Page 43 of Her Property

“I never wanted to slow down my career,” he said. But then he’d considered her over his brandy,Jingle Bell Rockbanging through the speakers at the other end of the hall. He seemed to sense there was more to Cat’s story than she’d let on. She knew now that he always knew when someone was lying. He knew even when they didn’t know the truth themselves.

“No, that’s the pat answer. The truth is—” he hesitated, looking around as if someone might be eavesdropping. The only other people at the giant banquet table were Alfred’s assistant, a woman in her sixties named Joan who held the whole office together, and Laura. But the two were in some kind of deep conversation and not listening to them at all. Everyone else was out on the dance floor or at the bar. “The truth is there was only one woman I wanted to start a future with. But it never happened.” He leaned back in his chair and took another sip of Brandy. “Anyway. It was so many years ago it’s not even worth thinking about.”

At the time, Cat had considered this a coup. She knew next to nothing about Alfred’s personal life back then, except that he was single, with no kids, and practically lived at the office, save for the time he took off in the summers to go to his lake house. And that he had a penchant for expensive dinners and fine wine and a hatred for physical activity.

“My high school sweetheart wasn’t really a sweetheart,” Cat had blurted out, feeling like she owed him something for having told her this private truth of his. “He was an asshole.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry that happened to you. But I bet it made you the tough cookie you are today. Even though you’re fresh, I already know no one’s better at not taking shit around here than you. Or maybe Joan,” he’d said, throwing a glance at his assistant, whose sixth sense about her boss must have perked up because she’d tossed a glare in his direction before going back to her conversation with Laura.

“See?” He’d said. “I don’t need a wife when I’ve got Joan.”

“Oh no,” said Joan, wagging her finger. “One husband is plenty enough for me. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need looking after.”

Cat had laughed. She’d been flattered Alfred had noticed her enough to have considered her personality. Later, she assumed he’d made up the story about the one that got away to get her to open up.

But now, she wasn’t so sure.

Cat pulled the robe tight around her as a large swell of wind knocked the branch against the window again. She’d forgotten all about that conversation from what—six years ago? But something like a click sounded in her brain as she put the pieces together.

She spun away from the window. Now was the time to talk to Jake. The questions began to foment in her mind as she strode out of the bedroom.

But when she opened the door she was hit with the outrageously delicious smell of cooking and the sounds of jazz music streaming through from the kitchen on the other side of the living room. And when she padded into the kitchen the burning need to talk took a backseat as she took in what might have been a scene hotter than the one she’d just been a part of in the bedroom.

Jake Colson was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a faded plaid shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the rippled muscles of his torso and the line of hair she’d been running her fingers through only half an hour before. It was just like the outfit that first night, only now, he was hanging half-shirtless because he’d just fucked her silly.

But best of all, Jake Colson had glass of red in one hand and a spatula in the other, and on the big gas range in front of him, two steaks sizzling in a big cast iron pan.

He looked up as she came in and gave her that stomach-wobbling grin. “Hey beautiful,” he said. “You hungry?”

Jake

Watching Catherine dig into her prime rib wearing nothing but a robe was almost as sexy to Jake as watching her scream his name as he looked up from his spot between her legs earlier. His cock pulsed in his jeans at the memory of it.

“I’ve never tasted anything so good in all my life,” she said.

I have,he almost said. He wanted more.

He hoped he’d get a chance after dinner. Or later, if she stayed over. God, he wanted her to stay over. So much it made his stomach clench. It wasn’t just the sex, either, though that was a goddamned phenomenon. He was thoroughly enjoying her company. Conversation with her was so easy—it had been from the beginning, when they’d eaten burgers by the swimming hole.

Jake was conversational enough normally; he was used to talking to his clients, to getting them to open up. But talking with Cat,hewanted to open everything up. To keep nothing from her. He never told anyone about James, and especially not his mother. Not because he was ashamed or too full of grief—he knew how to keep that contained—but because it was just too much of a pain in the ass to deal with peoples’ reactions. He ended up having to deal withtheirfeelings about it; their pity.

Which is why he never brought it up. But somehow, he’d opened up to Cat about his almost comically tragic life the second time he’d talked to her.

He felt a lightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in awhile. Most of it was being with her—and the afterglow of having been so close to her. But part of it was from his decision from earlier. There were more feelings attached to that, but right now all he felt was relief. He’d been ignoring the lawsuit and throwing himself feverishly into fixing up the camp, thinking that facing facts about losing it would throw him into a deeper depression than everything else. But there was something freeing in letting it go. Maybe he could compartmentalize all the shitty memories and leave them here at Ruby Lake. Before, when he’d been running from his problems, he’d always known this place was here, waiting for him. Gramps told him he was leaving him the property, and he’d known in the back of his mind that he wanted to make a life here. But now that it wasn’t going to happen, maybe a life somewhere else would be tolerable.

You’re lying to yourself.You don’t want to lose the camporher.

The thought came like something dark, creeping in at the edges, threatening to suffocate him. But he shoved it aside. He could deal with whatever came up later. He may be losing the camp and this stunning, perfect, soul-singing woman before him, but right now he was with Cat Jones. This moment was perfect—this whole night had been perfect, and it wasn’t over yet.

He took a sip of his wine, savoring the rich, oaky flavor. He was living in the moment. That was a good thing, right?

You’re delusional.

Jake clenched his fist, willing the voice to leave. Willing him to focus on the ten-year-old Bordeaux on his tongue. A client had given him the bottle last year, and he’d been saving it for a special occasion. If this wasn’t a special occasion, he didn’t know what was.

Especially if everything is going downhill from here.

He clenched and unclenched his fist again. “What do you think?” he asked her, forcing brightness into his voice.

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