“I can think of many ways to stretch out your legs, and I guarantee you’ll feel much better.”
“I thought I was the physical therapist.”
“Just give me a chance to work those muscles of yours. You might be surprised at how proficient I am with my hands.”
Her eyes darkened at his completely sexual intent. At least there they were in perfect agreement, Jake thought. He held out his hand and she grasped it, not quite meeting his gaze.
He figured she had issues of her own to work out, and, considering the upheaval he’d be bringing into her life, he’d give her this time.
He knew it couldn’t last.
ON A ROOFTOP high above New York City, Jake led Brianne to the now infamous whirlpool. They’d grabbed towels from the apartment, and he’d taken her via the exclusive penthouse elevator to the private spa on the roof.
The view was incredible. White stars twinkled in the inky night sky and the outline of buildings and lights illuminated the spectacular setting. But the Empire State Building lit up in its red, white and blue glory was the pièce de résistance, and stood out from all the more ordinary buildings surrounding them.
Brianne walked to the edge of the roof, and though she kept one hand on the towel around her body, she used the other to grasp the high railing so she could peer out for a better look. “This is almost surreal.”
Jake came up behind her. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it.”
She nodded. “And your sister owns this along with the penthouse? No one else in the building can come up?”
“No one.”
She let out a brief whistle. “I guess this is what they mean by wealth.”
“Guess so.” He propped one hip on a rung of the guardrail. “Nice life if you can get it.”
Brianne heard the chill in his voice and was reminded of the only time he’d frozen her out: when she’d verbalized the conclusion that he didn’t live in this apartment, that he was a visitor much like herself. She’d wondered then why he’d turned cold, and figured now was as good a time as any to ask.
“Jake?”
“What?” He stared out over the panoramic view of the city, obviously lost in thought.
She tried to come up with a way to formulate the question that wouldn’t set him off further, and realized there probably wasn’t one. “Why is money such a sensitive
issue with you?”
He turned and looked at her. “I suppose when a guy’s wife leaves him for what he doesn’t have…”
“…he decides to paint all women with the same brush?” She finished the sentence for him, the conclusion not hard to figure out.
“I guess so,” he said with a brief nod.
And it hurt, Brianne thought. For so many reasons. The first of which was that she hadn’t known he’d been married. The thought of him in love with someone else stabbed her in the heart. Add to that the painful truth—she didn’t know much about him at all.
Except how he’d been injured. What it was like to share living space. And the rapture of his body deep inside hers, intimate in a way she’d never felt before. She was wrong. She did know him, she just knew too little about his past. And she’d wanted to keep it that way, to avoid the pain of emotional connection.
But it was too late. She’d already entrusted him with personal insight—her parents’ death, her difficulty dealing with anxiety and danger, and the frugal way in which she’d been forced to live in order to survive. She’d given to him emotionally despite the risk. It was time she let him talk in return.
But there was another reason his attitude about money and wealth hurt. She’d been open and honest about who and what she was but she’d never once given him the impression she’d taken this job so she could live the good life. In fact, no matter how he looked at it, she was still working two jobs to make ends meet. “It’s not like I’m some gold-digging tramp,” she muttered.
“No, you are not.” He grabbed for her hand.
His low growl and warm touch snapped her out of her internal dialogue and brought her anger to the surface. “Then, why do I feel like you’re thinking otherwise?”
“My fault for overreacting.” He glanced down as he ran his thumb over her wrist and massaged the pulse point there in an erotic circular motion.
His touch felt wickedly good, but she was more interested in what he had to say. Forcing herself to ignore the sensations traveling from a place as mundane as her wrist to other more private parts, like her breasts, wasn’t easy. But she managed, and one second later she was glad she’d remained alert enough to hear his next words.