name’s Frank. Anyway, I drove my old pickup outta town and went to live with him, worked my way through college, and then started my own business with a loan from both of them.” He smiled. “Which I paid back within two years.”
He’d given her only the bones of his existence, leaving out the lonely years of longing. For her. It was going to take time to convince her, he knew—but there was no denying the impatience to make her understand now.
She laughed softly. “Jake Farrell’s life in thirty seconds, huh? Somehow,” she drawled, clucking her tongue, “I think there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
One dark brow rose. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. For instance, what kind of business do you own?”
“I’m a contractor.”
“Really? What do you contract?”
Jake laughed, loving everything about her. “Houses, honey.” He held out his calloused palms. “I build houses.”
“Ooh!” She looked so excited, scooting closer in her chair. “That’s so wonderful. I mean—how
fascinating. God, I bet you’re wonderful at it.”
Her faith in him was staggering. With his head cocked to the side, his eyes trying to read her, he said,
“Why would you say that?”
“A fellow artist’s instincts,” she replied with a warm smile, completely at ease for the moment. “They
zing every time I look at you, Jake.”
His eyes flared with heat and she suddenly realized what she’d just said. Oh, God, she groaned. Her instincts zinging? She might as well come right out and tell the blasted man she was completely fascinated with him—obsessed with him—head over heels in love with him! She needed to change the subject. Quick! “Where do you live?” she asked too brightly, wincing at the desperate sound of her voice.
Jake took pity on her for the moment, but he wasn’t going to let her avoid the subject forever. “I’m still living in Washington, but I might be moving soon.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really? Where?”
Wherever you decide you want me to build our house.
He waited while their waiter brought out fresh, mouthwatering breadsticks and their salads, refilled their glasses, and then murmured, “It hasn’t been decided yet.” She gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t offer to elaborate. “And what about you?” he asked around a bite of crisp romaine and croutons.
She smiled. “You already know where I live and that I paint.”
And that’s all you’re going to know.
No way in hell was she going to tell him about her books. Oh, she’d have loved to be able to share her success, but the truth he’d see on those pages would be too humiliating to endure.
Jake took a long swallow of wine, waiting for her to open up even though he knew she wasn’t going to. This was going to be the hardest wall to scale, but the most rewarding in the end. And God, he was scared to death of her reaction. If she panicked and ran out on him, he didn’t know what in the hell he’d do. Chase after her, of course, but then what? How do you convince a woman that you love her more than anything in the world? How do you make her understand that you can’t live another day without her? He had a good idea how to prove his point physically, but would it be enough emotionally?
They dropped the topic for the moment, making casual talk about the restaurant and Sandy and Angelo’s success while they dug into the food. But as soon as their plates were cleared and their entrees served, Jake cut right to the heart of what he wanted to know. “So,” he murmured, scooping up a forkful of steaming lasagna, “why’d you marry him?”
Taylor laughed, but not because the question was funny. No, she laughed at herself. Why had she married Mitch? Lord if she knew. Yeah, her sorry excuse for a mother had pushed her into it, wanting her hands cleared of a daughter so she could hit the road, but there had to have been more to it than that. Maybe she’d done it out of fear, or anger, or hell—she really
He’d given her only the bones of his existence, leaving out the lonely years of longing. For her. It was going to take time to convince her, he knew—but there was no denying the impatience to make her understand now.
She laughed softly. “Jake Farrell’s life in thirty seconds, huh? Somehow,” she drawled, clucking her tongue, “I think there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
One dark brow rose. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. For instance, what kind of business do you own?”
“I’m a contractor.”
“Really? What do you contract?”
Jake laughed, loving everything about her. “Houses, honey.” He held out his calloused palms. “I build houses.”
“Ooh!” She looked so excited, scooting closer in her chair. “That’s so wonderful. I mean—how
fascinating. God, I bet you’re wonderful at it.”
Her faith in him was staggering. With his head cocked to the side, his eyes trying to read her, he said,
“Why would you say that?”
“A fellow artist’s instincts,” she replied with a warm smile, completely at ease for the moment. “They
zing every time I look at you, Jake.”
His eyes flared with heat and she suddenly realized what she’d just said. Oh, God, she groaned. Her instincts zinging? She might as well come right out and tell the blasted man she was completely fascinated with him—obsessed with him—head over heels in love with him! She needed to change the subject. Quick! “Where do you live?” she asked too brightly, wincing at the desperate sound of her voice.
Jake took pity on her for the moment, but he wasn’t going to let her avoid the subject forever. “I’m still living in Washington, but I might be moving soon.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really? Where?”
Wherever you decide you want me to build our house.
He waited while their waiter brought out fresh, mouthwatering breadsticks and their salads, refilled their glasses, and then murmured, “It hasn’t been decided yet.” She gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t offer to elaborate. “And what about you?” he asked around a bite of crisp romaine and croutons.
She smiled. “You already know where I live and that I paint.”
And that’s all you’re going to know.
No way in hell was she going to tell him about her books. Oh, she’d have loved to be able to share her success, but the truth he’d see on those pages would be too humiliating to endure.
Jake took a long swallow of wine, waiting for her to open up even though he knew she wasn’t going to. This was going to be the hardest wall to scale, but the most rewarding in the end. And God, he was scared to death of her reaction. If she panicked and ran out on him, he didn’t know what in the hell he’d do. Chase after her, of course, but then what? How do you convince a woman that you love her more than anything in the world? How do you make her understand that you can’t live another day without her? He had a good idea how to prove his point physically, but would it be enough emotionally?
They dropped the topic for the moment, making casual talk about the restaurant and Sandy and Angelo’s success while they dug into the food. But as soon as their plates were cleared and their entrees served, Jake cut right to the heart of what he wanted to know. “So,” he murmured, scooping up a forkful of steaming lasagna, “why’d you marry him?”
Taylor laughed, but not because the question was funny. No, she laughed at herself. Why had she married Mitch? Lord if she knew. Yeah, her sorry excuse for a mother had pushed her into it, wanting her hands cleared of a daughter so she could hit the road, but there had to have been more to it than that. Maybe she’d done it out of fear, or anger, or hell—she really
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