The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

She was snarling at Jake.

Tall. Lean. Hard-bodied in a black T-shirt and faded denim jeans, five-o’clock stubble on his jaw, dusty boots on his feet …

“Jacob?” she said in a whisper.

“Addison,” he said, “oh, God, Adoré …”

He opened his arms.

She wanted to throw herself into them.

But he wasn’t going to break her heart again. She wouldn’t let it happen. She was not a fool, she wasn’t going to let him hurt her—

“Adoré. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I’m not worthy of you, I know I’m the lowest kind of SOB in the world—”

“You are all that, and more.”

“I know. That’s what I just said. I’m everything you probably want to call me … but—but—”

“You absolutely are,” she said, and then a sob burst from her throat and she hurled herself into his arms.

“Of course you are,” she whispered, while the tears coursed down her face. “You’re awful and cruel and horrible and—and oh, God, oh, God, Jacob, I missed you!”

Jake’s arms tightened around her. Her face was buried in his shoulder; his hands were in her hair.

The woman he loved was in his arms.

Every polite apology he’d rehearsed during the eighteen-hundred-plus miles between the ranch and New York had blown straight out of his head.

The sight of her, his Adoré, that beautiful, unadorned face; the careless hair, the clothes that said, I am who I am and I don’t care what anybody thinks …

“Adoré,” he said, and he took her face in his hands, bent his head to hers and kissed her.

Had anything ever tasted as sweet as her mouth? Had anything ever filled him with the joy he felt as she rose to him and wound her arms around his neck?

He lifted her off her feet, stepped inside the apartment and kicked the door closed behind him.

“Please,” she said, “oh, Jacob, please …”

In a movie, this would have been a moment for a swell of romantic music, a slow, artful undressing of lovers who had been apart.

It was none of that. They had been too long without each other.

They had trouble getting the clothes off each other. His hands felt big and clumsy. Hers shook.

&

nbsp; His belt almost defeated her.

The drawstring of her sweatpants had the same effect on him.

And when, at last, nothing separated them but warm, supple skin, Jacob took his Adoré in his arms and carried her to the sofa, where they joined their bodies, their hearts, their souls.

Afterward, he held her tightly to him.

She kissed his throat.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I loved you from that very first night.”