“Thanks for being so nice to me,” she said. “See you guys tomorrow.”
She slung her purse over her shoulder and bumped into Jake. “Oops, ‘scuse me.” She took a step backward. “Omigod.”
There was a moment of tension-filled silence. “Surprise,” Jake said, low and threatening.
“How did you find me?”
Jake ran his finger along the collar of her shirt. “I saw you on television. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”
Suddenly Amy was wide awake.
He turned her chin up with his finger. “I think you have some explaining to do.”
Amy swallowed. Who was this man? Freshly showered, dark hair, darker eyes. Black T-shirt casually molded to broad shoulders and flat stomach. Jeans stretched tight across slim hips and a perfect butt. She was falling apart, and Jacob Elliott was standing in front of her radiating enough health and virility to make her shoes smoke.
She’d imagined this moment a million times in the past eight days. Never like this. He was supposed to be distraught, with dark circles under his eyes. Or angry… sullen and silent, the brooding phase. Or ecstatically happy, instantly realizing that they were reunited forever and ever.
Jake wasn’t any of those. He was… enigmatic. She’d thought that was a term only romance writers used, but there he was with unreadable eyes the color of strong coffee, and a mouth that held a hint of amused satisfaction, a mouth that promised… what? Damn. She licked dry lips and felt like a small, tasty animal being stalked by a large, sleek cat.
“Time to go home, Amy. We have unfinished business.”
“I’m living with my aunt Gert. She’s-”
“Not tonight.” He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the door.
Amy pulled away “Now, just a darn minute! You can’t come riding in here doing your John Wayne impression and expect me to fawn at your feet.”
“No?”
She stuck her chin out pugnaciously. “No. I’ll be the first one to admit I owe you an explanation, and I’ll be happy to provide it in the morning.” It wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to do on an empty stomach, exhausted and unshowered. She needed makeup. This was an explanation that required eyeliner and the expensive moisturizer.
“Guess again,” Jake said, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the parking lot to a car that made hers look like a toy. It was black and racy and low to the ground, shining with malevolent power and elegance in the dimly lit lot. The sort of car James Bond would drive.
Jake opened the door to the passenger side and Amy was enveloped by the smell of new car and expensive leather. She took a step backward and looked at Jake warily. “What’s this?”
“New car,” he said matter-of-factly. “My old car died.”
He made a gallant motion for her to get in.
He drove through Baltimore and turned onto I-95 South. He looked at her sideways, a silent speculative assessment that sent a shiver running down her spine.
The radial tires sang over the pavement, the powerful engine droned in her ears, hypnotic and soothing, and she closed her eyes to Jake, suddenly too tired to think.
She barely roused herself when the car purred to a stop. She was lifted from her seat and carried. A wave of fresh morning air washed over her and then there was the still coolness of air-conditioning. She opened her eyes when she was gently laid on her bed, but immediately gave herself up to the delicious luxury of smooth sheets and soft quilts.
Jake drew the curtains in Amy’s bedroom and stared down at her sleeping form.
It was noon before Amy awoke. Her first thought was that she was home. Her second thought was that Jake was naked beside her, his warm hand resting on a very private place.
They made love and when they were done, he snuggled her against him.
“I suppose we should talk now.”
Amy cuddled next to him. “I don’t know. It seems to me we’ve just said it all.”
Jake cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “Me, man… you, woman?”
“Something like that. I was thinking more along the lines of you, Mr. Elliott… me, Mrs. Elliott.”
“Lady”-Jake grinned-“you’re in luck. I have a cancellation this afternoon.”
Janet Evanovich
