Make Me Risk It (3 page)

She examined herself critically in the dressing room’s full-length mirror before she walked out to meet Jacob.

Damn it.

The color in her cheeks had hardly faded. She looked like she’d just finished a vigorous workout . . . or had phenomenal sex, she admitted to herself wryly as she stepped out of the bathroom.

He was already there, leaning over a dark walnut cabinet and shuffling through the contents of a drawer. She stopped in her tracks, just soaking in the image of him for a moment while he was distracted. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, but his bangs had begun to dry, revealing strands of dark gold. He was shaved and his goatee had been neatly trimmed, giving him a crisp, clean appearance. He wore black tweed pants and a jacket, along with an ivory shirt that came to a slight V in the front. The ensemble looked effortlessly chic and sexy on his long, lean frame.

He glanced up distractedly—even though she was sure she hadn’t made a sound—and did a double take. She smiled.

“That color is amazing on you. You look gorgeous,” he said, slamming the drawer shut and stalking toward her, whatever he was searching for apparently forgotten.

“Thank you. So do you.”

He slid his hands into his pant pockets and paused, his gaze sliding down the length of her and up again to her face. She wondered if she’d ever stop going warm under his steady, somber . . . outrageously sexy checkouts.

“I know,” she muttered, embarrassed. “My cheeks. They’re still bright red.”

His smile unfurled slowly. He reached with his hand, the back of his fingers brushing across her warm cheeks. “I like them. They make your eyes even brighter.”

“I look like I had a heyday with my blush.”

“No.” His fingers moved on her cheek. “No one could ever replicate that color with makeup.
That’s
the real thing.”

“That’s a really hot shower,” she breathed, enthralled by his expression as he touched her.

“That’s excellent sex,” he corrected before he leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. Her heart gave a jump in her rib cage.

“If anyone could replicate the way you look right now, they’d own the world.”

She opened her mouth, stunned by his compliment, and then he was kissing her, slow and deep and toe-curling.

“We’re going to be late,” he said quietly a moment later.

“Then stop kissing me.”

“Stop
making
me,” he replied dryly, grabbing her hand.

She was sure they’d be late, both for dinner and the opera, but Jacob’s driver worked some kind of miracle in weekend traffic, getting them to Jardinière in record time. It was a favorite restaurant of Harper’s, but even so, she’d never gotten so much attention—either from the staff or curious patrons—than she did while accompanying Jacob that night. She had the distinct impression most people didn’t know specifically who he was. It was his air of absolute, quiet confidence and epic good looks that had them tittering. Perhaps aware of the intrusive stares, the maître d’ seated them at a secluded table to enjoy their pre-opera meal.

“You enjoy the opera, then?” Jacob asked her after they’d been served their wine and salads.

“In San Francisco I do,” she said wryly, pulling her gaze off the vision of his strong hands cutting an heirloom tomato with a silver knife and fork. It made her think of him holding that gold Waterpik. . . what he’d done to her in that shower. Her already flushed cheeks heated.

“Why only in San Francisco?” he asked, puzzled.

“They put up the English translation above the stage,” she said, smiling. “I never learned Italian. I went to the opera when I was in Paris once, and had no idea what was going on. I was bored out of my mind.”

He grinned and took a swift bite. Something about his silence pricked her interest.

“You
do
, don’t you?” she asked slowly. His brows went up in a query. “Speak Italian?”

“Only a little,” he said with what struck her as modesty. “It doesn’t take me much to pick up languages. I’ve seen a few Italian women over the years, and it somehow sunk in a little.”

She laughed and his eyebrows arched in a query. “There you have it, then. I forgot you were good at math. I suck at it. They say people who are gifted in math often are also good at picking up languages. Plus . . . I’ve never had a ‘few’ Italian lovers,” she added playfully. She blinked when she saw his rigid expression. Had he been offended by her comment about his previous lovers?

He blinked and set down his fork. “What do you mean, you
forgot
I was good at math?”

She leaned back at his intensity, bewildered. “I just meant . . . you’re a computer programmer, right? Apparently, a particularly talented one, a savant by most accounts—” She broke off when his stare continued to bore into her. “
Aren’t
you good at math?” she asked weakly.

He took a draw on his wine.

“Yes,” he said, picked up his fork again. “Where have you learned things like that? About me, I mean,” he asked, his tone milder now. Still, she sensed his ruffled mood beneath his calm demeanor.

“Isn’t what I just said public knowledge? I know you like to keep a low profile, but it’s inevitable that some details about your history are going to be known.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question though, does it?”

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other from across the table. Finally, she shrugged and gave a bark of laughter, cast at sea by the turn of his mood. “I didn’t know that much about you before I was invited to the cocktail party, although I have heard of Lattice, of course, and I’ve heard your name in passing. Ruth Dannen, our society and entertainment editor, filled me in on some of the details about you.”

“Like what?” he asked quietly, pushing back his unfinished salad.

“Like that you were a gifted programmer and that military intelligence recruited you after college to work on anti-hacker software, and you used that knowledge after you left the army to create Lattice.”

“And?”

“And
what
?”

“Did she insinuate that my success was suspect? She mentioned the insider trading scandal, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Harper replied honestly.

“Did she ask you to dig for a story about me?”

She set down her fork with a clinking sound. “In fact, she did.” His face turned to stone. “Is that really relevant? Did you
see
a story on you at the
Gazette
about anything I’ve learned about you since we’ve been together—which, trust me—
isn’t much
,” she added succinctly with a glare. “Why are you so edgy all of a sudden?”

“Am I?”

“You know you are,” she muttered, taking a bite of salad and then pushing back her plate in mounting frustration.

For a few seconds, he didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. Her gaze jumped to his face. He still looked tense, but also irritated. At himself, she thought. His apology had been genuine. “It’s not pleasant for me. To consider you hearing speculation and gossip about my past.”

She exhaled slowly, some of her frustration going with her breath.

“You are very secretive, Jacob. You’re very closed off. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know already. People are bound to gossip, given all that. Nature abhors a vacuum, isn’t that what they say?” she asked quietly. “That doesn’t equate to being dishonest or a criminal.”

“You believe that I’m above reproach?”

“Maybe I just want to believe it,” she replied sincerely. She couldn’t decode what she read in his eyes at that moment. “I
do
believe that the fact that you are so shut off and suspicious of people’s intentions only amplifies the rumors about you. Your aloofness only fans the flames.”

“Maybe I should hire you for public relations. You could clean up my murky public image,” he said, a mirthless smile tickling his handsome mouth.

“Would you actually want that?” she asked archly, taking a sip of wine, thankful the tense moment had passed. “Why does it matter if people backbite about you? Why do you care?”

“I don’t, usually,” he said very quietly. He seemed to hesitate. “In your case, it matters.”

Her mouth fell open. It was a strange compliment. He’d just told her he cared about what she thought of him. What confused her was the hard slant of his mouth when he’d said it.

He may care, but he wasn’t pleased about it.

* * *

Jacob seemed intent on making sure she had a nice evening following that tense, bewildering exchange at dinner, as if he was determined to make up for his flash of irritation and edginess. His attentiveness and warmth were very much appreciated by Harper, but they weren’t necessary to improve her mood. Instead of ruining the evening, their exchange at dinner had somehow made her feel closer to him. She’d learned they had something elemental in common.

So . . . he was ambivalent about caring about her? She couldn’t fault him for that. She was just as prickly and unsure about her strong feelings for him.

* * *

The opera was
La Bohème
, which she enjoyed very much from their prime seats in the first row of the lowest balcony. She was highly aware of the man beside her: his thigh brushing lightly against her own, his handsome, stark profile as he stared at the stage, the subtle hint of his woodsy, spicy cologne. His presence and his nearness seemed to amplify her sensual appreciation of the production. During the touching second aria between Mimì and Rodolfo, she glanced over at him, only to find his gaze already on her face. There was something in his eyes . . .

She felt something expand in her chest. More powerfully than she ever had before, she sensed his sharp hunger. She couldn’t understand it, but there it was in front of her, impossible to ignore, difficult to deny, even given his doubts. His hand enclosed hers. The tension in her chest broke. She gasped softly and stared at the stage and the romance unfolding there . . . a love story that was destined to end in tragedy.

In the past, she’d occasionally had strong emotional reactions to music, but she’d never experienced this level of feeling during a performance. Of course . . . she’d never sat next to the likes of Jacob Latimer during a production, either.

Embarrassed by her strange uprising of sharp emotion, she immediately made an excuse to go to the bathroom when they reached the lobby during intermission. Jacob touched her shoulder when she turned away.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked her, his brows slanted in concern.

“No, I’m fine,” she assured with a bright smile. “I should have warned you. Music makes me a little emotional sometimes. Sorry. It’s embarrassing, to get swept up into the drama so easily,” she said, rolling her eyes.

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she reluctantly met his gaze, despite her burning eyes.

“It’s not embarrassing, to feel deeply.”

She nodded, ducking her head, mortified by her bewildering show of vulnerability.

“I’ll get us some drinks and wait for you,” he said.

“That’d be great, thank you,” she murmured, turning away.

By the time she emerged from the ladies’ room a few minutes later, she’d collected herself completely. Hopefully, Jacob hadn’t thought her display
too
odd. Eager to find him now that she’d calmed herself, she searched the crowd for his head. As tall and distinguished as he was, he was sure to stand out. She didn’t see him, however. Maybe he’d decided to use the facilities, as well. No sooner had she stationed herself near a column in order to wait, she caught a quick glimpse of him in the distance. He jogged up a flight of red-carpeted stairs.

That was strange, Harper thought, moving away from the column in his direction. His manner had seemed rushed and tense. Was he looking for her? She walked through the milling crowd of people in his direction. She reached the stairs where he’d disappeared, craning her head to see. There was a bend in the stairs, obscuring her vision. The men’s lavatory wasn’t in this direction, she knew from prior experience. Maybe Jacob knew some roundabout way to get there?

She rose up the first three steps, getting a better view of the entire lobby. This would be a good pace to wait . . .

“. . . you promised me, Regina.”

Harper started. It’d been Jacob’s tense, low voice she heard resounding from the upper part of the stairs.

“I didn’t promise you that I’d never come back to San Francisco,” a woman exclaimed.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jacob seethed. “
That’s
what I meant.”

“It’s just champagne!”

“How did you know I’d be here tonight?”

“Elizabeth told me she’d gotten two opera tickets for you tonight. Don’t be mad at her. I kind of tricked her into telling me.”

“You agreed to stay in Napa until you’re more stable,” he continued quietly, but Harper heard the anger in his tone, as if he felt the situation spinning out of control.

“
You’re
here,” the woman replied bitterly. “You told me that you were
so
busy in Tahoe, and yet you have time for the opera? And I saw that woman you’re with.”

“I’m not making excuses to you. I’m not the one who broke a promise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” the woman said sarcastically. “Jacob Latimer, always above reproach. Always so cold.” Her harsh laugh segued into a sob. Harper’s heart lurched uncomfortably.

“Why don’t you love me the way I do you, Jacob?”

“Jesus,” Harper thought she heard him mutter before she became aware of rapid movement beside her. A dark-haired man flew up the stairs next to her and paused on the landing, looking upward.

“Regina?” he called. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“Is this your escort?” Jacob asked.

“Yes. It’s okay, David,” Regina sniffed.

Harper started back guiltily when she saw movement and a flash of red. The woman—Regina—put her hand on the dark-haired man’s lapel.

“What did you do to her?” David demanded accusatorily, looking up the stairs.

“I didn’t do anything to her.
You
did. She’s drunk,” Jacob snapped. “Are you drunk as well?”

“
What
? I’m not going to—”

“It’s okay, David. Jacob and I are old friends,” Regina said.

“
Friends
?” David asked scathingly.

Regina turned.

Harper was suddenly face-to-face with the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Even with reddened eyes and wet cheeks, she was stunning. Long, shining dark brown hair stood in dramatic contrast to her form-fitting red dress and smooth, golden skin. Dark eyes fastened on Harper. Harper stepped down and clutched at the bannister.

It’d all happened so quickly. She’d been caught red-handed and flustered in the act of eavesdropping. Jacob suddenly appeared on the landing. He tapped David hard on the chest.

“She has a history of substance abuse, you idiot. And she’s on medication. Don’t give her any more alcohol.”

“Listen, you son of a bitch—”

“Stop it, David. You don’t know what you’re talking about, and neither does Mr. Holier Than Thou here. Just take me back to the hotel,” Regina said, her speech slurred. She grabbed David’s hand and proceeded very unsteadily down the stairs. It was only then that Jacob noticed Harper standing there. His eyes seemed to blaze in his rigid face.

Regina paused next to her.

“So you’re the new flavor of the night? Is this some new kink you’ve dreamed up, screwing the girl next door?” she called back to Jacob.

“Damn it, Regina.” Jacob jogged down the steps and grabbed David’s elbow aggressively. He was so large and intimidating, such an oncoming storm, Harper stepped back instinctively.

“Get a cab and take her back to the hotel,” Jacob demanded. “I don’t want you or her driving—”

“
I’m
not drunk. And I’ve had about enough of you,” David blazed, throwing off Jacob’s hold. Harper wondered if what Jacob had insinuated about David being drunk was true. David was clearly the smaller of the two men, but seemed strangely cocky in the face of Jacob’s pointed anger, concern, and much more intimidating size.

“Oh shut up, both of you,” Regina hissed disgustedly. She shoved David in the opposite direction of a dangerous-looking Jacob. Harper saw her look back once at Jacob in a kind of desperate longing before they disappeared into the crowd.

Jacob turned to her with a jerky movement. His volatility seemed to roll off him in waves. Harper didn’t know what to say. It’d all happened so quickly. So unexpectedly . . . and it all seemed so out of character for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” he said thickly. He raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture of sharp frustration. His gaze focused on her. “Regina is . . . an old friend.”