When he let her in she went straight to the living room, her starting point. The furniture had arrived and already the transformation had begun. She’d brought her stepladder because today she’d be hanging the drapes and the paintings.
“Let me help you.” Jake walked over to where she’d placed the stepladder by the window and straightened it.
“No, thank you.” She waved a hand at him, almost shooing him away. She was on the job and needed no distractions. And if he stayed in the room with her that was what he would be – a major source of distraction.
He looked surprised at her dismissal but then he nodded and turned and quietly left the room.
For a moment Sam just stood there, staring at the empty doorway through which he had departed. She’d been happy to see him again. When he’d opened the door to her, her heart had given a little skip of joy. But she’d immediately quashed it. And even now when he’d offered to help she’d wanted his company, but she’d had to stay strong. He had no interest in her. That much was clear. And so she would do the sensible thing and keep her distance.
Her mind made up, she gave a quick nod, turned and climbed up the ladder. Her first order of business was to get the old drapes down – dust and all. Good thing she’d brought a disposable dust mask. It was going to be a long and grimy day.
The hours flew by quickly and Sam was so absorbed in her task that she was startled when she heard a knock on the door and Jake came in, bearing a tray with a pitcher of cold lemonade and two glasses.
“How’s it going?” he asked as he walked over and laid the tray down on the nearby coffee table. “Looking good.”
She’d been just about to climb back up the ladder and had her foot on the second rung when his words stopped her. Was he talking about the room or her? She whipped her head around to look at him with narrowed eyes and, foolish girl that she was, she kept on climbing up the ladder even though she wasn’t paying attention.
And she missed her step.
Suddenly, Sam was tumbling backward, arms flailing as she fought desperately to grab on to something, anything to save herself from falling.
She was in the middle of a yell when strong arms encircled her and she was slammed against a rock-hard chest. A shock like lightning ripped through her, the shock of intense physical attraction, and she gasped.
And then he was pulling her up toward him, his head descending, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so urgent, so commanding, that she moaned as she clung to him. And then as he held her close the kiss softened then deepened until she moaned again, but this time it was from the sheer thrill of finally being in his arms, finally tasting those lips that had tempted her from the start.
She was kissing back, not hiding her desire, when suddenly he froze. To Sam’s dismay Jake pulled back and straightened, taking her with him, then gently but firmly set her to stand on her feet.
He looked at her with tortured eyes and mumbled an apology. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
******
Jake strode across the bridge toward his writing studio. He had to get away, clear his head. He’d had Sam in his arms, the very thing he’d been yearning for since he’d first laid eyes on her, and then he’d dropped her like a piece of hot coal. What the heck must she be thinking right now?
And what in the blazes was he doing, sending mixed messages like some kind of insecure teenager instead of a grown man? Pathetic.
He’d thought he could resist her. He’d even gone so far as to pull out Jessica’s photo. But even with that secret weapon he’d fallen victim to Sam’s sweet seduction.
There was just something about her that drew him out of his shell. She was so beautiful, not in a bombshell kind of a way as Jessica had been, but in a soft, sincere and charming sort of way. It was hard to explain, but Sam had stirred something inside him that had been dormant for a long time.
When Jessica died his flame died with her. He could no longer think and feel, he only existed. His heart was locked away in a tin box that had rusted over. It had lost all feeling and emotion and he’d thought nothing could loosen those rusted hinges.
And then came Samantha, fresh-faced and delicate, even in her heaviest work clothes. And that was when the brick wall he’d built began to crumble. He gave a grunt of frustration then stepped inside the studio and slammed the door shut behind him.
It took several minutes before the tenseness inside Jake began to ease. He reached for a pen and notepad then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. While in his hideout he might as well scribble a few lines. Or at least try to.
He’d been doodling for a while then scribbling random thoughts when a germ of an idea began to form. He’d started so many stories but after the first few pages each one had left him cold. But now, for the first time in years, his mouth went dry and he felt the zing of excitement that told him this story was a winner.
He sat forward and slapped the notepad down onto the desk then as fast as the thoughts came he threw them down on the paper, his fingers flying. As the plot formed he mumbled softly to himself, covering page after page with a story that refused to give him pause.
Jake had no idea how long he’d been writing. He’d stopped watching the clock. He was startled back to reality by a knock on the door.
His head jerked up and he saw the top of Sam’s head through the decorative glass in the upper portion of the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice hoarse from prolonged silence. He cleared his throat and got up to open the door.
She was standing there on the steps, her smile tentative, a streak of dust on her forehead. He was tempted to reach down and wipe it away with his fingers but he resisted the impulse. Instead, he stepped aside to let her in.
He saw a flash of uncertainty cross her face then she swallowed. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice low, “but there was something I wanted to show you. To get your opinion.”
He felt a stab of guilt and almost winced. It was because of him that she looked so hesitant. The poor girl probably didn’t know where she stood with him. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tilted his head toward the extra chair.
“Rest for a minute,” he said gently. “You must be tired.”