Page 53 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Spencer called me the day afterthe incidentand said you’d called him up and said that I had crossed a professional line and you weren’t comfortable working with me anymore.” Kate buried her head in her hands, her face glowing hot. “And you were right. I definitely crossed a line and you had every right to not want to work with me anymore. But then you were just so… so mad that night outside my apartment. I know I fucked up, but I don’t do spontaneous confrontation, okay? I need prep time. I need flowcharts and alternate scenarios and maybe some lightdialogue prep. And then you said you were gonna leave the fuckingcountryand I don’t know. I guess it… I don’t know. It… broke me.”
“Kate,” Jake said, stunned. He didn’t try to touch her, which she didn’t think she could handle just then.
“I thought we were friends,” she said, and oh god, here they came. The snotterworks. Why couldn’t she be a dainty crier, like Natalie Portman or something? Maybe they got surgery, actresses. Tear-duct reductions or something, so only one solitary tear could trail down their perfectly sculpted cheeks. “But I guess I messed that up, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you, I know. I was drunk, which is obviously no excuse. And I was scared, also not an excuse. You were talking about Trout and the adventure business, and how you’d be gone for months at a time. I always knew you would leave someday. I knew you couldn’t stay in one place for very long, but I guess I thought… I don’t know, some dumb part of me thought maybe you would stay instead. Just for funsies. It wasn’t fair, and I had no right. And I know these all sound like excuses and I swear they’re not. Or maybe they are?”
“Kate,” Jake said, and now he did touch her, his hand sliding up along the side of her face to thumb away her tears. And it was just as unbearable as she’d thought it would be, even as she hiccupped a little and leaned into it. “Kate, I never called Spencer.”
“I said sorry! Wait. What did you say?” She looked up at him with big eyes; his gaze so serious. Boring into her, seeing right through all the artifices she’d worked so hard to put in place this weekend, all of them stripped away one disaster at a time.
“I said, I never called Spencer. I never would have called Spencer, because I was never upset with you for trying to kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you right now. But not as some drunken mistake you could laugh off later. I was only pissed because I thought you were trying to get rid of me. Like you didn’t care. If I had known what you were actually feeling, I might have given you more time and space to cool off. I had no idea about Spencer calling you. I don’t even know how he would have found out. I certainly never told him.”
“I definitely never did,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Or maybe I did? I don’t know, I was kind of a mess that night. I could ask Spencer.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got some questions for him,” Jake said darkly, heading for the attic trap door. “Questions that might involve my fist and his face.”
Kate grabbed his hand. “Jake, wait.”
“I know it’s his wedding, Kate, but the twat deserves it.”
“I know he does,” Kate said. She barely had the courage to look at him, much less ask what she really wanted to know. “But… what… what would you have done? If I’d been sober, if Spencer hadn’t interfered. What would you have done?”
Jake’s gaze shifted, the pupils expanding. “You want to know what I would have done?”
Kate nodded, swallowing loudly. “I think… Yes. I want to know.”
He stepped close enough that she took an instinctive step back, her calves bumping into the overstuffed chair. Jake closed the space, his thighs brushing hers, his hand feathering along her jaw and down her neck. He gave her the faintest smile, his fingers digging into her scalp, pulling her mouth toward his. “What if I show you instead?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was one thing, kissing Jake Hawkins in the dark, and another to kiss him now, face-to-face, with the soft lamplight dusting his lashes and burnishing his hair like a sunset. She could tell now that kissing him in that crawl space had been like a fantasy, all touch and taste and physical reaction. But the little glimpses of Jake she took between breaths, the deep blue rim of his half-closed eyes, the soft line where his neck sloped into his collar bone, the tickle of a wayward curl against her forehead, all of it was so very deeplyJake.
Jake, who always smelled of the ocean; Jake, who patiently recounted his travel stories while she scribbled down her notes; Jake, who made sure he brought fresh flowers every time he saw his aunt because that’s what her late husband would do; Jake, with his sexy accent and easy smile and super-human patience. This was something more than want, something more than lust, and something that completely terrified Kate. But she couldn’t stop herself from giving into it just then, even if she wanted to. Which she absolutely did not.
Jake took his time with her, his hands staying firmly above her neck, his tongue running along the soft skin of her upper lip, his teeth tugging at her lower lip. She groaned and leaned into him, chasing thattongue, too hungry for decorum. But he only leaned her gently away from him, his thighs pressing against hers, his lips trailing across her cheek to her ear.
“I’ve waited years for this,” he said, his breath warming the inner shell of her ear. “And I’m going to take my time. Every last minute of it, Kate. Until neither of us can stand up again.”
Kate gasped as his teeth sunk into her earlobe, his tongue flicking against the soft tissue there, turning the lower half of her liquid. He slid his hands down to her waist and held her tight against him, kissing her as he slowly turned her and walked her back toward the bed. They had far too many clothes on for Kate’s taste, and she tugged impatiently at the hem of his sweater. He gladly drew it up over his head and tossed it to the side, returning the favor and tossing her sleuthing sweater and her shirt in the overstuffed chair. She was down to her bra and leggings, and suddenly self-conscious about which underwear she’d chosen that morning. When she’d packed for this weekend, sex with Jake Hawkins had genuinely been the furthest thing from her mind.
Not that she was complaining.
“God, you’re so soft.” Jake groaned, burying his mouth where her neck and collarbone met. He ran his tongue along the bone there, swirling it in the hollow at the base. “And you taste so good. Like a ripe, luscious fruit.”
“That might be actual fruit. I dropped a cantaloupe on myself at the breakfast bar.” Kate sighed, pushing him back a little. “No fair. You shouldn’t get to do all the tasting.”
Jake’s gaze was practically feral, but he bowed his head with a small grin. “By all means, ladies first.”
Where to start with Jake Hawkins? How many parts of him had she imagined tasting? All of them. All of the parts. And now here he was, and she didn’t even know where to start. She reached out hesitantly, putting a hand on his stomach, feeling the bands of muscle there. His breath caught as she slid her fingers up, brushing his nipple. She leaned forward and gently ran her tongue around the edge, scraping her teeth gently over the tip.
“Kate,” Jake said, his voice choked.
“You don’t like it?” she said, burying a smile.
“Now I know you’re teasing,” Jake said, his words thick.
“Maybe,” she said, letting her hands slide down his belly toward the button on his jeans.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, catching her hand. “My turn now.”