Page 44 of Someone to Tempt
“Always.” She sounds only mildly on the verge of a breakdown. “I’ll call you later,” she says, then pulls forward to park closer to the studio’s back door.
“No one is pushing anyone,” I tell Jake. “In fact, you can skip tonight, and I’ll drive to Denver by myself. I’m the one who needs practice.”
“I’m your partner,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
I hit the key fob to unlock my car. “I’m sure I can find somebody to dance with me,” I tell him over my shoulder.
“The fuck you will.”
Those crass words shouldn’t thrill me, but they do. “Have it your way.” I give a jaunty wave. “See you tonight, partner.” Then I duck into my car and pretend to check my phone until Jake turns and heads toward the ancient truck parked a few spaces away.
I’m going to need the rest of the day to tie my libido down. Shove it into the dark dungeon where I keep all the things I’ve ever wanted to do but didn’t because they were bad for me.
There’s no doubt in my mind Jake Byrne would be the absolute worst. And the best.
17
JAKE
Seven-thirty on the dot,and I’m at the curb in front of Iris’ house, planning to walk up to the porch and ring the doorbell. Despite what she says about this not being a date, I want to treat her like she means something special. Because she does.
More than I care to admit to either of us. If I’m being honest, no woman has ever elicited the kind of visceral response in me that Skylark’s prickly mayor does.
But before I step out of the car, she’s bounding down the front steps, and damn if she doesn’t take my breath away in a flowy skirt and body-hugging black top, her hair falling in glossy waves past her shoulders.She doesn’t look like the mayor tonight. She looks like the heroine in every story I ever read or wrote.
She slips into the passenger seat and motions with her hands. “Let’s get going before anybody sees us. Hopefully, they won’t recognize you driving this fancy urban assault vehicle.” Patting the dash of the G-Wagon, she offers a bland smile. “I didn’t know you needed a car that could climb Mt. Everest to go dancing. Where’s the truck?”
Her citrusy scent winds around my senses, sweet with a tangy undertone, just like Iris. Her sharpness is more in your face, but the sometimes surprising bursts of sweetness balance things quite nicely. And, let’s face it, I like her sharp edges. I want to soothe them, preferably with my tongue until she’s screaming my name. To bury my face in the curve of her neck and forget everything that ever hurt.
“You’ll take any opportunity to give me shit, huh? Driving down to the city isn’t exactly a vintage truck outing. And we both know the G-Wagon is the epitome of luxury meeting rugged capability.” I wink at her as I pull away from the curb. “Just like me.”
“You’re trying to be inconspicuous around town?”
“I don’t want to come across like a douche,” I admit with a shrug.
She barks out a laugh. “Spoken like someone steeped in generational wealth.”
That’s not meant as a compliment.
She leans back in her seat as I accelerate onto the interstate. “So tell me, how is a luxurious and ruggedly capable guy spending his days in Skylark? Where does he spend his days? Will you be leaving a job if you take over the foundation?”
I shrug. “How do most trustafarians spend their days?”
“Doing blow,” she suggests. “And looking for financing for the documentary film they believe to be a passion project.”
I laugh even though I’m not sure she meant it as a joke. “I gave up blow before I gave up the alcohol.” Obviously, I’m not mentioning my work on adapting the book series for film. “But I manage to keep myself occupied.”
I stretch out my arm and then flex for her. “These muscles don’t come easy, you know.”
“You want me to believe you’re a gym rat?”
“In Austin? No way. There’s too much outdoor goodness to enjoy—hiking, paddle boarding, mountain bike trails.”
Her lips thin, and I realize I’m playing into every stereotype she has about me. I don’t like it, but it’s safer than letting her in on the truth. Not that she’d believe me. No one other than my literary agent and editor knows my true identity.
I wrote that first book after dropping out of college and moving to Austin. I’d decided to go clean and stop relying on my family’s money to fund my self-indulgent lifestyle. No one who knew me then would believe I had the talent and discipline to write one book, let alone a series.
And at that point, I didn’t trust it myself. It felt too personal. There was too much at stake in honoring my brother’s memory and dreams to risk failing publicly.
