Page 39 of Score to Settle
Time slows. The room, the world, everything fades away until it’s just me and Jake, alone in this moment. My breath catches in my throat as Jake gently brushes a stray lock of hair back from my face. His fingertips graze my cheek, igniting flames everywhere he touches.
His eyes flick down to my parted lips then back up again, a question in his eyes. I’m frozen, mesmerized, unwilling to break this spell weaving around us. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he must hear it. Slowly, giving me time to pull away, Jake leans in closer.
His hand moves into my hair and around the back of my neck, drawing me toward him. My insides burn. I stop thinking and move the last few inches until our bodies are pressed against each other. His lips brush against mine and it’s electric and so fucking hot I feel it between my thighs.
And then his tongue slides into my mouth, stroking against my own. Every moment shoots another dart of need through my body. My nipples tingle against the silk of my top as I press against him. I can feel his rock-hard erection through the fabric of his shorts. I wrap my arms around his neck, pushing myself against him as our kiss deepens, wanting him. Wanting more. Wanting everything.
But then Jake pulls away a fraction and the spell is broken.
“Harper,” he whispers, voice husky. “We shouldn’t…”
Even as his words land with a crushing realization, another part of me wants to pull him close once more, whisper that we very much should. But then the knock at the door comes andwe’re both leaping away anyway. Jake’s back hits the wall and suddenly we’re grinning and laughing, even as my face burns crimson.
Jake reaches for the door and takes the tray from the waiter, and I lean against the wall, trying to stay upright as desire courses through me alongside the knowledge that Jake was pulling back, telling me we shouldn’t go any further. He’s right—of course he’s right—but the rejection is sharp and stinging regardless. I cover my face with my hands and groan as Jake closes the door.
He puts the tray on the edge of the bed and I can feel him looking at me. “Harper?—”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
“I’m not,” Jake says, and when I drop my hands and look at him, I realize I’m not sorry either, but that doesn’t make it right. Or me any less embarrassed.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I say. “It was so unprofessional. I’m supposed to be writing a feature about you.” I think of my resolve to put some boundaries between us and Tim’s warning against the lines being blurred. That’s all this is. I was sad and a bit horny and Jake is… he’s the hottest man I’ve ever met. “We can’t let that happen again.”
I think I catch a flash of disappointment on Jake’s face, but it’s gone in an instant and I’m already questioning if it was even there.He’s the one who pulled away, I remind myself.
With a smile now playing on his lips, he raises a finger to his chest, drawing an X. “I promise not to kiss you again,” he says, and I ignore another wave of heat flooding my body that I want to pretend is humiliation but I know is disappointment.
I nod and smile gratefully, telling myself this is for the best. We only have two more weeks together anyway. I’m a journalist who needs to stay professional. A journalist who could be out of a job come January. Jake is a pro football player with a badreputation. We don’t fit. And even if that wasn’t all true, I can’t afford to risk my heart for this man again.
Just two more weeks together, I remind myself.Then we’ll both get on with our lives. I can handle this.
“Can we forget it happened?” I say.
“It’s forgotten,” he replies. “Let’s eat and watch trashy TV.”
“What’s the deal with your dad?” Jake asks when we’re finished and the tray is outside the room. After moving awkwardly around each other, we’re now side by side beneath the bed covers. I stare into the darkness pretending my skin isn’t tingling with the heat from Jake’s body. Just like I pretend I don’t notice Jake slide off his tee so he’s now naked from the waist up.
“It’s complicated,” I reply.
“When isn’t it?”
I remember the moment under the bridge in the storm on Saturday. Jake’s honesty about his father’s death. I’m surprised to find I want to be honest too.
“My mom died when I was three. A drunk driver slammed into our car when we were driving back from the store. I don’t remember the crash and I’m not sure I remember my mom either. When I think of her, all I have is the photos I’ve seen and this feeling of warmth.”
“Harper, I’m sorry,” he says and I know he gets it. “Losing my dad was the worst thing that happened to me, but I can’t imagine how much harder it would’ve been without the memories I have of him.”
“Maybe it’s easier if you can’t remember,” I say, but I don’t really believe it. The truth is, I’d give anything for a memory of my mom. “At the time, Dad was at the height of his career. Hewas traveling all over the world. The last thing he wanted was to come home and look after me. So he didn’t. He hired nannies to do it. I grew up raised by people who were paid to pretend to love and care for me. I remember wishing every single time that they’d fall in love with me and my dad and become the mom I wanted.
“I didn’t know any different until I started going to friends’ houses and seeing what families and love really looked like. I think my dad loves me in his own way, but he’s very focused. When he was home, we’d talk about my homework and what I wanted to do with my life and the steps I needed to take to get there. I know he was disappointed when I chose to follow in his footsteps, even more so when I started getting interested in sports journalism. I guess I thought if I was a journalist too then we’d have something in common, but it seemed to only drive us further apart. He told me when I left for college he wouldn’t support nepotism. It was fine. I never wanted his help. He comes back to Denver every few months when he’s finished with whichever story he’s chasing, and we see each other for a coffee or a bite to eat. That’s it.”
“And this awards dinner on Tuesday… you don’t want to go?” Jake asks.
I let out a long exhale. “Not really. It makes me sound like a terrible daughter, doesn’t it? I really am happy for him. But it’s not just my dad at this dinner. It’s going to be a room filled with award-winning journalists. I’m sure they all know George Cassidy’s daughter was fired fromInsight. It’s going to be awful.”
“Even though it was because a sleazy editor made a pass at you and it wasn’t your fault?”
“No one knows that. My editor made sure no one believed my side of what happened.”
