flick off the kitchen lights and stomp up the stairs to my bedroom. My home away from home when I was growing up. Grandma and I decorated it together over the years—first, the bed with its wrought iron frame, then the antique night table and a chest of drawers. Over the years we added a desk, repainted the walls a soft lilac, and sewed soft furnishings in country-chic pastel colors. It is the one place I feel I belong. Safe. Loved.
As I throw back the covers, a floorboard creaks behind me.
“Now what?” I spin around and glare.
Jake leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, biceps bulging under his tight, white T-shirt.
Tease.
“I’m giving you a choice.” His voice drops from conciliatory to commanding. “Option one. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We stay here and I cook up whatever is in that backpack. Option two. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We grab some burgers. You come to Redemption. Say hi to the guys. Watch me fight. We go for more burgers. I take you home.”
My brow wrinkles with a frown. “How about option three? Amanda stays in her pajamas, climbs back into bed, and goes to sleep. I haven’t fully recovered. Maybe in a few more weeks.”
“Makayla says the doctor gave you the all clear.”
And that’s one less person on my Christmas list. The backpack was definitely a setup. “Makayla talks too much.”
“She loves you,” Jake says quietly. “She’s worried about you. She says she’s never seen you like this. She thinks you’ve given up.”
With a groan, I puff my pillows and slide under my fluffy down comforter. “I haven’t given up. I’m taking a break from life. I’m catching up on all the sleep I lost while I fruitlessly banged my head against the partnership wall at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m healing my battered body and soul. Eventually, I’ll find a job at another big firm and redeem myself in my parents’ eyes. But not right now.”
Jake crosses the room in two long strides and whips the comforter off the bed. “Yes now. You need to face the world or life’s gonna get tired of waiting for you.”
In my fury, I think nothing about snatching the cover out of the hands of a glaring six-foot-two tattooed fighter with a bee in his bonnet. I rearrange the blankets over myself and sink into the pillows. “You can see yourself out. I’m taking option three. I’m exhausted from all this talking.”
His eyes narrow. “There is no option three. Right now, you’re going to take a shower and eat. Tomorrow, you’re going to look for a job—”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
Torn between being extremely irritated and highly amused, I fold my arms and revert back to the taunting voice of my childhood. “You and what army?”
“Shower,” he barks like a drill sergeant.
“Go to hell,” I respond like a clueless new recruit.
Wrong thing to say. Down goes the comforter. Up goes Amanda. I screech as he secures me over his strong shoulder, my ass in the air, my legs pinned tight against his broad chest.
“Beast. Let me go.” My fists thud uselessly against his tight ass.
Jake rumbles a laugh. “Oh, I will.”
He dumps me unceremoniously in the shower, and before I can escape, he turns on the freezing cold water. With a wicked grin, he bolts and closes the door behind him, laughing when I yell obscenities at his departing back. “You are going to be so damn sorry.”
Half an hour later, showered and dressed for the first time in I don’t know how long, my “girly stuff,” aka makeup and hair, done, I descend the stairs. Jake is tapping a wall with a small hammer and muttering to himself about plaster.
“Ahem.”
He spins around and I pose for him in the only clean pair of jeans I own, a sparkly tank top, and kitten heels.
A grin splits his face. “Wow. You do clean up well.”
“Now it’s your turn.” I give him an evil smile before I drench him with the pitcher of freezing water I had been holding behind my back.
His shocked
As I throw back the covers, a floorboard creaks behind me.
“Now what?” I spin around and glare.
Jake leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, biceps bulging under his tight, white T-shirt.
Tease.
“I’m giving you a choice.” His voice drops from conciliatory to commanding. “Option one. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We stay here and I cook up whatever is in that backpack. Option two. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We grab some burgers. You come to Redemption. Say hi to the guys. Watch me fight. We go for more burgers. I take you home.”
My brow wrinkles with a frown. “How about option three? Amanda stays in her pajamas, climbs back into bed, and goes to sleep. I haven’t fully recovered. Maybe in a few more weeks.”
“Makayla says the doctor gave you the all clear.”
And that’s one less person on my Christmas list. The backpack was definitely a setup. “Makayla talks too much.”
“She loves you,” Jake says quietly. “She’s worried about you. She says she’s never seen you like this. She thinks you’ve given up.”
With a groan, I puff my pillows and slide under my fluffy down comforter. “I haven’t given up. I’m taking a break from life. I’m catching up on all the sleep I lost while I fruitlessly banged my head against the partnership wall at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m healing my battered body and soul. Eventually, I’ll find a job at another big firm and redeem myself in my parents’ eyes. But not right now.”
Jake crosses the room in two long strides and whips the comforter off the bed. “Yes now. You need to face the world or life’s gonna get tired of waiting for you.”
In my fury, I think nothing about snatching the cover out of the hands of a glaring six-foot-two tattooed fighter with a bee in his bonnet. I rearrange the blankets over myself and sink into the pillows. “You can see yourself out. I’m taking option three. I’m exhausted from all this talking.”
His eyes narrow. “There is no option three. Right now, you’re going to take a shower and eat. Tomorrow, you’re going to look for a job—”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
Torn between being extremely irritated and highly amused, I fold my arms and revert back to the taunting voice of my childhood. “You and what army?”
“Shower,” he barks like a drill sergeant.
“Go to hell,” I respond like a clueless new recruit.
Wrong thing to say. Down goes the comforter. Up goes Amanda. I screech as he secures me over his strong shoulder, my ass in the air, my legs pinned tight against his broad chest.
“Beast. Let me go.” My fists thud uselessly against his tight ass.
Jake rumbles a laugh. “Oh, I will.”
He dumps me unceremoniously in the shower, and before I can escape, he turns on the freezing cold water. With a wicked grin, he bolts and closes the door behind him, laughing when I yell obscenities at his departing back. “You are going to be so damn sorry.”
Half an hour later, showered and dressed for the first time in I don’t know how long, my “girly stuff,” aka makeup and hair, done, I descend the stairs. Jake is tapping a wall with a small hammer and muttering to himself about plaster.
“Ahem.”
He spins around and I pose for him in the only clean pair of jeans I own, a sparkly tank top, and kitten heels.
A grin splits his face. “Wow. You do clean up well.”
“Now it’s your turn.” I give him an evil smile before I drench him with the pitcher of freezing water I had been holding behind my back.
His shocked
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