And my phone.
Without even thinking, I picked it up, found the number and dialed.
I got five rings before I heard, “Spear. Leave a message.”
“Jake?” I said after the beep. “Josephine. I…would you, well…when you have a moment, could you call?”
I didn’t say good-bye before I disconnected.
Then I stared at the phone wondering why I connected in the first place.
Not having the answer to that, or perhaps not wanting an answer to it, I moved to the kitchen to refresh my tea.
By the time I was moving back to my chair, trying to think of what else to do that day, anything to keep my mind off a variety of things that I didn’t want to think about, coming up with nothing but sitting in that chair and staring at the bleak landscape thinking about those variety of things, my mobile rang.
I snatched it up immediately and hit the screen to connect.
I did this thoughtlessly and inexplicably.
But I did it because the screen declared Jake was calling.
“Jake?”
“Josie, you okay?”
“I…” God! What was I doing? “I…Gran’s clothes,” I stated stupidly and said no more.
“What, honey?”
“I went into the den,” I explained. “Gran’s clothes. I…there’s no reason to keep them. Someone can use them. And I-I-I need the den to be a den again. I can’t think of her…I don’t want to remember what happened…” I swallowed and concluded, “I wish it to be a den again.”
Not even a second passed before he replied, “Don’t think about the clothes. Don’t even look at the clothes. I’ll deal with the clothes. And I’ll talk to some guys. Get them over there. We’ll deal with the den.”
At his words, warmth swept through me so immense I had to sit down in the chair.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the phone.
“Not a problem, baby.”
I closed my eyes as more warmth swept through me at his deep, sweet, soft voice.
“I…uh, I won’t keep you,” I said.
“You’re good. Anytime you need to call, do it.”
And more warmth.
“All right.”
“You okay now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I gotta work but you need me to swing around tonight? Have a beer? Talk?”
It was then I knew.
I knew.
This was what Gran wanted for me and this was what Gran gave to me in giving me to Jake Spear.
I just couldn’t understand why she kept it from me before.
“I’m fine, Jake. That’s very kind but really, I’m okay. I just had”—I hesitated then admitted—“A moment”
“You have any more of those I’m a phone call away.”
Yes.
This was what Gran wanted for me.
“Thank you, Jake,” I whispered.
“Any time, honey,” he whispered back. “You okay for me to let you go?”
“Yes.”
“Right. See you tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
“Later, Slick.”
That nickname sent a jolt through me, taking me out of the moment. I opened my mouth to say something about it but got out not a sound.
He’d disconnected.
Chapter Eight
The Courage to Try His Hand
Thirty seconds after Jake rang the bell to Lavender House, Josie opened the door.
And when she did, Jake froze.
“Hello, Jake,” she said. “I’ll just get my coat.”
Jake didn’t move.
This was because the vision of her was burning itself on his brain and he was enjoying the feeling.
Then she turned and he got her back.
And Jake didn’t move again.
This was because the vision of her back was making his c**k get hard and he was fighting the feeling.
She was in a dress that was an unusual shade of yellowish-green satin, like the color of an apple. Thin straps, a diagonal neckline that had a flap of material falling down her front. The top fit her snug, accentuating every line and curve. The skirt caught at her hips, somehow turning into panels that ended in a spiked hemline, the spikes brushing her knees.
But the back…
Fuck.
There was no back.
It bared her from shoulders to the top of her ass.
Jesus.
Her hair was up again, this time in curls arranged in a bun at the side of her neck. All Josie, it was elegant. But, unlike Josie, it also was almost playful.
And f**king hot.
Even as much as he liked her hair, he’d prefer to see it as it was in that picture he had of her.
Down.
But not blowing in the breeze.
Spread on his pillow.
And he liked that dress a f**kuva lot but he’d like it more on the floor by his bed.
From top to toe, she was the shit. Maybe especially her toes seeing as their nails were painted f**k-me red and they were exposed in shoes that were a mess of very thin, dark silver straps. So many straps, the f**kers had to be zipped up the back.
And the heel was tall and lethal.
He had no f**king clue how she could walk on those things.
But she did, gracefully this time, no tripping. He watched her do it and he watched her grab her coat from a chair in the hall. This finally spurred him to move.
Which he did, right to her, taking the coat from her.
“Got this, Slick,” he muttered, shaking it out and rounding her to hold it up for her to put on.
Her face appeared startled when she looked over her bared shoulder at him but he looked away from her face, and her bare shoulder, then he couldn’t find anywhere to look because all of it was too good.
Finally, she stuck her arm through the hole, he got her other one in and he settled the shiny silver coat on her shoulders, covering her.
Thank f**k.
He had no idea how he was going to have dinner with her wearing that dress without dragging her to his truck then taking her back to Lavender House and probably f**king her on the floor of the foyer.
Then again, when she’d walked on her classy high-heeled boots, wearing her classy shades, that scarf blowing in the wind yesterday, he’d thought the same thing and he’d managed it.
He’d do it again.
Somehow.
She grabbed her purse and turned to him.
“Ready,” she said softly, her sweet voice as it always was, from the very beginning, cultured but melodic.
“Right,” he muttered and grabbed her hand, moving them to the door. “House locked down?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Great.” He was still muttering as he moved her out the door.