Page 17 of I'm Not Yours
“We could sit at separate tables in a café.”
“No, again.” Oh, he was lovely.
“We could sit at separate ends of the café, and I won’t look at you.”
“No, a third time.” He reminded me of one of those heman warriors in movies. “I’m going to read a Jane Austen book.”
“Bring it with you.”
“No.”
“Okay, then we’ll do it the other way.”
“What other way?” He smelled luscious, too.
“We’ll have breakfast at my house.”
He took a few steps forward, then lifted me up into his arms and started walking out to his truck. “Just keep still, ma’am, and I’ll have you fed and watered in no time.”
“You can’t do this!” I laughed, my arm looped around his neck, our faces inches apart.
“Looks like I am, darlin’.”
I kicked my legs but it hurt. “Shoot. I can’t even kick you or my stitches will bust and my bruises will turn more purple or yucky green.”
“Hang tight, apple-lover lady.”
“I am an apple-lover lady. I think I’ll use it for my next résumé . . .” I gave up. I wanted to give up, I knew that. I was having a hard time resisting him. The man is a force of nature. What he wants, he goes after.
“Don’t move your legs, and close your mouth so no more refusals come out. Bacon and eggs makes everything better.”
He put me in his truck, corralled the dogs back in the house, shut the door, and away we went.
I knew I should have gotten out of the truck.
I knew I should have protested.
Getting involved with Jace would end in no place right or good or happy. It would end in tears and loss, and Jace would get hurt if he knew the truth. I did not want to hurt Jace.
I went anyhow and I felt selfish for doing it.
I told myself to enjoy him for one more day.
One more day only.
I would get a job and move and he’d never have to know anything else, anyhow.
6
“You’re even more beautiful now than you were years ago,
Allie.”
Whew!“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Jace leaned back in his chair on the deck, watching me carefully, the picnic table between us. “I’ve missed those gold eyes of yours, all that hair, your smile . . .”
I fixed my gaze down the hill on my dad’s run-down home, sagging and sad in the distance. In contrast, Jace’s home was an architectural delight, modern but log cabin-y, too. That’s the only way I could describe it. The great room had high ceilings, the wooden rafters exposed. There were wood floors, a two-story rock fireplace, leather furniture, and windows that invited in the expansive view of mountains, hills, vineyards, orchards, and farmland from all corners of the home.
