The Perfect Letter (32 page)

She flung herself down on a pile of hay, exhausted, heartsick, ready to weep.
Jake.

“You were supposed to be on a plane by now.”

Jake sat half hidden behind a bundle of hay. He was so still she hadn't seen him at first, lost as she was in her memories. But now here he was in the hayloft over the barn, their special hiding place, where they'd always known they could find each other when they felt lost.

“I told you to go home, Leigh. It's better if you stay away,” he said.

“Better for who?”

He closed his eyes as if the sound of her voice pained him. “Don't you know it's time to let each other go? Don't you think I've done enough damage to your life?”

She knelt on the floor next to him. His hands, which he'd burned that morning trying to get back her trust fund, were still covered with white bandages. She touched them once, carefully. “Don't you think I've done enough to yours?” she said.

“A million dollars. I'll never forgive my dad this time.”

“I'll get over it.”

“I can't even look at you. All of this is Ben's fault. If we'd never come here, if I'd never fallen for you—”

Leigh wouldn't let him punish himself anymore. “We've hurt each other.
All right, neither of us can change that. What I want to know is, what do you want to do now? How do we move forward from here?”

Jake looked down at the place where Leigh's hand rested on his arm, but he didn't move. “I don't know. I feel . . . trapped. Like there's no way to get around the things that have happened to us. Like every decision we've made has put up more and more walls between us.”

She slid her hand up his arm, to his shoulder, then his neck. “You know, I think I felt the same way for a long time. Now I know that's bullshit, Jake. You're mine, and I'm yours, just like we used to say. We tried to run away from that promise, but we can't. Because no matter where I go or what I do, I can't live without you.”

“Leigh—”

“And don't give me that I'm-bad-for-you line. Don't you dare keep pretending you don't love me. I won't let you get rid of me.”

Jake kept his hands in his lap. He couldn't touch her with the bandages on, or maybe he was afraid to. “What about Mr. Wonderful?” he asked. “You going to tell me he means nothing to you? That you don't love him, you won't marry him? That you're giving him up and coming home to be with me?”

In all the confusion and chaos over Russell and Ben, Leigh hadn't told him that she and Joseph had split, that she'd given him back the ring. Now she put her hands on either side of his face and looked him squarely in the eyes. She wouldn't let him flinch this time.

“That's right. I told him I don't love him, that I never loved him. I told him I won't marry him. Jake, he left. He's gone for good.”

For a moment it seemed like he was nearly ready to believe her, then he shook his head and looked down at his bandaged hands again. “You can't be serious,” he said. “You should be with him. You work together, you live in the same city. He's rich, he can give you everything. What can I give you? Nothing. I have nothing at all. Now my hands are useless, too. I'm fit for absolutely nothing.” He slammed his elbow
into the wall, a quick burst of frustration and anger. “You'd have to be crazy to love me. I can't give you anything.”

Leigh wouldn't be shook off. “None of that matters to me.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “It should. It will. Now that your money's gone, especially.”

“Believe it,” she said, waving her left hand in front of his eyes. “I gave him back the ring, and I quit my job. I told him I slept with you.”

He looked horrified, but she rushed on, certain for once that she was doing the right thing. “You were right, Jake. Real loyalty is here. My life is here with you and Chloe and my family, my aunt and uncle. You all are my life. I don't know why it took me so long to figure that out.” Suddenly she laughed. She felt giddy, happiness like a spring inside her, bubbling up. “Well, maybe I do know why. But it doesn't matter now. I'm coming home. I'm going to start over. I want to be with you. All you have to do is say that's what you want, too.”

“I can't ask you to do that.”

“You're not asking it, I'm doing it. I've already done it.”

“Go back to New York, Leigh. Please go. I can't, I just can't look at you for how ashamed I am.”

She traced her fingers over his jawline, across the two days' of stubble there, then brushed his lips. They were dry, soft. He kissed the tips of her fingers, then her palms, with a moan of regret and fear. She cupped his face and brought it, trembling, toward her, and kissed him deeply.

Under her hands he was stiff, still. He was scared, she realized—scared of loving her again. All that baloney about him being bad for her, of how ashamed he was, was his way of protecting himself, convincing himself that he was better off without her as she was without him.

The only problem was that it wasn't true. Neither of them had been better off alone, had they?

“I won't leave you again,” she said firmly. “I'm staying right here, I
swear it, Jake. You can pretend all you want, but you're not getting rid of me.”

“Leigh . . .” He breathed her own name into her mouth.

She caught the word and kissed him, brushing his lips with her own, softly. Her hands were on his shoulders, and she twined them around his back and pulled him closer, her body moving into his. He was holding back still, afraid to let himself go, but she would not take no for an answer. She would not be sent away to live in a prison of regret, always wondering what might have happened if she had been a little braver, a little less frightened. She said, “I swear I will stand by you until the end. I mean it, Jake.”

He held his hands out in front of him, his damaged hands swathed in white bandages. “I can't even touch you,” he said. “I'm a wreck. I'm the iceberg smashing a hole in your life, Leigh. Steer clear of me.”

She clutched his damaged hands to her breast and said, “You're the man I love, the man I want. I choose you. I choose you, and only you, Jacob Rhodes. You're the one I want, now and always. Tell me you want the same.”

Jake was still shaking his head. “Go home, Leigh. Don't do this.”

Leigh threw a leg over him, so that she was straddling him now, sitting on his thighs. “Look at me,” she said, tipping his chin so he was looking directly into her eyes. She would have to find a way to break down his wall of protection, to move him past his fear and into the understanding that she clutched now close to her heart. “Don't you understand, after all this time? I
am
home. You are my home, and I am never leaving you again.”

She kissed him, fiercely now, but he still would not give in—the shard of ice in his heart would not melt. He held himself still, stiff, refusing to touch her, refusing to love or be loved. But after ten years—after losing everything else in her life—she wasn't giving up on him so easily.

“You don't have to be afraid anymore,” she said. “You can trust this. You can trust me, I swear it.”

She reached down and tugged at the tail of his white T-shirt.

“No, Leigh. Please.”

“You want me to stop?” she said, a hint of anger rising in her voice. “Then stop me. Go ahead.”

He didn't speak, so she pulled the shirt gently over his head, careful of his burned hands, her touches soft, all caress. He did nothing to help her, holding his eyes closed, keeping himself remote from her, as if by sheer force of will he could make her go away and leave him alone with his burning shame, his overwhelming male pride.

The hell with pride,
she thought.
I am not letting you off that easily, Jake. You can stop me if you want, but I'm not letting you torpedo everything out of stubbornness!

She knelt in front of him, her fingers tracing the flat muscles of his belly, his hips. She bent down and kissed the hollow of his throat, the place over his heart. She pulled off his boots one after the other, then she unbuttoned his jeans and laid him back in the hay to slide them off. He let her.

Naked, he looked both stronger and more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, his skin golden in the dim light, the hairs on his belly darkening as they grew downward. His eyes were closed, but his obvious arousal drew her attention. She knelt beside him, touched him, brushing her fingers over him gently.

He shuddered and said, “Don't.”

“You really want me to stop?” she said coyly.

He said nothing. The only sound was his breath, ragged with desire.

“Leigh—” He started to sit up, leaning on his elbows.

She stood and towered over him, tugging her shirt over her head, unsnapping her bra, but slowly, without anger. She'd gone past the place of fear and uncertainty and had come back to the moment with
a clear sense of purpose: she was
not
leaving here until Jake stopped acting like a stubborn fool. If he didn't want her anymore, that was fine, she'd go. But after everything they'd been through, she knew that she could not stop fighting for him now.

“You want to leave?” she said. “Go ahead, get up and go. There's the door. I won't stop you.”

She stood over him and slid off her jeans, then her thong, until she was naked, proud, defiant. Below her, Jake's body yearned toward her, straight and hard as an arrow. He wanted her; he couldn't hide it.

She smiled. “I don't think you really want me to stop.”

“Dear God,” he said, the words coming out with an animal moan. “I've never—I never wanted anything in my life as much as you, Leigh. It's killing me to say it, but I don't deserve you. I don't deserve to be happy, after everything I put you through.”

“I'll be the judge of what you deserve.” She reached down and brushed her hand once again over him, lightly.

Jake groaned and closed his eyes, his bandaged hands waving in front of his face. “I'm helpless. I can't even touch you. How can I make love to you like this, Leigh? I'm broken.”

She straddled his legs, leaning forward. “You're not broken,” she said, smiling. “You're . . . mildly sprained. Let me please you, Jake. Let me show you I mean it when I tell you you're everything to me.”

Jake gasped and arched his back to meet her as she leaned into him. He reached up his bandaged hands to touch her, but he couldn't, and she enjoyed his relative helplessness, the sense of her own power over him growing. That she could do to him the very things he'd always done to her.

Leigh pulled back and looked down at him, at his eyes hooded with desire, his back arched toward her, all of him pulling toward her. “My love,” she said. “My Jake. You don't know how long I've waited to say that to you again.”

“I do,” he said. “Ten years, four months, and five days, give or take a couple of hours.”

“Then I think it's been quite long enough.”

At last she reached down and slid him into her, enjoying his gasp of pleasure, her own at the feel of him filling her up. Ever since he'd touched her with his ice-slicked fingers that day at the cottage, she'd been waiting for this moment—the press of their bodies together, their mutual desire. She rocked over him back and forth, back and forth, the pressure between them building toward release.

She felt her own power surge over him, his breath fast and hot on her neck, on her breasts, as he lay helpless beneath her, pressing his hips upward into hers. She would never stop wanting him, never—and at last he cried out and she took her last stroke of pleasure only moments before he, too, exploded into her.

Afterward they lay together in the hayloft, Leigh's arms around his neck, Jake's bandaged hand stroking the side of her face, clumsily brushing the hair back out of her eyes. “Well,” said Jake. He was still breathing hard, his face red, but the expression on his face was dreamy.

Leigh sat up on one elbow to look at him. “Well, what?”

Jake nodded. “I had no idea you could be so . . . persuasive.”

“You'd better get used to it,” she said, “because I'm never letting you get rid of me again.”

Jake was quiet for a minute. Then he pushed himself up on one elbow to look at her. “How can you be so sure?”

Leigh sighed and touched the small thatch of hair in the middle of his chest. “Because I couldn't forget you. Because I tried to, and it didn't do me any good. I just can't live without you, Jake. We might as well both accept that now.”

“Leigh—” He smiled, but it was fleeting, a momentary glimpse before he went back to the subject on his mind. “I want to talk seriously for a minute.”

“Okay.”

“You've worked so hard to get where you're at. There aren't any big publishing companies in Austin. I don't have a job. I don't even know if I can get hired anywhere. Your trust fund's gone.”

He recited this litany of facts one by one, and Leigh wondered what he was getting at by restating the obvious. “So?” she asked.

“So how will we live? Where will we live? I can't take care of myself, much less a wife or, God help us, kids. I can't ask you to move into my sad little apartment. There's barely enough room in it for me.”

“Wife?” Leigh felt her heart lift.

“Yes, wife. You think I don't want to marry you still?”

“I wasn't sure. You never mentioned it.”

“That's because I can't marry you! Haven't you been listening? We're both completely broke. Neither of us has a job. We have no place to live and nothing to call our own, Leigh. It would never work.”

Leigh smiled; this was the brilliant part of her plan, the thing that Jake didn't yet know. “That's what you think,” she said. “I'm going to start my own publishing company, Jake. I'm going to do it right here in Austin.”