A Man to Believe In (9 page)

As if he didn’t have enough on his mind, he thought, stretching his long legs beneath his two-hundred-year-old desk. When he leaned back in his chair, the ancient springs creaked, just as they had years ago when his grandfather had sat there.

The image of the old man clear in his mind, Jake suddenly wished he were here with him now. He could have used some advice about a different problem, the one he’d mulled over in his mind on the way back from San Diego.

It had been five days since he’d made dinner for Cori at his house, five days since he’d lost control with her. He was still kicking himself.

If he’d paid attention to his instincts, he would have taken things slowly with her, shown some
patience
. But no. He’d practically attacked her on the couch in his study. And while he could have justified his actions by telling himself she’d wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her, he didn’t. He’d known all along she wasn’t ready to accept the feelings that were rapidly developing between the two of them. For some reason, she was afraid of allowing herself to get too close to him. By pushing her too far, too fast, he’d scared the hell out of her. Not the smartest move he’d ever made. Now he would need a truckload of patience if he wanted to get anywhere with her.

And he did. He wanted her in his life—and in his bed.

As was his habit, Jake lost no time in making a decision. No matter what it took, he’d find a way to be patient until Cori adjusted to the idea of being involved with him. And she would adjust. It was only a matter of time.

A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see Susie poke her head inside the door.

“Is it safe?” she asked. At his nod, she stepped in and, with perfect underhand form, pitched a can of soda at him. “Happy hour.”

Jake caught the soda in one hand, then popped the top. “What, no date on a Friday night?”

Susie reached for his letter opener and used the tip to pry loose the tab on her can of soda without breaking a nail. “He isn’t picking me up until eight.”

Jake brought his can to his mouth and drained half its contents in one long gulp. “Who’s your date with this time?”

“Robert.”

“That’s the third time this week, isn’t it?”

Susie nodded.

As he listened to her list her detailed plans for the evening, it occurred to him that she sounded as if she were reporting to a parent. For the first time, he was acutely aware of the fact that he
wasn’t
her father. He’d played the part out of necessity for years, but his heated conversation with Cori last weekend had made him see that she no longer needed him to do so.

“Sounds like fun. By the way, how’d Robert do on that audition for the commercial? Did he get the job?”

Susie looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Uh … no, he didn’t,” she finally said.

“That’s too bad, but if he keeps at it, he might make it, don’t you think?”

“Well … sure. I guess so.”

He couldn’t blame her for being so puzzled, since this was the first time he’d asked a question about
her new boyfriend that didn’t reek with hostility or sarcasm.

She leaned forward, tilted her head to one side, and stared at him intently. “Jake, you’re not acting like yourself today. Are you feeling okay? Maybe we should swing by the emer—”

“Hey, what’s the big deal? I ask a couple of questions about your boyfriend and the kind of week you’ve had and you act like I have a screw loose or something.”

Slowly, she raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, turning the worried look of moments earlier into one of extreme suspicion.

“Okay, you have a right to be skeptical, I’ve been a real jerk about your seeing Robert. I’d like to apologize.”

Susie ran her tongue around the inside of her left cheek. “What’s brought about this sudden—and completely unexpected, I might add—change of heart?” A split second later her face lit up. “Cori!”

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What about her?”

“She’s the one who finally got through to you, isn’t she?”

“What’s the big deal? I’ve been thinking, that’s all.”

“Unh-unh. I don’t buy that. She had a talk with you and she convinced—”

“What makes you think we even discussed—”

“Because”—Susie wagged her brows up and down several times—“we had a little tête-à-tête of our own
after the picnic last Sunday, when she walked me to my car.”

“Realty?”

“Realty. She was pretty upset about some of the things you said about Robert and wondered why I didn’t tell you to buzz off. My words, not hers,” she added hastily.

“What’d you tell her?”

“I told her I was used to your overbearing interference.”

Jake winced. “Ouch. Have I been that bad?”

Susie laughed. “Worse. But don’t worry, I still love you.”

Jake stood up, then came around to stand before his sister. He leaned back against the edge of the desk and reached down, taking one of her hands in his. “Cori was right. You’re a remarkable young woman, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

Susie stood up. With a telling sigh she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, linking her hands behind his neck. “I love you, Jake. You’re the greatest lunkhead brother a girl could ever have.” She hugged him hard, and when she finally pulled back, she had tears in her eyes.

Choking back his emotions, he smoothed her bangs away from her face. “Thanks. You’re a pretty neat sister too, even if you are a brat,” he told her with a smile. “And you’d better not stay out all night, you hear me?” he said.

She punched him in the shoulder before stepping
away from him. “Mind your own business.” She made a production of straightening the bottom of her angora sweater, then walked to the door. At the threshold she turned back to face him. “Speaking of staying out late—tomorrow night is your hot date with Cori, isn’t it?” she asked.

Jake leaned back and reached behind him for his soda. “We’re going to the ballet,” he remarked non-committally, then drained the can before tossing it into the wastebasket.

He had no intention of letting tomorrow evening turn into anything close to a hot date. He’d take things slow and easy, just the way he’d planned. And he hoped to God she didn’t wear something sexy.

Gnawing on her lip, Cori stood in front of her clothes closet with her hands on her hips. A couple of weeks ago, when she’d still felt rational and in control of her emotions, she’d agreed to go out on one insignificant date. It had seemed like a harmless thing to do at the time.

Now she wasn’t so sure. Instead of selecting something to wear for a simple evening at the theater, she was choosing something to wear for an evening that could well prove to be a turning point in an all too rapidly developing relationship—with the first man she cared about in years.

And she was nervous. About what to wear. How to act. Whether the evening would end with them—

Refusing to allow herself to complete the thought,
she closed her eyes and thrust her hand into her closet for what seemed like the millionth time. She pulled out a garment, held it against her for Marsha’s inspection, then when her friend shook her head, threw it on the bed with the other rejects.

With a heavy sigh Marsha got up from the bed and stepped up to the closet. She scooted half a dozen pairs of slacks out of her way, flipped past three dresses, then squeezed her pregnant body into the narrow closet. A few seconds later she made a muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like “Eureka,” and emerged holding her discovery.

“Naughty, naughty,” she said, waving one finger back and forth in a scolding motion. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Cori kept her expression neutral. “Not true. That old thing must have gotten shoved into the back ages ago.”

Marsha removed the dress from the hanger. She smoothed the clingy jersey material against her stomach and sighed. “Jeez, I’m tired of being fat. I’d give up hot fudge sundaes for the rest of my life if I could put this on right now.” Sleeveless and falling just to the knees, the purple sheath had a high neckline and a deep slit up one leg. Marsha turned it around and let out a low whistle.

“This is what you’re going to wear tonight.” She tossed it to Cori.

Cori dropped the slinky garment as if it were on fire. “Unh-unh. No way.” She shook her head. “Not that one. Pick something else. Anything else.”

Marsha bent over slowly and scooped it off the
floor. “But this one is perfect. Drop-dead gorgeous. Jake won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Cori closed her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Jake stood outside the door to Cori’s cottage and hesitated before knocking. He tucked the flowers he’d brought her under one arm and, for the third time in as many minutes, used both hands to straighten his burgundy tie. With a tug he pulled his shirt cuffs down below the sleeves of his suitcoat, then brushed imaginary lint off his shoulders. Maybe he should have worn his gray suit instead of the navy.
Too late now, buddy
. He smoothed his hair back and realized that for the first time in a very long time, he was nervous.

Carefully, he pulled the flowers from under his arm and checked the arrangement. He’d gone to six florists before he’d finally given up on finding a bouquet of wildflowers. Looking closely at the bunch of daisies he’d chosen, he decided they hadn’t suffered from the trip over on the seat of his car. They were beautiful. And he was stalling. He hid the bouquet behind his back, raised his hand, and knocked.

When Cori opened the door, Jake allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. If she’d been wearing some low-cut number, he would have been in deep trouble. Though the soft material of her dress clung to every feminine inch of her, the modest neckline was a life saver. Relaxing slightly, he held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Daisies.”

She’d stated the obvious, but the look of delight on her face was unmistakable. He was glad he’d passed on the long-stemmed roses.

“Thank you. Come in,” she said, and turned around, walking into the small living room.

Jake felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “What happened to your dress?”

Cori twisted her head and peered over one shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t have a back, dammit.” He poked a finger inside his collar and pulled, stretching his neck and wincing.

“Oh, well … that’s the style. Don’t you like it?”

I love it. I hate it. Lord, what is she trying to do to me?
He sucked in a deep breath. “It’s … nice. Do you have anything cold to drink?”

“Sure. Just let me put these in water, okay?” She went into the kitchenette.

His gaze slid over her naked back for a long moment. Soft light from a candle on the window ledge above the sink danced across her smooth skin as she reached for a vase. He felt his stomach tighten with desire, and decided she was trying to torture him on purpose. It was as if she’d known he had a weakness for the subtle sexiness of a backless dress.

He wondered how long it would be before his patience ran out and he pulled her into his arms.

Calmly, he reminded himself that this time must be different. With renewed determination he forced his eyes away from her and studied the room, hoping it would provide a much-needed distraction.

A small wooden table surrounded by four mismatched chairs separated the kitchenette from the living room. The wall behind the couch had been painted a soft shade of blue, giving the room a feeling that was at once lively and peaceful. Jake felt himself starting to relax again.

Because he saw no evidence of a bed, he assumed the beige tweed sofa littered with pillows of navy, mint, and rose pulled out at night for sleeping. For good reasons he was relieved to have the mattress tucked neatly out of sight. Jake recognized the end tables that flanked the couch as former orange crates, painted white to match the metal trunk that served as a coffee table.

To his left, an old oak rocker sat squarely in front of a small brick fireplace. Curled up on the hard seat, oblivious to the world, was a big orange tabby. Jake reached down and briskly scratched the feline’s ears. The cat lifted his head and cracked open one eyelid, then resumed his prior posture, purring softly. Smiling, Jake shook his head. He couldn’t help wondering if Cori ever got a shot at the choice fireside location.

Hands in his pockets, he nodded thoughtfully, glancing around the room one more time. He had to hand it to her. He’d been in places where professional designers had worked with budgets a hundred times greater than hers without achieving a fraction of the warmth. Undoubtedly, the most expensive thing in the place was her library.

A wall-to-wall bookshelf, constructed of cinder blocks and one-by-twelve pine boards, held hundreds
of books. He stepped closer, inspecting the titles with interest. Hardcovers, paperbacks, a complete set of encyclopedias—she had it all, everything from the latest Robert Ludlum novel to James Fenimore Cooper’s
The Last of the Mohicans
. He pictured her curled up on the couch at night, a book in her lap, her long strawberry-blond hair falling in a mass of waves around her.

“Do you like to read?”

He hadn’t heard her come up behind him. Her scent, fresh and uncomplicated—like the daisies he’d brought her—surrounded him. He turned to face her. She stood so close. Several strands of hair had fallen from the pile of silk on her head and lay carelessly on her shoulders, tempting him. He ached to set the rest of it free, to see it tumble down her back. Somehow, he resisted the urge to pull the sparkling pins from the knot one by one.

“Yes. I read every night,” he added. “Before I go to bed.”

She licked her parted lips and swallowed. “Me too. Every night.”

“You’ve got a nice variety to choose from.” He gestured to the shelves behind him, never taking his eyes off her as she turned to place the glass milk bottle full of daisies on the coffee table.

He heard himself comment on several current best sellers, felt his head nod automatically when she responded. But his mind wasn’t on books, or authors, or reading. He watched, fascinated, as she gave one flower tiny twists to make it stay in place, her fingers coaxing gently until she had it where she
wanted it. More than ever, he wanted those hands to work their magic on him.