A Man to Believe In (7 page)

“Upset me? What about you?” Cori realized how personal her question was as soon as she asked it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s really none of my business.”

Susie smiled. “Oh, I think it’s fair for you to ask a question or two after the way we put you through the third degree.”

They both laughed, and Cori found herself admiring Susie’s easygoing attitude. Clearly, she hadn’t been embarrassed by the way Jake had created a scene in front of a stranger.

“Jake cares for you,” Susie continued. “I can tell. And I wouldn’t want you to think less of him because he spoke his mind freely.”

“A little too freely,” she replied. “After all, who you choose to date is really none of his business.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“Well, doesn’t it bother you that he tries to run your life?”

Susie’s eyes narrowed, and she drew her lips into a tight smile. “It used to drive me crazy, but I finally figured out that the only reason he’s such a pain in the butt is because he loves me. I know he wants
what’s best for me, and eventually he’ll realize that I’m the only one who can say what that is. Until then …” Susie trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders.

Cori shook her head, marveling at the way Susie handled herself. “How
do
you manage to stay so calm when he acts that way?”

Susie opened the door of her car and tossed her purse and sweater on the passenger seat, then turned and faced Cory again. “Experience,” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, with a little practice, you’ll get good at it too.”

With that parting remark she hopped into her car and drove off, leaving Cori to wonder why Susie thought she’d get any practice at all. She had made a good point—Jake wasn’t a monster, just an overly protective older brother. But Cori knew his smothering brand of love—and his obvious need to be in control—was at odds with her own desire for independence.

Statistics—and her mother’s experience with men—had taught her a woman could no longer afford the luxury of depending on a man, that it was, in fact, downright foolish for a woman to do so, since men seldom stuck around for the duration. A smart lady learned to take care of herself. She never let a take-charge kind of guy take charge. Ever.

And Jake was a first-class, dyed-in-the-wool, sterling example of a take-charge kind of guy. She’d be wise to keep their relationship on a strictly platonic level.

“Hey, what was the private powwow all about?”

Cori turned to see Jake walking toward her, a beach chair in each hand and a bag tucked under one arm.

“Girl talk.” She relieved him of the bag and watched him load the truck. “Your sister’s a remarkable young woman. You should be very proud of her.”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” he said. “Most of the time.”

“Make room for the volleyball gear, Uncle J.T. Here it comes.” Ricky jumped up and down as Tom carried the equipment to the truck.

The rest of the family packed up their things and said their good-byes, a process that took a full fifteen minutes. Cori received numerous invitations to join them again anytime, and she was sorry to see the day end. Being part of their family gathering had been fun.

By the time she and Jake drove out of the parking lot and onto Cañada Boulevard, the sun had gone down and the air had grown chilly. Cori struggled into her sweatshirt, settled back, and let her head drop back against the headrest, suddenly realizing how tired she was. She fell asleep instantly.

“That was quite a party. I thought Timmy was going to jump into his birthday cake headfirst.” Jake glanced over at Cori, expecting a response.

She was out cold.

She must be exhausted, he thought, and decided to let her enjoy her nap. He was glad he’d decided to ask her to come with him to the picnic. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to see of her.

When he took a curve and merged with traffic onto
Verdugo Boulevard, her body slowly slid sideways, bringing her closer to him. The right turn onto Mountain Avenue caused her to fall the rest of the way over until her head came to rest on his thigh. Her hair fanned out over his jeans, soft silk on rough denim. Reaching down, he toyed with the ends, wrapping a curl around his fingers as he turned south onto the Glendale freeway.

It seemed natural to have her using him as a pillow, as though they had made this trip a hundred times before in the exact same way, a married couple on their way home after a great day in the park.

He came to a stop at the off ramp. When the light changed, he lifted his foot off the brake pedal and accelerated. Cori brought her hand up and tucked it under her cheek, her fingertips reaching for the inseam of his jeans as she slept.

He tensed up.

Moving reflexively, she snuggled back against him as if seeking a more comfortable position.

He let out a soft groan. Cori slept on, oblivious to the torture she was putting him through. Planting both hands on the steering wheel, he wondered how in hell he was supposed to keep his mind on his driving when the back of her head was nuzzling his groin. It was a damn good thing they were almost home.

Finally, he made the last turn at a snail’s pace and eased into the driveway, then let out a giant sigh. He’d swear he drove the last mile holding his breath.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Cori opened her eyes slowly.

It was dark. For a moment she couldn’t figure out where she was. Then she remembered the picnic, and getting into Jake’s truck after it was over.

But where was she now? Still groggy, she curled her fingers into a ball. Or, rather, she tried to. Her right hand gripped one rock-hard, jean-clad thigh. Her head jerked up automatically, and bumped into the steering wheel.

“Ow!”

“Are you all right?”

Sitting up carefully this time, Cori rubbed her temple and darted a look around, trying to get her bearings. She recognized the twinkling lights of the city below and decided they must be somewhere in the hills above Glendale.

Her eyes scanned the scene before her, taking in the wide lawn, ranch-style house, and attached two-car garage.

“Where are we?”

He turned off the ignition and threw open the door. “Welcome to Casa de Jake.”

Jake braced the freezer open with his foot. “Steak, chicken, swordfish.” He rattled off the choices in that compartment, then closed the door and peered into the refrigerator, rifling through the contents. “Or … cheddar cheese omelettes with avocado and sour cream.”

Cori sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter, a glass of Chenin Blanc in her hand.

Neither one of them had said a word about the awkward moment when she’d awakened to find her cheek resting on his thigh. She had a good reason for keeping quiet—she was embarrassed about falling asleep. Or, more specifically, about
where
she’d fallen asleep, and she couldn’t help but think that apologizing for using his lap as a pillow would have made the situation ten times worse.

So she’d pretended she hadn’t been snuggled
against him intimately as if they’d been lovers for years. She ignored the way her hand had been gripping his thigh, forced herself to block out the memory of the unmistakable bulge that had pressed against her ear, startling proof that he hadn’t been unaffected by her impromptu nap either.

Instead, she’d made some silly remark about how she hadn’t realized how tired she was and followed it up with an uncharacteristic giggle. Jake had responded with an equally bland comment about how a day in the park could tucker a person out, then insisted on making her dinner. So she could get her strength back, he’d said.

More than ever before, she didn’t want to be alone with him. But if she’d refused, he might have accused her of making a big deal out of nothing. Not only did she
not
want to discuss the
nothing
she was making a big deal out of, she didn’t want to hear that he thought of it that way, that he was used to having women curl up with their heads in his lap. That his physical reaction to having her in that position was no big deal as well.

So here she was, sitting in his kitchen, swirling wine in a crystal goblet, trying to act as though this was just another Sunday evening. She decided that if she played along with his game, it would keep the mood friendly and lighthearted, which was exactly the way she needed it to be.

“How will the selections be prepared, monsieur?”

Jake closed the door and faced her. “The steak, thinly sliced and broiled. The chicken, baked in a sherry and mushroom sauce and served over wild
rice with pine nuts. I’ll grill the swordfish and baste it with a lemon-garlic butter.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Omelettes are omelettes. I’ll do them in a pan.”

Cori eyed him with skepticism. “You could make any one of those things?”

He executed an elegant bow. “
Oui
, mademoiselle. Your selection,
s’il vous plaît
?”

Taking her time deciding, she glanced around the kitchen. It showed all the signs of having a gourmet cook in residence—the latest Cuisinart, an elaborate pasta-making machine, gleaming copper-bottomed pots and pans hanging from a circular rack over the stove. Still, she found it hard to believe he knew how to use all those fancy doodads. He probably had a housekeeper who came in several times a week to clean, do his laundry, and leave meals for him.

His confident smirk did the trick.

She chose the chicken dish, partly because she was feeling ornery and it sounded as if it would be the most complicated to fix, and partly because she couldn’t resist calling his bluff.

A little more than an hour later they were seated in the dining room, the flickering glow from long, tapered candles casting shadows against the wall. A veritable banquet was spread out before them on the rosewood table. Because she hadn’t missed the ease with which he’d prepared the meal—turning down her repeated offers to help—she had some idea of what to expect. He might not be Julia Child, but he knew his way around the kitchen.

Curious, she took her first bite of chicken. The
meat was fork-tender, the wine-mushroom sauce delicately seasoned with herbs and spices. She had never tasted anything so delicious. For that matter, she had never
made
anything so delicious.

“I should have asked you to prepare crow,” she commented sheepishly, already wondering if she’d have room for seconds.

Jake laughed. “I probably have a recipe for that around here somewhere.”

She speared another piece of chicken. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

Cori hadn’t expected to have an appetite after their big picnic lunch, but she did. Finally, after finishing another small helping of baby peas and pearl onions, she put her fork down. “If I eat another bite, I won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“How about some more wine,” he offered, holding the bottle in his outstretched hand.

The meal had been exquisite, the company enjoyable. Cori was feeling mellow and carefree and a little bit reckless. She held out her goblet and accepted one more glass, then watched him refill his own before setting the bottle back on the silver-rimmed wine coaster.

“I like your family,” she commented, swirling the pale liquid slowly before taking a sip.

“They like you too.”

Leaning back, she curled her feet up under her legs, her shoes discarded somewhere beneath her chair. “How can you tell?”

For a long moment he didn’t answer. He simply stared at her over the rim of his glass, his gaze briefly
dipping to her mouth. A warm tickling sensation swiftly flowed through her. She told herself it was the wine she’d just swallowed—and not the way his deep blue eyes seemed to be making love to her from across the table.

“I hope my sisters didn’t embarrass you with their interrogation today.” His voice sounded rough and sexy, like sandpaper against velvet. She felt herself shiver.

“Not at all,” she replied, noticing he still hadn’t answered her question.

“They got kind of personal.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Friendly curiosity. I didn’t mind, really.”

“You handled it very well.”

Cori curved her lips into a modest smile. “Thank you. I have to admit, they seemed to have the routine down cold.” The thought of them firing questions at other women he’d introduced them to was curiously unsettling. But she had to know. “Have they done that often?”

Jake shook his head slowly. “Never.”

“Oh, come now,” she teased, keeping her tone light in an effort to disguise the fact that her interest was anything but casual. “Are you telling me they’ve never put any of your ladyfriends through their version of the Inquisition before?”

He almost smiled. “No. What I mean is”—he paused, glancing at his wine, then at his empty plate, then back at her—“they’ve never met one of my ladyfriends before. You’re the first.”

“Oh.”

“When the girls were little,” he continued before she could digest the implications of what he’d said, “I was too busy trying to keep the business from going under after my grandfather passed away—and attending college in the evening to get my business degree—to have time for a serious relationship.”

“It still amazes me that you took on that much responsibility when you were so young.”

“I did what I had to do.” He tossed back the rest of his wine as if it were a shot of whiskey. “And while I still managed to find time for dating, I always put my responsibility to the family first.”

Cori’s heart went out to him. “You were always there for them.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I had to be. I was the head of the family. I still am.”

“But they’re not little girls anymore.”

“No, I guess not.”

“They seem so bright, so capable of taking care of themselves, they probably don’t need much help now.”

He sat back and folded his arms in front of him. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t you quit beating around the bush and say what’s on your mind.”

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was even possible to make him understand that he was interfering in his sister’s life, then decided it was worth a try.