders
heaving as he gave way to the waves of grief that washed over him.  Jessica,
dear sweet Jessica was gone forever, and no amount of self-torture or denial
would bring her back.  It had finally sunken in.  He had to say goodbye.

“Jessica.”  His voice was a broken whisper.  “I'm
sorry.  So sorry.  Please…forgive me.”

The ache in his heart burst and spread through his
body and he moaned in pain that was almost physical.  But then a gentle breeze
came floating over his back like a soft caress, somehow soothing his tortured
soul.  Dared he think it was a sign?  Could he be forgiven?  For a long time
Jake stayed there, as still as stone, his thoughts going back to the wonderful
times he’d shared with Jessica.  Those years he’d had with her were a gift he
would cherish as long as he had breath.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “for all the love you gave
me.  I will never forget you.”

Later, much later, as he walked back down the hill and
toward the cemetery gate he drew in a deep, cleansing breath.  He now knew what
he had to do.  There was only one way he could make things right in his soul. 
The thought had come to him as he bowed there on his knees.

Now he had a plan - and a purpose - and he was ready
to move.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Not the moping again.”  Meg stepped into the office
and slammed the door behind her.  “What a rain.  It felt like God was up there
throwing down buckets of water.”  She shook out her umbrella and leaned it in
the corner then unbuttoned her raincoat and shrugged it off.  She hung it on
the coat rack then turned to Sam.  “So what are you doing here so early in the
morning?  It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

“I had some charts I wanted to print off before I hit
the road.”

“And I bet you haven’t done it yet.”  Meg patted her
bun and paused to give her an accusing look.

“What?  Printed the charts?”

“No, silly.”  Meg waved a hand as if in exasperation. 
“Called the guy.  Remember our talk?”

“I remember,” Sam said quietly.  “And I did call him.”

Meg’s eyebrows shot up.  “You did?  How did it go?”

“I’m…not sure.”  Sam began stacking papers, trying to
look busy.  She didn’t want Meg to see how nervous she was.  “We spoke on the
phone and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say but then…it’s been a
week.  I haven’t heard from him since.”  She lifted her eyes from the papers
and looked at Meg.  “Do you think I should call again?”

“Of course you should, child.  As long as your
conversation ended on a friendly note there’s no reason not to.”

Sam pulled at a lock of hair that had slipped out of
her scrunchie.  “I don’t want him to think I’m stalking.”

“That’s not stalking, that’s being proactive. 
Listen,” Meg gave her a conspiratorial look,”  “men don’t know what they want
half the time.  You have to prod them along.  If I had waited for your father
to make up his mind on his own do you think we’d be married today?”  She gave
her trademark snort.  “I’d probably still be waiting for him to pop the
question.”

Sam sighed.  “Okay, I’ll call.  But it’s only to check
that he’s okay, not because I’m fishing for a date or anything like that.”

“Of course not, dear.  I totally believe you.”  Meg’s
wide grin said she’d formed her own conclusions.

Well, whatever Meg thought, that was her problem. 
She’d call but definitely not from here.  Her stepmom knew too much already.

And that was how Sam ended up making the call from her
cell phone that afternoon while sitting in her car in the local park in the
shade of a copse of trees.  As the gentle breeze blew through the car window
she dialed Jake's number.

“Hello.”  It was more of a moan than a greeting. 

Sam frowned.  “Jake?  Is that you?”

Another moan then a hoarse whisper.  “Not so loud. 
Please.”

Sam’s heart lurched.  “What’s the matter?”  Luckily
she remembered to whisper her urgent question.  “You sound terrible.”

“Migraine,” he whispered then groaned.  “Since
yesterday.”

“Oh, my God.”  Sam felt her heart flutter.  Jake was
in pain and he was all alone.  “I’m coming over.  Just leave the front door
open for me.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh then hung up.

At the speed at which Sam drove that morning she got
to Jake’s house in under fifteen minutes.  She didn’t bother to ring the
doorbell but just turned the knob.  Good.  He’d left it open like she’d asked. 
She left her boots at the front door and climbed the stairs to the master
bedroom.  The door was ajar.  “Jake?” she said softly, understanding how
sensitive he would be to loud noises.  She pushed the door open wider and stuck
her head in.  The curtains were drawn and all she could see in the dimly lit
room was a blanket-covered mound in the middle of the king-size bed.

“Jake,” she whispered again as she padded over to the
bed.  He didn’t even budge.

Gingerly, Sam sat on the bed beside him and rested a
gentle hand on what must have been his shoulder.  This time she said nothing
but stroked slightly so he would know she was there.

Only then did he stir.  He gave a groan from deep
under the covers and slowly pulled the blanket from over his head.  He
struggled to open his eyes and then he was squinting up at her.  She gasped. 
Jake’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his forehead wrinkled in pain, and he
looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.

“Oh, Jake,” she whispered, her heart weeping at the
sight, “you poor thing.”  She rested her palm on his forehead and he sighed and
closed his eyes.

What did it matter that she was little more than a
stranger to him?  What did it matter that he’d been running away from her since
the day they’d met?  Right now he needed her and she was going to be there for
him – whether he liked it or not.

“Just relax,” she said softly.  “I’m here now.  You’re
going to be alright.”

He didn’t answer but just lay there with his eyes
closed, his breathing shallow, perspiration beading his upper lip.

Sam slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom where
she grabbed a face towel off the rack and held it under the faucet.  She wrung
out most of the water then headed back to the bed where she folded the towel
into a narrow strip and laid it over Jake’s forehead and eyes.

“Aah.”  He let out a long sigh of relief and she could
see his body relax back into the pillow.

Gently, she pulled the blanket out of his grip and
drew it down to his waist.  His cotton T-shirt was soaked with perspiration. 
She looked around.  He needed to change.  There was no way he could be
comfortable in that.

She walked over to his chest of drawers and, after a
moment of hesitation, she pulled the top one open.  She was loathe to invade
his privacy but under the circumstances she had little choice.  In the top drawer
she found boxer shorts and in the middle drawer, T-shirts.  She grabbed one of
each and dropped them on the bed then hurried to the bathroom where she soaked
a couple of washcloths in tepid water then went back to him.

“Jake,” she whispered, “I’m going to give you a quick
sponge bath and change you.  You’re soaking wet."

“Okay,” he whispered then licked his lips.  He was
probably parched.  She’d deal with that in a minute.

Slowly, she lifted the towel from his eyes and as he
blinked she paused to give him a few seconds to clear his sight.  Then, just as
she’d been taught when she’d done that first aid course as a teenager, she slid
her arm under his back and raised him up, bending her knees for maximum
support.

Quickly, she stripped off the damp T-shirt then made
quick work of sponging his chest and his back with the washcloth.  She had
little time to admire his firm, muscled torso.  She needed to dress him
quickly.  His body was so warm that the moisture from the washcloths dried
instantly so she slid the fresh T-shirt over his head without delay.

“This part of the bed is damp,” she told him.  “Slide
over to the other side.”

Tentatively, he shifted his body over then lay back
onto the pillow.  He closed his eyes again.

Sam grabbed the towel and rags and ran back to the
bathroom where she soaked them again.  Knowing how soothing a cool towel could
be, she folded it and again covered the upper portion of his face.  She was
rewarded with his grateful sigh.

She stepped back and looked down at him, strong and
confident Jake, now so weak and vulnerable.  Sickness was a great leveler,
bringing down even the mightiest warrior.  She just hoped his relief would come
soon.  She hated to see him suffer.

Sam leaned over and pulled the cover over his belly
then whispered, “Did you want me to get you some painkillers?”

He swallowed then spoke.  “Took some already.  No
help.  But what you did…is making me feel better.”

Sam smiled even though he couldn’t see her, happy that
she’d been able to bring him some relief.

She was surprised when he slid his hand from under the
covers and lifted it in the air.  She reached out and took it, and he clasped
her hand tight.  “Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice stronger this time. 
“I appreciate it.”

For some strange reason tears pricked the backs of her
eyes.  Overcome with emotion, a cross between sadness and joy, she surprised
herself when she raised their clasped hands to her lips and planted a soft kiss
on his knuckles.  “You’re very welcome,” she murmured then laid his hand on his
chest.

Sam slid her hand from his then leaned down to
whisper.  “I’ll go down and get you some water.  I’ll be right back.”  As he
muttered his thanks she slipped away. 

Down in the kitchen Sam found a couple of pill bottles
on the table and an almost empty glass of water.  She knew from personal
experience that many times it was not the painkiller that eased the ache but
the water.  Probably something to do with oxygen sent to the brain.  She filled
a jug with water and grabbed a glass from the dish rack.

When she tiptoed back into the room it was to the
sound of Jake’s gentle snoring.  Thank goodness he'd drifted off.  There was
nothing better for healing than deep, restful sleep.  She laid the jug and the
glass on the nightstand then slowly lifted the warm, damp cloth from his eyes. 
He didn’t shift and there was no pause in his soft snores.  Good.

She would let him rest but she was not going to leave
him alone again.  She glanced around the room and saw a hard cover book on top
of the chest of drawers.  Curious, she walked over.  ‘The Adventures of
Sherlock Holmes’.  Not exactly her cup of brew but she would entertain herself
with it and pass the time until he woke up.  She took the book over to the
armchair by the window and sat down.  Soon she was engrossed in the adventures
of the greatest fictional sleuth of all time.  She slipped into the world of
nineteen century England and Tonawanda and the twenty-first century faded away.

******

Jake groaned, almost as an automatic reflex, and
opened his eyes.  He looked around then gingerly he moved his head, expecting
the pain to shoot across his forehead.  Nothing happened.  He turned his head to
the other side. Still nothing.  His headache had completely disappeared.

And then his eyes fell on a river of long, black hair
flowing over the side of his armchair and down to the floor.  He pulled himself
up onto the pillows and stared.  Sam.  How could he have forgotten?

Sam had turned out to be the merciful angel who had
nursed him when he’d been at his lowest point.  And she was here in his
bedroom, her face so innocent in sleep, her luscious breasts rising and falling
with each breath.

Blast it.  He’d just recovered from a blinding
headache and already he was lusting after a woman.  But not any woman.  No, it
was the woman who had bewitched him, the only one in the last three years who
had been able to turn his head.

Jake groaned, but it was not from any kind of pain in
his head.  It was this darned attraction that he could not shake.  With the
return of his health had come the return of strength to a most intimate part of
his anatomy.  And that would not do.  If Sam woke and decided to look his way he’d
certainly scare her with this painfully obvious tent in his pants.  He had to
get rid of it, and fast.