Page 13 of Tempting Eden

I took a bite of my salad, the vinegar and oil a perfect mix of tartness on my tongue. Jack watched me bite and chew, his gaze on my lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, though he had yet to take a bite. He broke his concentration on my mouth and unfolded his napkin, schooling his features and focusing on his lunch.

He puzzled me. His façade of coolness was simply that, a front. He had something else going on in his mind. What he’d told me earlier, about going against his instinct, stuck with me. His natural state wasn’t the caricature of self-control before me. It was something far more unrestrained, wild perhaps.

I wanted to know more about him. Why was he so intent on keeping his true emotions tucked away? Only one way to find out. My resolution of five minutes before, to stop prodding him, fell by the wayside.

“Why do you go against your instincts?” I asked around a mouthful of greens.

His eyes flashed up and then back down again. He took a bite of his grilled chicken and chewed. Buying time before answering.

“It never served me well in the long run.”

“Being yourself didn’t serve you well?”

“I am myself. Right now.” He met my gaze again and spoke evenly. “I’m not somehow diminished by taking time to think before I speak. I’ve tried it both ways. Lashing out, being quick to rise, quick to anger. This way is better.”

He spoke so methodically, choosing his words with care. I envied the ability.

“But don’t you feel caged?”

“No. I feel free. I’m not chained to how I feel at a given moment. I can sort of, I don’t know, step back, take a breath, think it through, and then decide how I’m going to react to any situation. That gives me the power, not someone else and not whatever situation I find myself in.”

He fell silent and continued eating as I thought about his words. I couldn’t lay claim to any similar patience or self-reflection. I supposed he’d seen my lack of control plenty with the way I stalked around the office and exploded whenever confronted with the sheer idiocy of certain contractors and employees. I had never been one to make any efforts to save others’ feelings. As my grandmother always said, I wore my heart on my sleeve, no matter the consequences.

“Well, Mr. Bastion-of-Self-Control, I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I already told you what I think.”

He was right. He had told me. I still felt a flutter in my stomach from the conviction he’d put into his words when I’d kept him in the elevator. I was more than pleased I was the subject that had elicited such a strong response.

I tried to spear an olive with my fork, but sent it off my plate and spinning across the table into his lap. He half smiled at my folly, and I knew I was in trouble. He was gorgeous, his plump lips made for kissing. Dimples showed along each of his cheeks. I knew if he ever gave me a full-on, face-brightening, glee-induced grin, I’d run the definite risk of melting.

“Nice,” he said and placed the offending fruit back on the table.

I needed to keep talking before my mind strayed back to his smile, his hands, how close he was in the elevator. “So, um, what made you change into the thoughtful, tactful person I now see before me?”

He sighed and set his fork down next to his plate. “That’s not something I feel very comfortable talking about.”

I frowned and plucked the next olive between my thumb and forefinger before popping it into my mouth. He watched me closely, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Maybe he kept his thoughts under wraps, maybe he managed to hide the worst parts of his nature, but I knew interest when I saw it. And he was interested. I enjoyed the attention, even if fraternization was, technically, frowned upon at Thornfield.

“Why don’t you tell me something aboutyoufor a change, Ms. Rochester?” He folded a piece of pita in his hands, dipped it in the hummus, and took a bite.

I smirked. I could have told him to call me Eden, but I rather enjoyed him addressing me formally all the time. He’d never once slipped and called me by my first name. I sometimes caught myself daydreaming of what could spur him to call me Eden without me first telling him to. I had a few ideas, ones that were, once again, frowned upon in the no-fraternization portion of the Thornfield handbook.

“Well, there’s not much to tell, really.”Lie.

He gave me a look, at once disapproving and incredulous. As if he couldn’t decide which emotion might goad me into divulging more.

“I think you can do better than that, Ms. Rochester.”

“Well, my life is pretty much an open book.”Lie. “I’m from Birmingham. I went to Duke for undergrad. After earning my degree in business I moved back and got involved in real estate. Eventually, by working hard, I made it to where I am.”Lie. I shrugged. If only my life really were that simple, that compartmentalized. While I might lie to others, lying to myself wasn’t a luxury I indulged in.

My life was, in the common parlance, a fucking mess. When I was young I’d made a series of mistakes, and kept making more and more until it all sort of snowballed. Now the mistakes ruled me, owned me. I had to keep letting them have their way with me or the entire life I’d built would come crumbling down around me.

If it were only me, I would let it collapse. I would let the relief wash over me. No more lies. No more fear. But it wasn’t only me. Others depended on me, and I’d be damned if I was going to let them down. I was caught in a web of my own design, my own making, and I would live with the consequences as long as necessary. Better that I suffered than the ones I loved.

I would have liked to share my burden with someone else. Someone stronger than I was. But there were some truths that could only be told to strangers. Jack, with his steady gaze and smooth voice that secretly thrilled me, was definitely not in the stranger category anymore. My secrets would have to stay that way—secret.

He studied my face as I ruminated on my sins. I felt a sudden fear that he could see me,reallysee me, and knew how tarnished I was. Though his eyes were narrowed, he let my subterfuge go and resumed his meal.

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