Page 7 of Payback, Penelope

Penelope

“What? You—no, no, no. I…” My hand flies to my throat, feeling like I can’t breathe as Jacob towers over me, his pupils dilated, looking like he wants to wash every inch of my body himself. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that I haven’t had hot water in a week, and I tried looking it up on YouTube to figure it out myself, but I’m lost. Is that something you can fix?”Please, God, let it be something he can fix.

“Sure. My dad is in construction and taught me a few things growing up. I’d be happy to take a look. See what I can do.”

“Yeah, I’d definitely marry you for that alone,” I say dreamily, envisioning him replacing a cracked kitchen tile, switching out and rewiring a bigger, better ceiling fan in my bedroom, and recaulking the shower. So hot.

“So you’d have someone around tofix your pipes?”

I gulp because, yeah, I probably would. I meant what I said when I told him I miss being married. The thought of being with Daniel again is revolting, but I think I could get used to seeing Jacob every day, as crazy as that is to admit to myself after only officially knowing him for around twelve hours.

Shit, I really do need to get a cat. That way, I’d have something to cuddle instead of humiliating myself by exposing just how desperate I am for attention, companionship, and a competent partner.I bet Jacob is a world-class cuddler.

I chug a glass of water while Jacob bends over every which way while he fiddles with the gas water heater in the empty garage, a massive oil stain leftover from Betsy marring the gray cement. There’s just something so sexy about watching a man fix things around the house.

I absently wonder if he’d be willing to mow my lawn sometime soon so I don’t have to do it myself…with his shirt off. Daniel never once mowed the lawn. He hired a service to do it, and I didn’t want to be the creepy, neglected wife who stared at the hardworking men just doing their jobs to support their families.

But if Jacob did it, I’d sit out on the narrow porch in a sundress with a glass of lemonade, sway my hips when I bring him a glass of his own when it gets too hot, and watch him drink it. Maybe he’d spill a few drops down his broad chest, and I’d offer to lick it off him, sweat and all.

Without Mr. Andrews around to see me, I unbutton my blouse halfway down, rosy with the kind of desire I haven’t felt inyears. Jacob checks the water in my en suite bathroom, painted the same color as my front door and kitchen, to make sure the hot water works. He leaves it running, the bathroom filling with steam.

He stares directly at my bra, my breasts the only things that benefitted from my weight gain over the years. “You sure you don’t need my help in the shower?”

As drop-dead sexy as Jacob is, I’ve never slept with a man on the first date, and I’m not sure I want to start now. Not that tonight counts as a date or anything. Or that sleeping with him isn’t all I can think about. That and the prominent bulge pressed against his zipper I want to rub up against and—wow, I’m tipsier than I thought, and it’s time for him to go before I attack him and all but beg him to fuck me.

“I’m good,” I force myself to say. “Thank you.”

Jacob nods and opens his mouth to say something. Perhaps ask me if I need help with anything else again. If he did, I might just give in. Thankfully, he settles on, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Belatedly, it’s not until I’m drying off after my blessedly hot shower for the first time in a week that I remember I hadn’t walked Jacob out. I have no idea if he’s still here or if he’s gone home and left my front door unlocked.

I whip the bathroom door open, ready to sprint through the house to throw the lock, when I come face to face with Jacob in my bedroom, holding a bundle of clothes. He hands me the white negligee I bought a few years ago that I haven’t had the opportunity to wear for anyone yet, along with a teeny tiny red thong.

“You went through my underwear drawer?” The question comes out faintly sensual instead of harsh with anger like it should after he’s violated my privacy.

“Get dressed,” he says with a low, raspy voice, and I shiver. I’m not entirely sure if it’s because my hair is still damp, if it’s the way he’s looking at me, or because I instantly want to obey his command. Maybe it’s a combination of all three.

Quickly dressing in the bathroom, I study my reflection after wiping away the condensation fogging the mirror. I can appreciate the way my nipples harden and poke through the satiny material while simultaneously hanging loose around the softness of my belly and highlighting the width of my hips.

When I return pink-cheeked to my bedroom, Jacob has already pulled my handmade pastel pinwheel quilt back on my bed. The best part about having a whole house to myself is being able to dedicate one of the three bedrooms to my craft room, each wall painted a different bold color. My large sewing and cutting tables are no longer relegated to the cramped corner of my old dining room.

Jacob motions for me to lie down, even though the sun has only just started to set. I do so, disheartened when he draws the quilt over my chest to tuck me in instead of getting into bed with me. It’s sweet but confusing.

Jacob gives me a chaste kiss on my forehead, then heads to the open bedroom door. Before he leaves, he turns the ceiling fan on high and flips the light off, casting him in shadow. He starts to draw the bedroom door closed, then stops midway.

“You know, I used to be so jealous of your stepson,” he whispers.

“Sebastian? Why?”

He takes a step into the room. “I used to dream about what it would be like to be him. To live with you. Did he ever climb into your bed at night when it was storming outside?”

“Good god, no. He was a teenager. I would have been horrified.”

“Because I would have. I’d have pretended to be scared so I could sleep next to you.”

“Oh my god, Jacob. That’s…”so hot to imagine. Not if he were Sebastian, of course, but…

Another step closer. And another. And another until his knees are pressed against the left side of my queen-sized, white metal spindle bed. It’s been years since I’ve slept beside my ex-husband, yet I still sleep on the right side, uncomfortable in the middle by myself.

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