I don’t turn to look back at him. I don’t want him to see my smile.
I sip my drink until it’s my turn to climb up on the rock, then I hand it to Jake. “Here. Hold this.”
Jake takes it in one hand, glancing down at it before he winds the fingers of his other around my upper arm. He stops me from moving forward to take my turn. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay to do this? I get the feeling you’re not used to drinking, and this stuff isn’t exactly a wine cooler.”
His comment stirs up the resentment that I’ve been battling since things with Shane took a turn for the worse. I pull my arm free. “I’m fine. I’m not the goody-two-shoes you think I am.”
He quirks one brow, but says nothing as I turn and climb onto the rock.
The first level isn’t too bad, but the thing is, you have to climb up onto another, higher part of the rock to get to the tire and swing out over the water. When I reach the top and a guy pushes the rope tied to the tire into my hands, I look down. It seems that I’m at least a mile above the surface of the water.
“Uhhh . . .” The guy looks at me, raises his eyebrows and tips his head toward the water. “Umm, I’m not sure I want to do this,” I tell him.
“Aw, come on. It’s fun. You’ll be fine.”
I start to back away. “I don’t think I should.”
“Can you swim?” he asks.
“Of course I can swim.” I feel like saying Duh! Why would I be up here if I couldn’t swim? But I don’t.
“Then you’ll be fine. Just put your foot up here and I’ll swing you out.”
I pause, teetering between sucking it up and doing it to save face, or braving the humiliation of climbing back down.
A familiar voice interrupts my musing. “Want me to go down with you?” Jake rumbles at my ear.
I feel a sigh of relief swell in my chest before I ask, “Can we do that?”
Jake reaches around me to take the rope from my fingers. For just a second, nearly every surface of his front is pressed to my back. He pauses before he straightens, as if he’s giving me time to enjoy the feeling of being enveloped by him, of being touched all over by him.
“We can do anything we want,” he answers softly, his breath tickling my neck.
And just like that, we’re talking of much more than just the swing.
I turn around to face him. He’s so close I can count the dark stubble that dusts his cheeks.
“So how do we do this?”
Without taking his eyes off mine, Jake winds his arm around my waist, pulls me in tight against him, then lifts me off the ground. “Just hold on to me. I’ve got you.”
I don’t know if it’s just in my head or if Jake means to make that sound like more than the obvious. Either way, my brain, spinning with drink and fear and anticipation, interprets his words differently. In some ways, I think Jake does have me. My attention, my attraction, my curiosity, my desire—but what comes next? Some part of me anxiously awaits the answer to that question. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to let go of the old Laney long enough to enjoy what I find.
My arms slip easily around his neck and my legs intertwine with his, leaving no space between us. We fit together perfectly, like our bodies were designed with the other in mind.
“Ready?” he asks as he watches me intently. Again, in my mind, it seems he’s asking me about so much more.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
With a grin, he pulls back on the rope, steps up onto the bottom of the tire and pushes off. We swing way up into the air, enough for my stomach to drop, before Jake lets go.
Then we’re flying.
And I’m falling.
Down, down, down we go, and I hear Jake’s whoop just before cool water engulfs us. I can still feel the heat of his body and, even as our momentum slows and I begin to swim upward, Jake never loosens his hold.
We break the surface at the same time. Jake’s laughing as he shakes his head, sending droplets of water in every direction. When his eyes meet mine, they’re sparkling.
“Well?” he asks.
“That was awesome.” My heart is still hammering, although I’m not sure if it’s from the swing or from Jake’s legs tangling with mine. “Thank you for doing it with me.”
His smile turns wicked. “There are many, many things I’d like to do with you. I hope this was just the beginning.”
“There are?”
“Oh, I think you know there are.” I smile into his eyes as his arm tightens around my waist and he drags me slowly toward shallower water. He stops when his feet hit solid ground. Mine are still dangling freely. My head spins with purple drink. My stomach flutters with anticipation. My heart races with excitement. “Tell me to kiss you,” he commands in his gravelly voice.
Uptight Laney would pause to consider. And then politely decline. But today . . . right now . . . she’s not here.
I don’t give it a second thought. I want him to do it; I want him to kiss me. “Kiss me,” I whisper.
His lips twitch with satisfaction just before he lowers his head to mine.
The touch of Jake’s lips is familiar, yes. His lips are firm yet yielding, and, even after eating, he still tastes vaguely of cinnamon. But in all other ways, this kiss is different. There’s promise in it, the promise that this is where the ride starts, that this is where I have to take a deep breath and really jump into the unknown.
His mouth teases mine until it opens and he can slide his tongue inside. As it tangles with mine, stroking it, licking it, his hands skate down my back. He angles his head and deepens the kiss. I’m caught up in sensation as his palms cover my butt and then slide down the backs of my thighs to pull my legs around his waist.
With the intimate contact and no one to jerk on the reins, heat explodes between us. An urgency flourishes between us, making lips hungry and hands desperate. Suddenly, none of this feels too soon or too rushed or too dangerous. It feels just right.
Out of breath, Jake drags his mouth away from mine, trailing it to my ear, where he nips at the lobe. “I was thinking earlier about rubbing my hand over your wet panties, about what it would feel like to put my fingers inside you.” He groans. Chills shoot down my back and my ni**les tingle into tight points that beg for the brush of his chest against them. “You know I’m going to do that, right? Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will happen. You’ll be mine, Laney. Before all is said and done, you will be mine.”
With his words ringing in my head, he crushes his lips against mine again, threading the fingers of one hand into my wet hair as his other hand presses my h*ps against his.
It’s not until I hear a delighted squeal that I remember we aren’t alone.
Reluctantly, I pull my mouth away from his. My thoughts are foggy. I can’t think right with him touching me, kissing me, talking to me this way.
Dazedly, I look around, prepared to be mortified. But no one is paying us any attention. Jake had enough sense to pull us to the bend at the edge of the cove, practically hidden from the view of the others.
“Don’t worry. They can’t see.”
“I know, but still . . .”
I lean away. The spell is broken. This conversation, this moment deserves privacy. Of course, privacy could mean that we’d get carried away. And I’m not sure yet just how far it’s safe for me to let Jake carry me. I’d thought there was no danger of me getting attached to him, but as I look at his handsome face and think of the great care and consideration he’s shown me today, I worry that Mr. Wrong might start to feel like Mr. Right.
* * *
My shorts are finally dry. Well, Hannah’s shorts are finally dry, I should say. After Jake and I got out of the water, we sat on a log in the sun to let our clothes dry. It took just long enough that my head finally began to clear.
And indecision set in.
Am I really capable of engaging in even the most casual of relationships and banter with a guy like Jake? Earlier, I definitely thought so, but now . . . It seems that no matter how badly I get hurt or how much fun there is to be had on the “other side,” I’m still the same girl at heart. Some like it wild, but not me. At least not forever. I still want the same things. A man to love me more than anything. A man to put me and our family first. A man to build a life with. And I’m not crazy enough to think that Jake is that guy.
I might be crazy enough to wish he was, though.
I notice the low position of the sun and start to feel guilty about running off the way I did, without so much as a word to my parents. Yes, I’m an adult, but it was a really inconsiderate thing to do.
“I think I should probably head home,” I say to Jake when the music dies down again. Saltwater Creek has played intermittently since we arrived, and they’re actually quite good. I don’t really want to leave yet. The thought of curling up next to Jake, after dark, in front of the fire I can see them building on the beach area, is extremely tempting. But . . .
Jake is agreeable about leaving. He doesn’t seem to have any preference for staying or going.
He’s quiet on the drive home, but I don’t think that really says much. I get the feeling he’s not one for small talk.
It’s fully dark by the time we reach town. “You know, you could just drop me at my parents’ house if you wouldn’t mind. I can get one of them to take me to my car in the morning. It’s getting late.”
Jake shrugs. “Okay.”
“It’s not far from here.”
“I know where you live.”
“You do?”
“Everyone knows where the preacher lives.”
He falls silent again. He guides the Jeep competently through the turns that lead to my street. I study him surreptitiously from beneath my lashes. The sharp angle of his cheekbones and the sculpted edge of his lips are highlighted by the soft glow of the dashboard light. He doesn’t seem mad or upset, or inconvenienced. He just seems like . . . Jake.
Handsome, charming, sexy Jake.
Jake who sets my blood on fire. Jake who I can’t get out of my head.
“Home sweet home,” he says lightly as he parks at the curb in front of the house I grew up in.
I grab my rumpled clothes and purse from the floorboard and reach for the door handle. “Thanks, Jake. I had a good time.”
“My pleasure,” he replies.
He seems . . . off somehow, but I can’t put my finger on it. I want to ask, but there are a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t, why I shouldn’t even care.
“Well, good night.”
“Good night.” I start to climb down, but Jake’s voice stops me. “Oh, wait.” My heart speeds up in anticipation. Jake cuts off the engine and pulls the keys from the ignition. He works one free and hands it to me. “Here. I won’t be there for a few days. It’s a round-the-clock shift at the fire station. Let yourself in, make yourself at home. Call my cell if you have any questions about anything.”
I take the key from his fingers. “How will you get back in tonight?”
He waves me off. “I didn’t lock the door. Besides, we have a spare key hidden in one of the barns.”
I nod and give him a small smile, feeling bereft that the night is ending like this. So cool. So casual. So disappointing in the face of what happened earlier.
You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Besides, you should be pleased. Jake Theopolis is a complication you don’t need.
“Sweet dreams, Laney,” Jake says as I’m shutting the door. I look back, but he’s already pulling away.
But I could’ve sworn I saw him grinning, and that elevates my mood considerably. That seems a little more in character for him. Enough to bring a delighted smile to my face.
I’m still grinning in pleasure as I walk through the unlocked front door of my parents’ house. When I shut it behind me and hear nothing but unnatural quiet and the tick of the mantle clock in the living room, my guard goes up immediately.
There’s trouble brewing.
Quietly, I creep toward the steps. I feel like a teenager again, trying to avoid a confrontation that will end in a lecture and then me being grounded for all eternity.
Only I’m not a teenager. And I’m beginning to resent that I still feel that way when I come home.
“Laney, can you come here?”
My father. And I recognize that tone.
My stomach drops.
Curling my clothes into a tighter ball, I straighten my spine and walk to the living room. I smile casually when I stop just inside the doorway. “What’s up?”
Both my parents look like I’ve just slapped them across the face. And they’re both staring at my wad of clothes.
“Laney, what on earth?” Mom asks, holding a hand to her throat like I just announced I’m pregnant or joining a cult.
“Where have you been, young lady?” Daddy asks.
“Out.”
I know such a short answer will only incur more questions and more wrath, but I’m still feeling a bit defiant from the taste of freedom I’ve enjoyed all day.
“Out where? And with whom? And whose clothes are those? Because I know they’re not yours.”
“And just how do you know that, Daddy?”
“Because my daughter would never dress like that!” he booms.
“And what’s wrong with this? I’m not showing anything inappropriate. And, for what I was doing, this was actually quite concealing.”
Mom gasps.
“And just what were you doing?”
“Swimming. Is that a problem?”
“Where?”
“A place called the Blue Hole.”