guilty. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted to turn back the clock to a time when the hot-looking woman standing anxiously in his doorway had been a stodgy, prickly, schoolmarm-of-yore type who had interested him only from the standpoint of how much of a rise he could tease out of her.
Funny how the tables had turned on that level. If he wasn’t careful, the memory of that amazing kiss they’d shared coupled with the way she looked today might make him rise to the occasion. Literally.
He manufactured a stiff smile when she eased his office door shut behind her.
“Chrissie. I was joking when I said that.”
You could dress the girl up in soft, sexy clothes, but you couldn’t quite iron the starch out of the girl. Her chin went up and her shoulders stiffened, and suddenly he understood how much this request had cost her. “So you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to volunteer to teach me how to loosen up?”
“Um, well,” was the best response he could manage to say because he couldn’t stop looking at her, knowing that this new Chrissie presented a whole lot more complications than the old one. The one who would have poked him to death with her quills instead of melting into his arms like a candy kiss.
“Life’s short, Jake. You above all men should know that.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And you got me thinking Saturday night. Well, not just Saturday night but all weekend. Do you know how old I am?” she asked, abruptly shifting gears.
She didn’t wait for him to answer but barged on like a steamroller on a diesel high. It was as if she had to get the words out all at once or she’d lose her nerve.
“Twenty-eight. I’m twenty-eight years old and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t truly know what I want out of life and you want to know why?”
“Um—”
“I’ll tell you why.”
He puffed out a breath between his cheeks and prepared to listen.
“Because I’ve never given myself an opportunity to think about what I really wanted. How sad is that?”
He opened his mouth but no sound came out because she continued to speak, her tone growing reflective and regretful.
“I’ve been too busy toeing the line. And what has it gotten me?”
He didn’t bother to try to respond. Clearly she’d come here on a mission to get some things off her chest—her soft, voluptuous chest that at the moment was pressed quite nicely against her silky blouse as she drew in a shaky breath.
“What it’s gotten me is respectability. Okay, fine. Respectability is good. And it’s gotten me security. Also good. But has it gotten me contentment?”
“I’m thinking the answer might be no?” he said cautiously when she paused and appealed to him as if she really did expect an answer.
“No is exactly right. I do not have contentment. Not for even a second have I led what I consider to be a contented life. Dull, yes. Contented, no. There has to be at least a little excitement for a person to be content, right? Well, where’s my excitement? Where are my thrills? Where are my…my magic moments?”
Oh, sweetie, don’t cry, he thought when her lower lip started quivering in the face of a self-assessment that was both harsh and humiliating. On top of everything else, he didn’t think he could take it if she cried.
He stood and made his way around his desk. Easing a hip on the corner, he crossed his arms over his chest to keep from holding her close and telling her there was still hope.
But then a big, glistening teardrop spilled down her cheek and he was a goner.
He reached for her and patted her back clumsily. “It’s not really so bad,” he lied kindly.
“It’s…awful. P-Prissy Chrissie,” she sputtered against his chest. “That’s what they call me behind my back. Did you know that?”
Oh, yeah. He knew. Was probably the worst offender. Her little sniffle twisted the knife of guilt deeply embedded in his gut. He patted with a little more sympathy.
“The worst part is, they’re right. Well, they were right. I’ve been nothing but a…a goal-oriented workaholic. All my life I’ve been so focused on my need for respectability and stability and safety that I’ve ignored my other needs. A woman’s needs,” she said and lifted her head to look up into his eyes.
Gulp. Not those big hazel eyes. He was a sucker for her eyes.
“I want to know what it feels like to be appreciated as a woman. To be desired by a man. To have power over a man.”
Sweetheart, if you only knew how much power you had right now. She could have brought him to his knees. First with guilt. Then with the desire to kiss her tears away, to bite gently into the quivering softness of her lush lower lip.
He resisted. Only God knew how, because she felt so soft and warm and wonderful cuddled up against him. But he’d made up his mind Saturday night between a six-pack and an ESPN classic football game. He was nipping in the bud this new twist to their relationship that he’d had the misfortune to initiate.
Chris Travers needed a man who would stick around. One who was in for the long haul. Didn’t matter how much Jake loved her kisses, didn’t matter that he found her a sweet surprise, a sexy temptation, he was not the kind of man she needed.
“I’m a spinster,” she said on another teary sigh. “An old maid. And all because I’ve been too scared to take a chance on life.”
“Aw, Chrissie,” he said, feeling sad that she was bullying herself this way.
“But that’s all going to change,” she said, finding her composure again and pushing away from him.
Just look at those freckles, he thought. Dusting the bridge of her nose, riding on her cheeks like little angel kisses. It made him feel soft and sentimental in his chest. And hard in other places.
Until she said, “And you’re the man who’s going to make it happen.”
Chapter Seven
Jake’s mouth opened as wide as his eyes. “What? Me? What am I going to make happen?”
“For five years you’ve needled me, teased me, made fun of me and in general goaded me into burying my feet deeper into my principles and my head deeper into the sand. Well, Saturday night changed all that. You were nice to me. In fact, you were into me. I liked it.”
Damn. “Chris—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, some of the old starchy Chrissie back in her speech and her bearing. “I know you were just playing. I know what you are. You’re a flirt and a good-time guy. And you were just being you on Saturday night because I wasn’t being me. At least, I wasn’t being the old me. I was being the new me when I didn’t even realize I wanted me to be a different me.”
His
