Page 58 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“Max doesn’t count.”
Jake groans and sinks back down into the bed. “Perhaps I don’t think it’s for public consumption like the rest of my life.”
“Should I be flattered by that? I’ve never been someone’spublicbefore.” Sarcasm is edging into my voice again.
Careful, Charlie. This is the closest he’s ever come to opening up.
“You’re not.” He tugs me back into his arms. “You’re far more intrusive, and a much better lay.”
“Rachel intimated that the press has no idea.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They wrongly assumed my father left her. For his colleague’s assistant, no less,” Jake adds wryly. “Nothing like repeating your father’s alleged indiscretions…”
He’s so close to me now he’s speaking directly into my hair. Beneath my fingertips he’s tense and reluctant.
“When she left, my father went to pieces. He gave my mother everything, but even he couldn’t have predicted— At first it was alcohol, then came the prescription meds. He was a fucking mess. By releasing false details to the press, my family was attempting to safeguard what little self-respect my father had left.”
I go very still. Jake’s talking. He’s actually talking.I wonder if he ever shared this with Cassie?
Reaching over, I briefly press my lips to his. “How old were you and Max?”
“Ten and six.”
I try to envisage their mother. Does she have the same deep, dark pools as her eldest son? Do they reflect the same torrents of emotion? Does her beauty bring a room to a standstill? Did she ever love him?
“She left him for another man,” says Jake brusquely, answering my next question, the words still poised and unspoken between us. “But don’t ask me who, because that’s a whole other fucked-up bedtime story. Eventually my father pulled it together, but he never went near Global again. It was still his obsession, though. His baby from afar.” Bitterness weaves in and out of Jake’s deep baritone. “He saw Global as the only thing he had left after his marriage fell apart.”
“But—”
“No more. I’ve given too much of myself already.”
Fair enough.I slide my palm across his chest in a bid to bind him closer to me.
“I don’t do sentiment.” He grabs my hand to halt its progression. “The same goes for regret.”
“I shan’t be expecting any love letters, then,” I quip, attempting to lighten the mood.Or have I received one already?
Extracting myself from a tangle of arms, I scramble out of bed.
“What the hell did I say now?” Jake sits up and frowns at me. “Shall I wait for the insults to start rolling, or leave in the interval?”
“You didn’t say anything,” I say, laughing. “Not yet, anyway.”
I can feel his gaze flickering over me as I shrug into the white hotel robe.
“You’re talking in riddles,” he mutters. “I hate riddles. I don’t even know how to spell the word.”
“Doesn’t say much for your expensive education, does it?”
“You ending up as my brother’s assistant doesn’t say much for yours. I wasn’t joking when I said you’d have to tie his shoelaces.”
“Stop being mean about my boss.” I finally spy my laptop bag lying next to the desk. I scoot over and start riffling through the mess in the front pocket.
“Your tits look amazing when you’re bending over like that.” Jake’s voice has taken on that husky, aroused tone again.
“Don’t try and sidetrack me. I’m looking for your letter. I didn’t have time to open it before— Ah, here it is.”
Jake is out of bed in a trice and yanking it out of my hand.
