“I take it I slept in your bed last night?”
“Yeah.”
“And you slept…”
“In the guestroom.”
“I’m so sorry.” She dipped her head and fingered the hem of his t-shirt.
“Stop saying that. You think you’re the first person to drink too much and toss their cookies? Believe me, I’m the world’s expert on overindulgence. I’ve just learned my limits.”
She stared at the liquid swirling in her glass. “Obviously something I haven’t done yet. I don’t drink very often, and I guess I was so nervous last night I didn’t realize how much wine I’d consumed until it was too late.”
“Famous last words.”
“Either way, I still feel I need to apologize. My behavior was appalling.” Jake leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs. “Maybe to those uppity people you associate with it would be. To someone like me, no big deal. Happens to a lot of people I know, myself included. Quit beating yourself up about it.”
“So, did I do anything else, um, inappropriate last night?” Her face held such a worried frown he didn’t have the heart to laugh at her.
“Inappropriate, how?”
Biting in her lower lip and then releasing it, she said, “I don’t know, like streaking na**d through your neighborhood or something equally horrendous?” Jake crossed his arms and nodded, watching her eyes widen. “It was spectacular.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t.”
“Truly, amazing feats of contortionism. I could go get the digital camera and show you the pictures I took, if you’d like.” He made to stand.
She grasped his arm. “Jake, stop. I did no such thing. Did I?” He laughed, and so did she.
“I should go,” she said.
“Let me fix you breakfast, first. You need something in your stomach.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I ever want to eat again. I need a shower and a toothbrush.”
He inclined his head toward the hallway. “Go ahead. Extra toothbrush is in a package in the left hand drawer in the bathroom. By the time you get out I’ll have breakfast ready.”
She shook her head. “No, Jake. I appreciate it, but really, I think I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
He stepped toward her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Knowing she was this close, knowing the only thing separating him from her na**d body was a thin, gray Tshirt, had him hard in an instant.
“Go. Shower. No arguments.” And quickly. He had to get her out of there before she figured out he had ulterior motives. The physical evidence was becoming quite obvious.
“Fine,” she said with a curving smile and turned quickly, padding down the hall.
He watched her progress, bare feet shuffling along the carpet and backside swinging in a naturally provocative way.
With a groan, he plopped down in the kitchen chair and laid his head in his hands.
Chivalry. What idiot thought that one up?
Lucy stood under the pulsating heat of the glass blocked shower, luxuriating in the cleansing sensation of rinsing away the horror from last night. She felt one hundred percent better. Almost human, in fact.
Her mind was still a little unclear. Fortunately, the things she’d forgotten were the unpleasant moments, after she had gotten sick. She remembered quite clearly being cradled in Jake’s arms and sharing some intensely hot kisses.
He’d touched her, caressed her skin with his bare hands. She’d wanted more. A lot more. But then he’d stopped.
At least one of them had some common sense, and it hadn’t been her. She’d gone into this so-called relationship with Jake intending to do nothing more than parade him around as her boyfriend of the moment so that she could get her father to mind his own business and maybe let her make her own choices for once.
Instead, she’d been taking this whole thing way too seriously. Like she really was having a romance with Jake. Which was ludicrous.
Wasn’t it?
Reluctantly she turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing an oversized bath towel and tucking it around her. Her ni**les tightened at the thought of Jake’s body wrapped in this very towel. Apparently she was feeling better since her thoughts ran rampant with visions of a na**d Jake in the bathroom.
Now what? First things first. She needed to find her things. A vague recollection of flinging her clothes while ill last night came back to her. She glanced at her mortified face in the mirror.
She’d stripped in front of Jake.
Dear God, why couldn’t episodes of idiocy be wiped from one’s memory forever?
Instead, the bits and pieces were coming back to her in all their horridly vivid glory.
He’d held back her hair while she’d thrown up. No one had ever done that for her, not even her father when she was a child. When she’d been sick, he’d sent servants to deal with her illnesses.
The sudden welling of tears caught her off guard, and she leaned against the counter, feeling for all the world like Jake was the first person to ever care for her.
Except he didn’t care for her. Yes, he had proved himself to be a gentleman, much more than she could have expected considering her behavior last night. But his actions belied the impression she’d had of a rough, didn’t give a fig about anybody, type of man.
Preconceived notions again. Just because he wasn’t from her social world didn’t mean he couldn’t care. He had shown her more heart in the week she’d known him than most people she’d known her entire life.
In less than a half hour she had found her clothes, combed through her wild nest of hair, and at least felt presentable enough to exit the bathroom. Jake was in the kitchen.
The smell of coffee and bacon got the hunger juices flowing in her stomach.
Jake was right. She did need to eat.
“Smells wonderful.”
“Sit down, it’s ready.” He carried two plates filled with eggs, bacon and toast to the table, where coffee and juice had already been poured.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” She felt guilty that she hadn’t even helped.
“It’s no trouble. I have to eat, too.”
She dove into the food, her appetite returning with a vengeance. After they finished, she jumped up and cleared the table, ran some water and washed the dishes. At least that made her feel somewhat useful.
“Wow. You know how to clean up,” he said behind her.
She turned, ready to throw the dishrag in his face when she caught his lifted brow and casual smile. “Funny. Yes, I’ve watched the servants do it a hundred times.
Seemed like a piece of cake so I thought I’d try it for fun.” He laughed, and then his smile died. “Lucy, I need to talk to you about something.”
Oh no. Not right now. Not when she felt comfortable, relaxed, even happy. She didn’t want to hear his regrets about last night. She didn’t need to hear him say it was a mistake—she already knew it.
“Wow. Look at the time. I really have to go.” She pushed past him without another word and grabbed her purse.
“But, I—”
“Thanks for last night, Jake. And for breakfast. We’ll talk again soon,” she said, effectively cutting off his next sentence. She almost ran, in her haste to get out the front door.
Once in the safety of her car, she exhaled, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What kind of a coward was she, anyway? They could have
talked about last night like adults, admitted it was an error in judgment, and laughed it off. Instead, she had run.
Fearless Fairchild never ran away. What was wrong with her?
Something was seriously wrong. Lucy tapped her pen against the blotter on her desk and stared at the deposition, not really reading the words on the page. She crossed her legs and swung her foot back and forth, trying to calm the unexplained nervous jitters plaguing her.
She swiveled in the chair and focused on the cherry bookshelves to the side of her desk, lined with books on case law. No, nothing there to spark her interest.
Turning halfway, she looked out the window at the fog enshrouded Golden Gate Bridge. The afternoon sun was nearly obliterated by the rolling cloud of white sweeping in from the Pacific.
A cloud. That’s where she’d been for the past three days. She hadn’t heard from Jake since the day she ran out of his house. Of course, she hadn’t bothered to pick up the phone and call him, either. When she made her daily trek down the street for coffee, she could have stopped in at the trailer. But she hadn’t.
He was probably grateful she’d left him alone. She could imagine what he must think of her—a spoiled socialite who over-imbibed and threw herself at a man who wasn’t remotely interested.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He had been interested, at least physically. She’d felt the hard evidence of his interest pressing against her hip. But somehow she got the impression he thought she was way more trouble than she was worth.
He was probably right.
This whole charade had been a mistake from the very beginning, anyway. Best that it didn’t go any further.
So why did she miss him? Why hadn’t she been able to concentrate on work for the past three days? Why did every thought upon waking and retiring center around a tall hunk of man with whiskey eyes and a smile that could thaw a polar bear’s heart?
“Lucille, we need to talk.”
She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. Damn. He’d been out of town the past couple days, and she’d avoided his calls, knowing the inquisition that would inevitably follow.
Her father shut the door to her office and slipped into one of the dark leather chairs in front of her desk. “You’ve been unavailable.”
“Yes, I have. Sorry. Working on a case.”
He frowned. “The Marshall case isn’t due for trial for six weeks.”
“I’m preparing in advance.”
“Bah,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You don’t need to prepare. You’re avoiding me.”
“I am not. I told you, I’ve been busy.”
“Where were you Saturday night?”
Here it comes. “Out.”
“With whom?”
“With none of your business.”
“Why didn’t you come home?”
“It was late and I didn’t want to make the drive.”
“Where were you?”
“Out of town.”
“Again, with whom?”
Why did it always seem like she needed her own lawyer present whenever her father badgered her with questions? She felt like she was giving a deposition.
She leaned forward on her desk and looked her father in the eye. “For the record.
On the night of Saturday, June twenty-fifth, I, Lucille Fairchild, was out doing whatever I wanted with whomever I wanted to do it with. The details of said evening are private, personal, and once again, none of your business.”
“I’m worried about you, Lucy.”
She pursed her lips and inhaled, so familiar with this routine it was laughable.
When he didn’t get his way playing stern father, he resorted to endearments and soft words. It used to work. Not anymore. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You’re still seeing that construction worker, aren’t you?”
“Father, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m thirty years old and no longer required to report to you about my private life.”
“You’ve changed.” He stood and walked to her window, his hands clasped behind his back.
Ah, yes. First stern boss, then concerned father, followed by disappointed parent.
So predictable.
“No, I haven’t.” If he’d ever bother to notice her he’d see that. She was the same person she’d always been. Deep inside, there still lurked a lonely little girl desperate for affection from her father.
He turned his head toward her. “Why are you wasting your time on someone with whom you have nothing in common?”
“Father, I’m not going to discuss my boyfriends with you.” He raised a brow. “Boyfriend, is it? Then I take it things have escalated between you two?”
There was a reason Raymond Fairchild was a master litigator. She’d always had to be careful what she said in front of him. He had a unique way of twisting her words around until she had to defend herself. Well, she was her father’s daughter, and just as good as he at manipulating words and evasion.
“Not your business.”
Silence. That meant he was thinking. Plotting. Devising new ways to attack. She mentally prepared herself for what would come next.
The door to her office flew open and her secretary, Maggie, rushed to her desk.
“Stud alert,” Maggie said in a breathless whisper, her cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, my God, Lucy. There’s this incredible-looking guy in the reception area and he just asked for you. What a hunk of man!”
A cough sounded behind Maggie, and she whirled, her face reddening instantly.
“Oh! Mr. Fairchild, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Sims,” her father said with a straight face. “And who is this gentleman to see Lucille?”
“Uh, a Mr. Jake Dalton, I believe he said his name was,” Maggie stammered, then threw Lucy a panic-stricken look.
Lucy hid a smile behind her hand. “Thank you, Maggie. Would you show him in?” Maggie made a quick exit and Lucy stood, her hand on the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Father.” She hoped he’d take the hint and leave before Maggie brought in Jake.
“Yeah.”
“And you slept…”
“In the guestroom.”
“I’m so sorry.” She dipped her head and fingered the hem of his t-shirt.
“Stop saying that. You think you’re the first person to drink too much and toss their cookies? Believe me, I’m the world’s expert on overindulgence. I’ve just learned my limits.”
She stared at the liquid swirling in her glass. “Obviously something I haven’t done yet. I don’t drink very often, and I guess I was so nervous last night I didn’t realize how much wine I’d consumed until it was too late.”
“Famous last words.”
“Either way, I still feel I need to apologize. My behavior was appalling.” Jake leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs. “Maybe to those uppity people you associate with it would be. To someone like me, no big deal. Happens to a lot of people I know, myself included. Quit beating yourself up about it.”
“So, did I do anything else, um, inappropriate last night?” Her face held such a worried frown he didn’t have the heart to laugh at her.
“Inappropriate, how?”
Biting in her lower lip and then releasing it, she said, “I don’t know, like streaking na**d through your neighborhood or something equally horrendous?” Jake crossed his arms and nodded, watching her eyes widen. “It was spectacular.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t.”
“Truly, amazing feats of contortionism. I could go get the digital camera and show you the pictures I took, if you’d like.” He made to stand.
She grasped his arm. “Jake, stop. I did no such thing. Did I?” He laughed, and so did she.
“I should go,” she said.
“Let me fix you breakfast, first. You need something in your stomach.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I ever want to eat again. I need a shower and a toothbrush.”
He inclined his head toward the hallway. “Go ahead. Extra toothbrush is in a package in the left hand drawer in the bathroom. By the time you get out I’ll have breakfast ready.”
She shook her head. “No, Jake. I appreciate it, but really, I think I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
He stepped toward her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Knowing she was this close, knowing the only thing separating him from her na**d body was a thin, gray Tshirt, had him hard in an instant.
“Go. Shower. No arguments.” And quickly. He had to get her out of there before she figured out he had ulterior motives. The physical evidence was becoming quite obvious.
“Fine,” she said with a curving smile and turned quickly, padding down the hall.
He watched her progress, bare feet shuffling along the carpet and backside swinging in a naturally provocative way.
With a groan, he plopped down in the kitchen chair and laid his head in his hands.
Chivalry. What idiot thought that one up?
Lucy stood under the pulsating heat of the glass blocked shower, luxuriating in the cleansing sensation of rinsing away the horror from last night. She felt one hundred percent better. Almost human, in fact.
Her mind was still a little unclear. Fortunately, the things she’d forgotten were the unpleasant moments, after she had gotten sick. She remembered quite clearly being cradled in Jake’s arms and sharing some intensely hot kisses.
He’d touched her, caressed her skin with his bare hands. She’d wanted more. A lot more. But then he’d stopped.
At least one of them had some common sense, and it hadn’t been her. She’d gone into this so-called relationship with Jake intending to do nothing more than parade him around as her boyfriend of the moment so that she could get her father to mind his own business and maybe let her make her own choices for once.
Instead, she’d been taking this whole thing way too seriously. Like she really was having a romance with Jake. Which was ludicrous.
Wasn’t it?
Reluctantly she turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing an oversized bath towel and tucking it around her. Her ni**les tightened at the thought of Jake’s body wrapped in this very towel. Apparently she was feeling better since her thoughts ran rampant with visions of a na**d Jake in the bathroom.
Now what? First things first. She needed to find her things. A vague recollection of flinging her clothes while ill last night came back to her. She glanced at her mortified face in the mirror.
She’d stripped in front of Jake.
Dear God, why couldn’t episodes of idiocy be wiped from one’s memory forever?
Instead, the bits and pieces were coming back to her in all their horridly vivid glory.
He’d held back her hair while she’d thrown up. No one had ever done that for her, not even her father when she was a child. When she’d been sick, he’d sent servants to deal with her illnesses.
The sudden welling of tears caught her off guard, and she leaned against the counter, feeling for all the world like Jake was the first person to ever care for her.
Except he didn’t care for her. Yes, he had proved himself to be a gentleman, much more than she could have expected considering her behavior last night. But his actions belied the impression she’d had of a rough, didn’t give a fig about anybody, type of man.
Preconceived notions again. Just because he wasn’t from her social world didn’t mean he couldn’t care. He had shown her more heart in the week she’d known him than most people she’d known her entire life.
In less than a half hour she had found her clothes, combed through her wild nest of hair, and at least felt presentable enough to exit the bathroom. Jake was in the kitchen.
The smell of coffee and bacon got the hunger juices flowing in her stomach.
Jake was right. She did need to eat.
“Smells wonderful.”
“Sit down, it’s ready.” He carried two plates filled with eggs, bacon and toast to the table, where coffee and juice had already been poured.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” She felt guilty that she hadn’t even helped.
“It’s no trouble. I have to eat, too.”
She dove into the food, her appetite returning with a vengeance. After they finished, she jumped up and cleared the table, ran some water and washed the dishes. At least that made her feel somewhat useful.
“Wow. You know how to clean up,” he said behind her.
She turned, ready to throw the dishrag in his face when she caught his lifted brow and casual smile. “Funny. Yes, I’ve watched the servants do it a hundred times.
Seemed like a piece of cake so I thought I’d try it for fun.” He laughed, and then his smile died. “Lucy, I need to talk to you about something.”
Oh no. Not right now. Not when she felt comfortable, relaxed, even happy. She didn’t want to hear his regrets about last night. She didn’t need to hear him say it was a mistake—she already knew it.
“Wow. Look at the time. I really have to go.” She pushed past him without another word and grabbed her purse.
“But, I—”
“Thanks for last night, Jake. And for breakfast. We’ll talk again soon,” she said, effectively cutting off his next sentence. She almost ran, in her haste to get out the front door.
Once in the safety of her car, she exhaled, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What kind of a coward was she, anyway? They could have
talked about last night like adults, admitted it was an error in judgment, and laughed it off. Instead, she had run.
Fearless Fairchild never ran away. What was wrong with her?
Something was seriously wrong. Lucy tapped her pen against the blotter on her desk and stared at the deposition, not really reading the words on the page. She crossed her legs and swung her foot back and forth, trying to calm the unexplained nervous jitters plaguing her.
She swiveled in the chair and focused on the cherry bookshelves to the side of her desk, lined with books on case law. No, nothing there to spark her interest.
Turning halfway, she looked out the window at the fog enshrouded Golden Gate Bridge. The afternoon sun was nearly obliterated by the rolling cloud of white sweeping in from the Pacific.
A cloud. That’s where she’d been for the past three days. She hadn’t heard from Jake since the day she ran out of his house. Of course, she hadn’t bothered to pick up the phone and call him, either. When she made her daily trek down the street for coffee, she could have stopped in at the trailer. But she hadn’t.
He was probably grateful she’d left him alone. She could imagine what he must think of her—a spoiled socialite who over-imbibed and threw herself at a man who wasn’t remotely interested.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He had been interested, at least physically. She’d felt the hard evidence of his interest pressing against her hip. But somehow she got the impression he thought she was way more trouble than she was worth.
He was probably right.
This whole charade had been a mistake from the very beginning, anyway. Best that it didn’t go any further.
So why did she miss him? Why hadn’t she been able to concentrate on work for the past three days? Why did every thought upon waking and retiring center around a tall hunk of man with whiskey eyes and a smile that could thaw a polar bear’s heart?
“Lucille, we need to talk.”
She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. Damn. He’d been out of town the past couple days, and she’d avoided his calls, knowing the inquisition that would inevitably follow.
Her father shut the door to her office and slipped into one of the dark leather chairs in front of her desk. “You’ve been unavailable.”
“Yes, I have. Sorry. Working on a case.”
He frowned. “The Marshall case isn’t due for trial for six weeks.”
“I’m preparing in advance.”
“Bah,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You don’t need to prepare. You’re avoiding me.”
“I am not. I told you, I’ve been busy.”
“Where were you Saturday night?”
Here it comes. “Out.”
“With whom?”
“With none of your business.”
“Why didn’t you come home?”
“It was late and I didn’t want to make the drive.”
“Where were you?”
“Out of town.”
“Again, with whom?”
Why did it always seem like she needed her own lawyer present whenever her father badgered her with questions? She felt like she was giving a deposition.
She leaned forward on her desk and looked her father in the eye. “For the record.
On the night of Saturday, June twenty-fifth, I, Lucille Fairchild, was out doing whatever I wanted with whomever I wanted to do it with. The details of said evening are private, personal, and once again, none of your business.”
“I’m worried about you, Lucy.”
She pursed her lips and inhaled, so familiar with this routine it was laughable.
When he didn’t get his way playing stern father, he resorted to endearments and soft words. It used to work. Not anymore. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You’re still seeing that construction worker, aren’t you?”
“Father, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m thirty years old and no longer required to report to you about my private life.”
“You’ve changed.” He stood and walked to her window, his hands clasped behind his back.
Ah, yes. First stern boss, then concerned father, followed by disappointed parent.
So predictable.
“No, I haven’t.” If he’d ever bother to notice her he’d see that. She was the same person she’d always been. Deep inside, there still lurked a lonely little girl desperate for affection from her father.
He turned his head toward her. “Why are you wasting your time on someone with whom you have nothing in common?”
“Father, I’m not going to discuss my boyfriends with you.” He raised a brow. “Boyfriend, is it? Then I take it things have escalated between you two?”
There was a reason Raymond Fairchild was a master litigator. She’d always had to be careful what she said in front of him. He had a unique way of twisting her words around until she had to defend herself. Well, she was her father’s daughter, and just as good as he at manipulating words and evasion.
“Not your business.”
Silence. That meant he was thinking. Plotting. Devising new ways to attack. She mentally prepared herself for what would come next.
The door to her office flew open and her secretary, Maggie, rushed to her desk.
“Stud alert,” Maggie said in a breathless whisper, her cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, my God, Lucy. There’s this incredible-looking guy in the reception area and he just asked for you. What a hunk of man!”
A cough sounded behind Maggie, and she whirled, her face reddening instantly.
“Oh! Mr. Fairchild, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Sims,” her father said with a straight face. “And who is this gentleman to see Lucille?”
“Uh, a Mr. Jake Dalton, I believe he said his name was,” Maggie stammered, then threw Lucy a panic-stricken look.
Lucy hid a smile behind her hand. “Thank you, Maggie. Would you show him in?” Maggie made a quick exit and Lucy stood, her hand on the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Father.” She hoped he’d take the hint and leave before Maggie brought in Jake.
