Page 32 of Work It Out
“Jake!”
He jumped and spun his face toward the wall. “Sorry.” The towel rustled against itself. In his mind, he saw her wrapping it around all that sweet skin. Such a travesty could make a man weep.
“You can get up now.” Her voice sounded so raspy and unsure, he wondered where his Rayah had gone. Until she added, “Then you can tell me what the hell you think you’re doing in my bed.”
Cautiously, Jake got to his feet. Rubbing one hand over his face, he tried to wake up enough to not make a fool of himself. Well, a bigger fool. When she squeaked and spun away, he realized it was too late. He’d forgotten he’d worn nothing but a towel to bed. That squeak, and the breeze on his junk, suggested he’d lost the aforementioned covering on his journey to the floor.
Sure enough, when he forced his eyes open, he found it draped half off the side of the bed. He grabbed it, wrapped it around his waist, and sighed. That piece of terry cloth was thick as towels went, but it was no match for the massive erection he was rocking. He sat on the edge of the bed and hoped that would be enough camouflage. “You can turn around now.”
Rayah whirled on him. On the surface her expression was all wrath and hellfire, but her eyes were puffy and red, the skin around them blotchy.
Didn’t that wake him right up?
“You’ve been crying.” He’d barked the words like an accusation, but damn it, whoever made her cry was about to catch a beating. If that big bastard had said or done something to hurt her, Pierce would help him. If he’d touched her… Jake’s hands shook. He’d go to jail for sure this time.
When he looked her over and didn’t see any budding bruises, his heart settled back in his chest. The thought of someone hitting her had sent it straight to his throat. Those pretty brown eyes filled and punched him in the gut. Someone had definitely hurt her, maybe not physically, but she was hurting.
Falling back on his acting skills, he swung his legs up, rested his back against the headboard, and patted the space beside him, calm as you please. “What happened?”
“Get out.”
“No.” Did she think he’d crawl into the other bed and pretend all the crying was the product of some sadistic white noise machine? “I’m not budging until you tell me why you look like you lost your best friend.”
She opened her mouth, looking for all the world like she’d light him on fire, but when she tried to speak, a harsh sob ripped from her throat and tears poured down her cheeks. Burying her face in her hands, she crumbled in on herself.
Alone. She looked so soul-shatteringly alone, and God but he understood that feeling.
“Aw, cupcake.” Jake stood and strode around the bed. What he planned to do next was risky—the likelihood of losing one or both of his testicles very real—but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been stopping himself since she’d told him about the cookies, and a guy could only take so much. He swept her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him without argument, he knew whatever happened, it was bad. The bed seemed too intimate, so he settled on the club chair in the corner of the room, Rayah a warm, limp weight in his lap.
He wanted to press her for details, but experience with Vicky had taught him that sometimes a person needed to let off some of the emotional steam before they could talk about what was bothering them. Rayah sobbed so hard, she shook all over. Her tears splashed against his shoulder, one after another after another, as she buried her face in his neck and wept.
It made him a bastard, but he was grateful for their lack of proper clothing. More than anything sexual, he desperately wanted the connection that only came with being skin-to-skin with another person. He was pretty sure she needed it, too. Ages passed while she cleaved to him. Jake rested his cheek on her head and stroked her spine in long passes, pausing now and then to squeeze her tightly and murmur something soothing in her ear. The words themselves didn’t matter. He reminded her he was there. He’d hold her as long as she needed. He wouldn’t let go.
As much as he hated that she was in pain, he was glad it was his arms wrapped around her. He’d lost this part of himself for a while. He’d been good at this once, at being what someone else needed. It was nice to know he still had it in him.
Gradually, her tears slowed, and she began to quiet into the sniffles and hiccups of a passing storm. Her delicate hand slid down his shoulder and across his chest, until she wedged it between her face and his neck. “I got you all wet.” Grit and gravel filled her normally sultry voice.
“Good thing I’m wearing a towel.” Without thinking, Jake kissed the top of her head.
The intimate gesture felt natural, almost necessary, but he worried she wouldn’t agree until a laugh gurgled out of her and caressed his heart like summer sunshine. “You’re such a dork.”
He’d take any name she wanted to throw at him if it made her laugh like that.
Now that she’d regained a bit of control, he worried she’d jump off his lap and go back to pushing him away. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Listening to her cry her heart out had torn him up. So he was pleasantly surprised when she merely heaved a contented sigh, her breath heating his skin as she snuggled deeper into his embrace.
They stayed like that for the longest time. He wasn’t sure where her thoughts were, but he was too lost in the lemony scent of her, in the silky smoothness of her skin and the supple pressure of her slight weight against him, to notice if minutes had passed or if it’d been hours.
Her hands wandered, too. Slim fingers feathered across his stomach, over the pads of his chest, along the curve of his arm. She probably didn’t even realize it. But if he wasn’t careful, she’d know exactly what her sweet touch did to him.
Fingers playing in the hair at his nape, she whispered, “Why were you in my bed, Jake?” She wasn’t accusing him of anything shady, simply curious about what happened.
“I wasn’t in your bed; I was in mine. I switched my stuff to this room when I got back tonight.” He smoothed a hand down her back to rest on her hip. “I couldn’t stay in your room. It wouldn’t have been right. This is your home, and you’re being gracious enough to share it with me.”
She levered herself up and pressed a sweet, too-brief kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”
Were those two whispered words about moving into the spare room or for holding her? Both, maybe? It didn’t matter. His answer was the same. “Anytime, cupcake. Especially now that I know you repay in kisses.”
Horror flashed across her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
