Page 21 of Work It Out
Jake’s laugh was 90 percent disbelief. “Cupcake, that man is so ass-over-tea-kettle in love with you, he can’t see straight.” His expression turned pensive. “It could also be a side effect of restricted blood flow to his brain from the long-term crick in his neck. For God’s sake, you’d think the height differential alone would put the man off. The sexual logistics would boggle keener minds than his. It’d be like a St. Bernard and a chihuahua.”
That silver gaze zeroed in on her, narrow and annoyed. “And if you Mr. Newman me one more time…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he couldn’t find a terrifying enough threat. “You didn’t call me Mr. Newman the other night.” Her cheeks surely went red, but she kept her stern expression firmly in place. She hadn’t meant to call him Jake when they were lying there in the dark, baring the most painful parts of their souls. It had slipped out. “Call me Jake,” he went on. “Call me Chris. Hell, call me Home-Stealing Jackass if you want, but after everything we’ve been through the past few days, I think we’re long past the Miss Manners routine.” His grin came back, dimples hitting her hard enough to make her knees wobble. “I’m sleeping in your bed, after all.”
Dear God, so much of that emotional whiplash–inducing rant was wrong she didn’t know where to begin. So she started with the most absurd part. “Blaine isn’t in love with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s not!” She didn’t care that she sounded like the lady protesting too much. “Blaine and I have known each other for years, and well, he’s seen some things. He worries over me.”
The Army hadn’t been kind to her bighearted friend before he’d gotten hurt. After, it all but crushed him. She’d been one of the few people he’d trusted to help him put the pieces back together. Just like he’d been one of the few people she’d allowed to see her at her worst.
“As for you,” Rayah went on, “I call you Mr. Newman out of respect. You’re a client and—”
He huffed out an exasperated breath. “Do you call my grandmother Mrs. Moloughney?”
“I did in the beginning, but—”
“But she made you stop. Because we aren’t those people. There’s nothing wrong with those people, but politesse isn’t the Moloughney style. I mean, you’ve met Gramps, right?”
He had a point. Dr. Quin Moloughney, PhD, was about the least formal person she’d ever encountered. Maybe it was knowing everything—and she did mean everything—about everybody in a small town. As Bigbone’s one and only clinical psychologist and its busiest of well-meaning busybodies, Quin believed in boundaries for everyone but himself.
“Fine. Jake.” It did seem silly to hold on to her primness when she’d taken care of him while he was sick. Not to mention the fact that he’d had his hands all over her underwear. He didn’t need to look so pleased with himself, however. The moment his name touched her lips, his dimples flashed and his eyes shimmered.
That smile really is incredible. It wasn’t just the dimples, though those were sigh-worthy. Jake had one of those faces that was attractive at rest, but when he smiled, it transformed so drastically, he almost looked like an entirely different person, someone who’d never seen the ugly parts of life. Even if it wasn’t true, she envied him the fiction.
She started to return his smile when he weaved on his feet. Now that he wasn’t talking craziness at her and she’d taken her eyes off those damn craters in his cheeks, she saw what she’d missed when he’d stomped up on her private disagreement. He was pale and wobbly and maybe a little green. And sweaty. Really freaking sweaty.
“Were you working out?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Smart-ass. “Yes, but you look like hell.”
His smile turned dopey. “Aww, thanks, cupcake.”
That so did not need to become a thing. “I said I’d call you Jake, but you can cut the cupcake business out right now.”
“But that’s the great thing about cupcakes. You don’t cut them. You just unwrap them and take a bite.”
Oh, he was good. All the sweet teasing melted out of his voice, his tone becoming deep and seductive. By the time he’d finished speaking, his voice had been barely a dark whisper, drawing her to him and making all her poor, neglected fun parts tingle.
Choosing to ignore the battle she wasn’t sure she wanted to win (cupcake was kind of sweet), she latched on to the argument she had to conquer. “I understand that you’re under a lot of pressure, but even if the altitude sickness is getting better, I can’t have you overdoing it and hurting yourself. One broken bone or torn ligament and your timeline’s shot. Pierce ought to know better.” She’d have to talk with him, too. Jake had signed a waiver, but those things were more deterrent than real legal protection. He wouldn’t even need the law on his side if he dragged her to court. He could ruin her in legal fees alone.
“Don’t be mad at Pierce. He swears we took it easy.” He moaned. “Didn’t feel easy.”
“What exactly—”
“Rayah, stop. I’ll be fine. I’m embarrassingly out of shape. That’s all. Yes, it took me longer than I would’ve liked to acclimate, but I had a fantastic nurse. I was fine before Pierce ran my ass into the ground. I knew this would be difficult. I’m not quitting, and you can’t keep coddling me.”
She blinked. “No one’s ever accused me of coddling. Ever.”
“That’s only for me, huh?” He winked. “Any excuse to get your hands on me?”
Wrapping her hands around his neck sounded good. “Fine. You want to kill yourself? That’s your call. You can’t sue me if you’re dead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client waiting.” She turned to go, but his fingers on the back of her arm stopped her.
Strange. Blaine touched her the same way minutes ago with very different results. Blaine’s huge, calloused hands were friendship and family and safety. Jake’s softer touch made her shiver almost as much as the feel of his breath on her cheek when he leaned close to murmur, “Nice try, cupcake, but we aren’t done yet. We still need to talk about your living situation.”
That got her back up. “There’s no ‘we’ and nothing to discuss. I’ll take care of it.”
