Make Me Lose Control (12 page)

* * *

A
T
SNAIL
SPEED
, London climbed out of her father’s car. Only one foot had made it to the ground when he glanced over the roof of the SUV as he pulled lumber from the back. “Dawdling won’t get you out of rake duty,” he said.

She refused to rustle up the energy to glare at him. “I should have stayed back at the house. I have math homework and a paper to write.”

He grunted, not even bothering with a real answer.

London released a long-suffering sigh. It was her second day in a row to work at the cabins and it felt like forever since seeing anyone within ten years of her own age. She might die of tedium. For a time it seemed as if her life had finally started, but now it had come to another dull standstill.

“Help me carry these pieces over to the first cabin,” Jace said.

London slammed shut the car door and then sauntered to the rear of the SUV. She picked up one end of the eight-foot length of wood and dragged the other behind her, following Jace, who carried several pieces stacked on his shoulder.

He set his load down and then took in her own lackluster effort. Though his expression didn’t change, London felt a small spurt of shame. She told herself to ignore it. If she didn’t cooperate with good grace, then perhaps he’d give up this idea of penalizing her by working at the cabins.

Being back at the house might give her another opportunity to meet up with Colton.

“I’m going to get started replacing the window trim,” Jace said. “Go fast, go slow, it’s your job to get the remainder of the wood over here, then—”

“I can’t pick up that rake again,” she said, sure she would keel over if she had to once more wield that particular tool.

Her father stared at her for a long minute, and hope bloomed. Maybe he’d tell her to sit in the car until he was ready to go home. She’d curl up on the backseat and snooze the afternoon away. Or perhaps he’d let her call Shay for a pickup. Her tutor had the afternoon off, but if London put her need for rescue in dire terms, surely she’d give in and collect her.

“All right,” he said. “You can be my assistant.”

Great.
London rolled her eyes. Although he wasn’t an ogre—and had actually been marginally humorous the day before when he and Shay joined in the water fight—she didn’t want him thinking she was interested in being pals. Still, she couldn’t get the least bit enthusiastic about more raking, so she trudged back to the car to retrieve the rest of the wood.

He’d found a couple of sawhorses and set up a work area by one of the cabins. The window trim was moldy and peppered with holes. “Dry rot,” her father commented, pulling it off with his hands. “See what you can get free.”

London made a face. The work looked dirty and buggy. Slipping on her gloves, she moved to an adjacent window, got a grip and tentatively tugged.

“You’re not picking flowers,” Jace advised. “Get more aggressive with it, or use the crowbar.”

Irritated by the criticism, London put a little muscle into it. With a satisfying crunch, the bottom trim piece pulled free. She glanced over and saw that Jace had arranged the parts he’d removed onto the grass, in the shape of a frame. “Why’d you do that?” she asked, pointing.

“We can use them as a pattern for the new pieces,” he said. “Then we’ll prime and paint them before nailing them back up.”

That made good sense. London went back to work, following his example. “How’d you learn to do stuff like this?”

When he glanced over, eyebrows raised, she felt stupid. “Not that I care or anything,” she muttered.

“My father.”

“Yeah?” She bent to place another section on the ground. “He around?”

“No. He died a number of years ago. Emphysema, from a lifetime of smoking.” He looked hard at her. “You don’t—”

“Gross,” she said. “As if I want yellow teeth and black lungs.”

“Good,” Jace said with a little nod. “That’s good.”

“What about your mom?” she asked.

“Gone, too. She left when I was young, much younger than you, but I was notified when she passed a few years back.”

So he’d been a motherless kid, too, though his mom had chosen to walk away. Maybe that’s what had given him the idea it was okay to basically ignore her for a decade.

Not that she’d ever needed a daddy.

She’d practically raised herself. Their housekeeper, Opal, had always said London was the most self-sufficient person she’d ever known. It made her feel good remembering that.

It also made her think she should write Opal a letter or something. Their former housekeeper didn’t know the first thing about computers, but she’d been sending London handwritten notes every week or so. Maybe she could ask for her chocolate-chip oatmeal cookie recipe. Then she’d get Shay to shop for the ingredients and one afternoon London would make the dough and the scent of them baking would lure Colton to the house after school...

She imagined the occasion in great detail. He’d rap on the kitchen door and she’d gesture him in with the spatula. Practically drooling, he’d walk toward the rack of cooling cookies, then he’d look over at her and stop dead.

Because she’d have on...what?

Not black. Not jeans. Not a hoodie.

A flirty skirt? Shorts? She always thought her knees were too knobby, but she couldn’t be in pants forever. So it would be something in cherry red, maybe, or—

“Your maternal grandparents are gone now, too,” Jace said, interrupting her mental fashion musings.

London blinked, coming out of her fantasy kitchen scenario to the sunny reality of the cabins. She narrowed her eyes at her father, not sure where he was going with this. “Yeah?” she asked, drawing out the word.

He cleared his throat, looked over her head, then looked back at her face. “So it’s just you and me.”

Uncomfortable with the thought, she shrugged. “I’m cool on my own. Don’t need anybody.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the happy kind. “You probably get that from me. I’ve always lived a lone-wolf life.”

London considered that. He sort of looked like a wolf, she decided. Thick dark hair. Those eyes that were gold-colored. And he was big. Muscular. He probably could kick ass if he had to. “You ever fight anybody?” she asked.

“Uh...”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “I know that violence isn’t the solution to anything. I’m just asking.”

This time his smile appeared more genuine. “I’m swearing you to secrecy on this, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Fifth grade. There was this kid who had older brothers so he was pretty good with his fists. He liked to call me ‘Jace Butt-Face.’”

London hooted. “That is really lame.”

“Yeah,” her father agreed. “But I got sick of hearing it, especially when he followed me home from school yelling it at me when I was walking with these really cute girls.”

She tried picturing it. “Were you big then, too?”

“Scrawny. But like all bullies, at heart my tormenter was a coward. So I stood up to him. He slugged me, I slugged back and I split his lip. When he saw the blood dripping from his mouth, he ran home crying.”

“No more Jace Butt-Face?”

“He tried to nail me during dodgeball for the next year or so, but he didn’t call me names anymore.”

“Dodgeball is a barbaric game,” London said, shuddering.

“You like sports? Different games?” her father asked.

“I play a little tennis.” Or she did. But sweating too much made the liner around her eyes sting.

“Yeah? Maybe you should try out for the school team.”

“I don’t know,” London said, frowning. “What time of year do they compete? I don’t see myself clearing mountain snow off a court in order to bat a ball around.”

Jace opened his mouth, hesitated, then looked away. “We’ll find out the details. You can decide then.”

They returned to the task at hand. Her father didn’t try to keep the conversation going, for which London was grateful. She returned to her cookie-baking fantasy, trying on imaginary outfits in her mind that would wow Colton Halliday.
Seventeen never looked so good
, he’d say, and she’d play with her hair while talking to him like she’d seen Shay doing the other day.

It couldn’t be black anymore, London decided, suddenly certain of that. For the past fourteen months she’d been coloring it “Obsidian Wing,” and she was down to the last box she’d brought with her from England anyway. But what shade had it been before? She could hardly remember. Like Jace’s—a dark chocolatey brown?

“What?” he said.

With a start, London realized she was staring at him.

“My hair...” she began, then hesitated, waiting for him to latch on to the opportunity to talk about her current shade. She knew it was as startling as it was disguising.

“Your hair...?” he prompted.

“I’m going to change it,” she said, watching carefully to gauge his reaction.

He shrugged. “It’s yours.”

“Maybe I’ll dye it Lady Gaga platinum. Or blue.”

She sort of liked it that he winced. Then he nodded. “As I said, it’s your hair.”

“And I need some new clothes,” she told him.

“Is this about that shopping trip you asked for?”

Maybe it was time to change tactics. She pasted on a winning smile. “I’ve been a good worker, right? And I haven’t brought up a car or a boat in ages.”

“I think it’s been all of three days.”

“See?” She waved her hand. “Forever.”

“This is tough work,” he muttered, then he sighed. “How about we make a deal? Shopping trip, yes, blue hair, no.”

Oh,
win
! But London didn’t give that away by beaming at him like she wanted to. Still, this dad-daughter thing was becoming more manageable by the minute.

Jace turned back to his work and she watched him pull out a pencil and mark a piece of wood. Then he made a cut with a loud electrical saw. He moved like an athlete, she decided. Maybe football? There was power in his arms and chest and she suspected that he might have gotten in other brawls besides the one he admitted to in fifth grade.

He looked like a man who could hold his own in a fight.

It made her feel a little...good? Proud? Protected.

When he brought out his pencil for another cut, she thought of something else. “You didn’t ever marry again, did you?”

“What? No.” He shook his head.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I’ve been traveling a lot. I work long hours.”

But even his daughter could see he was handsome. And if he had a girlfriend, then he’d have someone in his life besides London. After years of practically raising herself, she didn’t think she could stand to be the sole focus of a father. Then she’d never get her own life going again.

“You should learn a trick.” Her face went hot when he gave her a curious look. She shrugged a shoulder, trying to appear casual even as she heard Colton’s voice echo in her head.
I’m going to show you magic.
“I heard it’s a way to, um, get female attention.”

“So, you’re an expert on that?” he asked, one eyebrow winging up.

She shrugged again, not sure if he were teasing or not. “Well, I
am
a girl.”

“And I already know a magic trick.” A smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “Shall I show it to you?”

“Okay.” She sauntered closer, watching as he bent down and picked up a couple of sticks. With a penknife, he worked at them until each resembled a stubby pencil, complete with sharp point. Then he slid a piece of plywood onto the sawhorses to create a tabletop.

Next he placed the sticks horizontally on the surface, a few inches between them. “Okay,” he said. “Watch closely as I count to eight.” His right hand, palm down, covered one of the sticks. “One.”

His left did the same with the other. “Two.”

On “three” then “four,” he flipped each hand over. On “five,” his right fingers picked up the right stick and set it in his left palm.

With a suppressed laugh, she noticed it didn’t remain in there, however. While his left fingers curled into a fist, she could pretty clearly see him fold three of his right fingers over to conceal the stick. On “six” he retrieved the remaining stick with his thumb and pointer. At “seven,” he loosened his left hand to show—surprise, not—it was empty. With a note of triumph, he said, “Eight!” and released the two sticks in his right hand.

He glanced up to measure her reaction.

Though she sucked on her tongue to hold back more laughter, he must have detected it in her expression. “My sleight of hand is not so good?”

“Your sleight of hand is not so good.” Not nearly as good as Colton’s, certainly.
I usually amaze girls.

“That’s it, then,” her father said, his voice thick with layered-on resignation. “I’m obviously going to be alone for the rest of my life. In my old age it will be solely up to you to heat my soup and hand me my walker.”

The idea of it made her grin. Then he did, too, and they shared a moment of mutual...something, before London’s misgivings came rushing in. Her shoulders hunched and she turned away, not wanting him to think she was happy about spending time with him or feeling friendly whatsoever.

Instinct and experience told her it was dangerous to let down her guard and like the man too much.

CHAPTER TEN

U
PON
RETURNING
FROM
the cabins in the late afternoon, Jace hunted down Shay. He figured she must be somewhere about, because her car was in the drive, though she wasn’t in the house.

Standing on the back lawn, he shaded his eyes, and thought he detected movement on the dock. Bright colors, a beach chair... As he got closer, he saw that Shay was propped in a low seat, wearing—good God—nothing more than a swimsuit.
So much skin
, his libido thought, on immediate alert.

Jace almost escaped back to the house. But he had a request to make and hell, he was a mature man. Telling his baser self to calm down and remember that ogling her was not an option, he descended the ramp that led to the slip.

The breeze was up, scooping the lake’s blue water into white-lace-edged waves that scudded across the surface. They rocked the pontoons that floated the dock, moving it in an easy rhythm. The accompanying liquidy slosh must have masked his footsteps because Shay seemed unaware of his approach.

So he allowed himself a brief moment to admire.

For a near redhead, her skin managed to lightly tan to an apricot warmth. A massive tube of sun protection sat beside her, he was glad to see, because it would be a crime for that lithe body to bear a burn. She rested in the low chair, arms on its arms, legs stretched in front of her. The suit she wore was two pieces, a pale blue that would match her eyes, which were currently closed. Tiny dots of perspiration sprinkled her small straight nose.

Bad Jace wanted to lick them away.

Of course, since he was a mature man, that idea was dismissed. Telling himself he’d used up his admiration allotment, he cleared his throat.

Her eyes popped open. Blinking, she looked at him, then felt around for her sunglasses. Once she slid them on, she sat up. “Is everything all right?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” He kept his gaze trained on her face.

“I don’t know.” She reached for the striped towel folded beside her and pulled it over her midsection. “How did your afternoon with your daughter go?”

His daughter. A person. No longer just a memory of his big hands trying to zip a tiny sweatshirt, or of coaching a small child on the finer points of keeping up with a melting ice-cream cone. Was it an act of fatherhood to lie about his occasional brawling, since there’d been a few bar fights after fifth grade? He only knew that making her smile had felt like winning a grand prize.

“I think the afternoon went well,” he told Shay now, attempting to sound offhand about it, because this was a teen they were talking about. He might jinx things by being overconfident. “She wants new clothes and to change her hair color.”

“Sounds like you talked,” she said, picking up the tube of sunscreen.

“Yeah.” It had felt like real conversation.

“Did you tell her about school?”

He frowned. “I’ll get to it.”

She’d squeezed out some lotion into her palm and was swiping it across her shoulder and down her arm. Jace followed the movement with his eyes as the scent of coconut drifted by him on the breeze. Wrenching his gaze off her skin, he stared out over the lake.

In the distance, sailboats glided across the blue water and he counted them. One, two, three. “So, will you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take her shopping.”

“Jace, you should go with her. Use the opportunity to get to know her further.”

“We’re talking shopping. She’s not going to want me. She’s already asked you, if you’ll recall.”

Shay huffed out a sigh. “Jace—”

“C’mon. I’ll give you both free rein with my credit card.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I can’t be bought like that.”

Shit. He remembered Ryan commenting on the Walker pride. He tried defusing the situation with a smile. “Okay, how
can
you be bought?”

“Ha-ha.” Then she stilled, seeming to consider something. “How about this? For every hour I’m out with your daughter, you spend one with her, as well.”

He shook his head. “I’ve just been at the cabins with her two afternoons in a row. Believe me, while it might have gone okay, I guarantee she won’t be enthused about palling around with me more.”

Shay shrugged a shoulder. “Those are my terms.”

Christ, it must be his day for negotiations. “She won’t like more time with tools.”

“Then do something she’ll enjoy.”

Like he’d know what that was. He dropped to the dock beside Shay, drew up his knees and scraped his hands through his hair. His instincts were completely at a loss when it came to doing right by the girl.

“How about driving lessons?” Shay asked.

“She’s too young for a permit. I checked.” Which was a huge relief, because he wasn’t ready for a daughter behind the wheel of thousands of pounds of steel.

“The boat, then,” Shay suggested.

Not the boat, either. Teen, moving vehicle... He glanced over at Shay to tell her as much, but she was back to applying the sun protectant. The slow process fascinated him. She was thorough about it, making sure every centimeter of her biceps, her elbow, her forearm was covered. He watched as she massaged the cream into the thin skin at the top of her hand and then into the web of each finger.

A sexual shudder rolled down his spine and he began to harden, even as she continued with those mesmerizing strokes. Up, down, around. More cream, more strokes.

Envy pierced his belly even as he called himself a fool. He was jealous of her hand, the lotion in her palm, the breeze, those pinpoints of sweat dotting her nose. Anything that was so close to her when he was not. He didn’t know where this response came from, why she instigated it, how it was going to be when they didn’t share the same space and air.

Would he feel relief? Would she linger on the edges of his mind like a ghost? Would he rub his own cock in the shower and pretend it was her, and wake up on bleary mornings imagining for just a moment he was back in the Deerpoint Inn with a birthday girl in her birthday suit?

“The boat,” she said again. “It’s a good idea.”

“Fine,” he heard himself say. Because it was impossible to resist her, he realized now. Anything she suggested, anything she allowed...he was going for it.

Anything she allowed...

Yeah. Up to and including that. For the rest of their time together, it was going to be up to Shay to apply the brakes. His sexual willpower was officially out of gas.

He was empty of any inclination to keep his distance from her.

If she crooked a finger, he’d be running.

* * *

S
HAY
CUT
THE
lessons short the next day for the shopping trip. She’d considered going down the mountain to one of the big malls closer to the coast, but there were numerous boutiques in the small community of Blue Arrow Lake and nobody needed to encourage her to shop local. She knew full-time residents required all the cash they could accumulate during the tourist season to keep afloat during the quieter parts of the year.

Begging had got her a hair appointment for London at a local spa. They also booked a makeup session for the girl. Once a new color palette was in place, then they’d be in a better position to shop for outfits. She’d given Jace a brief rundown on their plans and he’d extracted a promise that there’d be no blue hair.

It seemed London had agreed to that stricture.

Now as they walked through the doors of Half Moon Spa & Beauty, the girl’s excitement was palpable. Shay tried tamping down on her own. She had no real stake in London’s life. Her temporary role would soon be over and getting too invested and too attached would only end badly.

Just like Jace, the girl was a short timer in Blue Arrow Lake.

At the reception desk, she learned the man had made his own call to the spa. Despite her sputtering, the receptionist was adamant that he’d paid ahead for the works for both London and Shay. With the teen looking on, she found she couldn’t be so ungracious as to refuse the services.

So they had side-by-side styling chairs.

“What are we going to do today?” The woman behind Shay’s chair fluffed out her hair.

“I think she needs more gold highlights,” London suggested.

Shay raised her brows. “Does that mean I get to choose your hair color?”

“Uh...” The girl bit her lip, betraying a lack of confidence that Shay hadn’t seen before.

Her heart squeezed. “Would that help, London?”

Red rose up the teen’s neck and infused her cheeks. “I don’t really know...”

Shay turned to the stylist assigned to the girl, a reputed expert with color. “This is going to be a process,” the woman said. “We’ll first use a nonchemical stripper, then apply color after.”

“Do you want it to be close to your natural shade?” Shay asked.

“I can’t really remember what that was,” London confessed. “Maybe kind of mousy brown.”

The stylist patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get it near to the way it was, then warm it up with highlights and lowlights if need be.”

London transferred her gaze to Shay. “Sounds perfect,” Shay said, exuding assurance, warmed by the grateful look the teen threw her way.
Don’t get attached
, she reminded herself again.
It’s never a good idea to care too much.

Hours later, they emerged from the Beach ’n’ Ski boutique and decided to call it quits. But Shay proclaimed they couldn’t make it to the house without some sustenance, so they dropped the bags in the trunk of her car then crossed the street to Oscar’s Coffee, where they each ordered an iced tea and a pastry. They carried their fare to one of the small tables on the patio that bordered the sidewalk.

“Looking like we do,” Shay murmured, “we should see and be seen.”

London had an awkward moment as she made to sit in the wrought-iron chair. Her gaze jumped to Shay, who hid her smile.

“Put your things onto the table, then hold the hem of your skirt to the back of your thighs as you sit down—prevents a breeze from going where it doesn’t belong.”

The second try was the charm. “I feel like an idiot,” London said under her breath.

“You don’t look like one.” Shay leaned back in her chair to once again scrutinize the changes new hair color, makeup and wardrobe had wrought. London’s stylist—who’d tugged Shay aside to say Jace had included an enormous tip—was a miracle worker. The dull black was gone, replaced with a medium brown color laced with streaky, delicate highlights in bronze and blond. Layers were cut to accent the catlike shape of the girl’s face and show off her big eyes.

They were no longer surrounded with raccoon rings. Instead, subtle liner, shadow and mascara made the most of them. Her irises were a warm brown, with dashes of the gold that made her father’s eyes so distinctive.

Sipping at her tea, London self-consciously tugged at her skirt.

“It’s not too short,” Shay promised, having made this declaration several times already. The dress was a racer-back style in a soft green knit, the color light at the bodice then deepening at the bottom. She wore it with flat bronze sandals in a modified gladiator style. Her fingernails had been painted gold, her toenails a deep bronze. Just a touch of bronze gloss colored her lips. Small gold hoops hung from her pierced ears and she wore three bracelets that were silk cord knotted with amber beads.

From beneath her lashes, London was watching the world go by, her gaze inspecting every passing teen. “Maybe I should have worn shorts,” she whispered.

It was true that most of the kids in sight were dressed in T-shirts and cutoffs, but Shay had encouraged her to put on something dressier. “You have those, too. Clothes for every occasion.”

“Hey, Shay!” A voice hailed from behind her.

She turned her head to see Megan Daniels, a high school senior whom she’d worked with to prep for the college entrance exams. The girl bopped over in a short lace skirt, tank top and rubber thongs. “How are you?” Shay asked.

Megan’s grin went wide. “Counting down the days. College in less than triple digits!”

Shay smiled with her, then introduced London. The senior was friendly but was on her way quickly, after promising to send a postcard from San Diego, where she would attend the university.

“They all do that,” Shay explained as Megan hurried off. “I help them get ready for entrance tests and when they move to their chosen school, they send me a card for my collection.”

London sipped from her straw. “You’ve had a lot of students?”

“A couple of handfuls so far.” The postcard idea had actually come from one of the moms. Just as with London, Shay made an effort not to become overly invested with the kids she tutored. They weren’t
her
kids.

Just then, London made a small sound. Her body stilled and she stared across the street, her gaze on a clutch of high schoolers coming into view. Shay recognized Colton Halliday, a pal of his and three girls—two blondes and a curvaceous brunette. They paused on the curb, looking in both directions before stepping into the street.

“They’re coming here,” London said, a note of panic in her voice. “We should go.”

“No,” Shay protested. “Not when you look so pretty.”

Biting her lip, London started to slink low in her chair. She put up her hand to shield the side of her face. “I’m not like them,” she whispered. “They’re so...so...effortless.”

Oh, the anguish of fifteen, Shay thought, as London’s obvious misery touched a tender spot inside her. When Shay was the same age, still reeling after that disastrous fourteenth birthday, it had felt as if everyone in the world had a comfortable niche but her.

“Listen.” Leaning across the table, she spoke in a low voice. “Sit up straight, pin on a smile, look like you’re having the most fun ever.”

London’s eyes darted to Shay, then darted back to the group of kids that had almost reached the sidewalk. “But...”

She reached out and tugged the girl’s hand away from her face. “Trust me. If you look like you’re enjoying yourself, other people will want to get to know you. Hang around you.”

Slowly, the teen straightened in her chair. She curved both hands around her cup and gave her attention to Shay, a pained smile on her face. “Do I look like I’m having fun?”