All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... #3) by Leslie McAdam Read Free Book Online

want to . . . well . . . We’d better go or we won’t leave,” he stuttered out.
    Oh.
    That made me feel better immediately.
    He grabbed my hand and led me to his car, a new black BMW, holding the door for me as I sat my booty in the leather seat and slid my legs around, the only way to get in a car in a pencil skirt. Opening his door, he got in, started his car, and took off.
    “What kind of music do you like?” he asked.
    “Dance, R&B, hip hop.”
    He turned on the radio and it was set to my favorite station. “Guess we have the same taste.”
    “Where are we headed?”
    “The Four Seasons Biltmore. We can have drinks in the lounge and dinner by the ocean.” The Four Seasons sat on the beach in one of the most exclusive parts of Santa Barbara, almost in Montecito, near where Oprah lived. You could cross the road and be at the beach.  Those Jake-thrills coursed through me again. This was going to be a special night.
    “You know, I would go anywhere, but I’m so glad you picked the Biltmore. I’ve only been there once and I’ve always wanted to go back.”
    After a short drive, we pulled up to the valet parking and the attendant helped me out. Jake handed over his keys, then came over to me and gave me his arm.
    Like everything in Santa Barbara, the hotel was Spanish style, with a red tile roof, white stucco walls, and black iron accents. The hotel had obviously been redone and we walked into the chic bar and sat down at a little table that overlooked the ocean. Because it was getting near the shortest days of the year, the sun started to set earlier and earlier. Jake ordered a beer and I ordered a margarita on the rocks, which a friendly waiter served with a flourish. 
    “Tell me about your son,” said Jake.
    “He’s shy and quiet, but smart.  He likes to read, like me.  He’s nuts about Minecraft.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A videogame.”  
    Jake took a drink of his beer and I watched his Adam’s apple move.  God, glorious.  “I’ve never heard of it.  Never played much videogames as a kid.”
    “So what do you do for fun?” I asked, sipping my margarita.
    He laughed but it was the kind of laugh that had no humor. “I don’t.”
    “What do you mean you don’t?”
    “For the past eleven years, I’ve worked seventy to eighty hour weeks every week, sometimes more. I go to work. I come home and crash. That’s it.”
    “That’s no way to live.”  God, what a workaholic.
    He got a funny look on his face and paused.  Then he looked around at our opulent surroundings and lowered his voice.  “When I was young, my family didn’t have money. Like any money.  I mean, I grew up using ketchup instead of spaghetti sauce on pasta.” I cringed. “My mom divorced my dad when I was a teenager, saying that she deserved better than my dad, who worked all the time, and she left me . . .   Sorry, this is kind of heavy. I guess where I’m going with this is that when I was young, all I did was draw. I wanted to be an artist. But once I was a teenager, my dad, knowing how hard it is to make a living, pushed me into doing something more. And I guess that’s it. I work all the time now.”
    “Your dad didn’t support you being an artist?”
    “No.” He didn’t elaborate.
    Well, if he didn’t have any family support, no wonder he was in advertising. That could be artistic—another outlet for creativity.
    “But you like drawing.”
    “I can’t not do it,” he said earnestly. “So I take classes when I can. Photography. Painting. Drawing.”
    “What did you think of the life drawing class?”
    He looked at me with a sexy stare that did things to my whole body. “It had a great model.” He continued, even quieter, “Actually, I was wondering what it felt like to be up there, naked, with everyone looking at you.  Drawing you.”
    “It feels disembodied. I know all these art students are objectifying me, making my body into lines on a page.”
    “I didn’t objectify you,” he