The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

“Uh-huh.” He sat down next to her, leaned in, gave her a long, lingering kiss. “You painted this room all by yourself?”

“I’m a painting expert. Do you have any idea what painters charge in New York?”

“A frugal woman.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

“A broke woman. Tuition loans. A condo mortgage.”

“According to Caleb, all lawyers are rich.”

“I’m an indentured servant, in my second year at Kalich, Kalich and Kalich.”

He grinned. “An imaginative name for a law firm.”

“Especially,” Addison said, “when you consider that the last Kalich toddled off this mortal plane twenty years ago.”

Jake laughed, leaned in and kissed her again. This time, she sighed and sank into the kiss.

“So,” he said, curving a hand around the side of her face, “you went to Home Depot—”

“Sears. They had paint and stuff for the floor and all the other things I needed.”

He shook his head. “Old man Chambers would be horrified.”

“Horrified? That I cleaned up this—this—”

She was indignant. Jake tried not to laugh.

“Keeping the place a disaster area was a point of pride with him. The summers I worked here, I used to offer to deal with more than the fences and the horses. He’d always get this look on his face and tell me to mind my own business.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think he really let it all go to hell until the last few years, while I was … away.”

Away. Addison looked at him. Away seemed a strange way to describe being in a war, getting wounded, doing something heroic enough to win an important medal.

“How long were you away?” she said softly.

A muscled knotted in his jaw.

“Too long,” he said, after a minute. “And maybe not long enough.”

He turned away from her … and her breath caught. A series of vicious scars pocked his right shoulder. Without thinking, she r

eached out and touched her fingers gently to the raw-looking flesh.

He jerked back, grabbed his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and reached for his jeans.

“Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. Did I hurt—”

“I’m fine.”

Addison reached out to him but his posture was unyielding. Instinct warned her not to touch him.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I just don’t want to talk about it.” His words were clipped as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“Jacob. Wait—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Go on. Get dressed.”

Moments ago, they’d been part of each other. Now …