had chipped away at his self-esteem for years, always there with a comment, a sneer, a put-down when Jake screwed up. “You’ll be in jail or dead by eighteen, boy,” was his favourite line. He’d finally stood up to the son of a bitch a week before he’d left, leaving the man with a black eye and a broken hand. Since then, he’d been on his own, determined not to depend on anyone.
And now, suddenly, he had these people relying on him to make the right decision. To save their family legacy. A family that had been stolen from him thirty-two years ago.
Bitterness tightened his chest, the acrid tension weaving up his back to finally settle on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He remembered too many towns, too many faces, taunting, teasing. April’s sad expression, her face once so pretty and alive, suddenly weathered way beyond her fifty-four years. A woman filled with demons, her own personal and painful reasons for keeping a child from his rightful parents. He’d tried to escape his past, little knowing it wasn’t his to escape from in the first place, even after every million he made, every deal he brokered, which earned him the respect and security he’d been craving.
“Ready for the grand tour?”
Momentarily disorientated, he snapped his eyes up to Holly standing in the doorway with the ever-present notepad and pen. For a few seconds he allowed himself to drink in her neat little figure, the curve of her cheek, the way her eyes steadily met his perusal. And as he did so, the vibrating bitterness gradually seeped out, leaving him suddenly empty and icy cold.
With a nod of finality, he shut those thoughts down and rose.
An excruciating hour later, Jake’s normally tight control was in tatters. They’d gone through every floor in Blackstone’s and he’d spent precisely sixty-two minutes in Holly’s orbit, her gentle fragrance alternately arousing and frustrating him. Her soft, animated voice had tripped over his senses, aided traitorously by the memory of that kissy-mole when her mouth curved into a smile. When she walked, he’d ashamedly found his attention riveted to those curvy hips, swaying one tantalizing step ahead of him.
And her smell… He’d breathed in deeply, guiltily, more than once. Since when had a woman smelled so damn good?
The only time he’d not been thinking about touching her was when they’d passed Howard’s trophy wall. Photos of the man opening the Blackstone’s store. At some formal function. Shaking hands with the Prime Minister, the Queen, four U.S. past-presidents.
Jake had barely been able to contain a sneer. Howard had loved putting his stamp on everything he owned, flaunting his wealth and power. Like the way he’d displayed it on Ursula’s neck.
Disgust bubbled up and with a scowl he choked it back down. He was not like Howard, despite Kimberley’s assertion.
“Let’s move on.”
He jumped at Holly’s soft intrusion, only to have his body react on a more primitive level when his eyes focused on her curves once again. The grey pinstriped skirt moulded her hips, emphasising a defined waist and womanly hips. Her shirt was bright blue, making her eyes stand out, the elbow-length sleeves showing off long arms with a watch on one wrist, a simple gold bangle on the other.
Absently he’d wondered if she had on any makeup at all, given how fresh her face looked. How touchable it looked.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and nodded. He imagined Holly taking the news about his real identity with outward calm, a facade that covered up the fact she was a deep thinker. He’d noticed more than once the realities of her thoughts clearly mirrored in her expressive blue eyes.
No, not blue, more green. Like the complexity of shades in the deep ocean, where the—
His thoughts screeched to a halt. Since when had he obsessed about a woman’s eyes before?
Yet despite his control, an unwanted ache started in his groin. An ache that couldn’t be ignored when, an hour after the tour was over, Jake shoved his way into Blackstone’s executive gym.
Instead of solitude, a stretching Holly on the treadmill confronted him, scattering all thoughts of a long hard run to clear his mind.
He stared. And stared. In short bike pants and a cropped sports top, she was gripping one tanned muscular leg behind her in a quad stretch, the white Lycra pulling tight across her breasts as they rose with her deep breaths. As his mouth went dry, she rolled her shoulders and her long ponytail dragged over her damp skin.
Her breath sighed out, quickly engulfing his brain, the part that was still functioning.
His bag dropped unheeded to the floor. She kept right on stretching, her shoulder blades flexing and contracting with the effort.
Swish of the hair.
Deep sigh.
He groaned, ready to beat a hasty retreat, but she must have sensed him because she whirled, pulling out her earbuds. She quickly dropped her leg and grabbed her towel, her chest rising as a trickle of sweat ran down her throat and disappeared in the cleft beneath her damp tank. He followed that journey, until he reluctantly dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.
“Leaving?” he murmured.
“Yes.” In record time, she pulled a sweatshirt over her head then scooped up her bag, quickly heading for the door.
He just stood there, the air as she hightailed it past him yawning cold and empty. Then he heard the door click with finality.
As the gym doors closed behind her, Holly wrapped her arms around her body to ward off the chill. Escape first, then put on your track pants. She thought she’d nearly succeeded until Jake appeared beside her.
“Yours,” he said gruffly, holding out her iPod. She paused, glanced at his hand, then up at his face. A blank, stern face devoid of all warmth.
She slowly took her iPod and couldn’t help but notice he relinquished it without making skin contact. “Thanks.” She turned back to the elevator, repositioned her bag on her shoulder and stared at the ascending floor numbers.
When he remained still, she shot a quick look in his direction. “Working late?”
“This is early for me.”
She smiled thinly but said nothing.
“But…?” he prompted.
“Don’t you ever take a day off?”
He shrugged. “Too much work to do.”
“What’s the point of making all that money if you can’t enjoy yourself?”
He frowned. “I’m not unhappy with what I’ve achieved, Holly. Money doesn’t make you miserable.”
“No. People do that all by themselves.” The elevator doors swung open, signalling the end to their strange conversation. But to Holly’s surprise he followed her in. The doors swished closed and in the next second, he pushed the stop button.
“And to answer your question, I enjoy myself plenty.”
She stilled, her breath rattling around, too harsh in her throat, her heart beating too loudly in her chest. She looked at him, noting his narrowed eyes, the
