Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (18 page)

A snowflake caught on her eyelashes, she
blinked it away. “I missed my bus and the next one isn’t until
eight. I can hardly just sit here and wait.”

“Can’t you call someone?”

She didn’t answer, unwilling to explain that
she not only didn’t have a cell phone, but no one to call for help.
Like she needed more of his pity tonight.

“No family?” He paused. “A boyfriend?”

She shook her head sharply, still walking as
his car inched alongside at an idle.

“Let me give you a ride, then.”

Two years ago she would’ve gladly accepted,
following her desire to spend some time with him. Now she forced a
smile to her stiff lips and willed her teeth not to chatter.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll just wait for the next bus. There’s
a coffee shop a few blocks from here.”

A horn blasted behind them. Loral flinched,
glanced at the irritated driver behind them, and waved Jake onward.
“Go. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

With a rev of the engine, his sleek black
car surged forward. She fought disappointment until he swerved
sharply into an empty parking spot halfway down the block. Her step
slowed as the impatient driver zoomed past. Jake swung from his car
and strode toward her with those long legs of his that made him
tower over her five feet five inches.

“That coffee shop closes at six,” he told
her. “Not enough evening traffic.”

Just her luck. The unfairness in her life
threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to let the useless
emotion drown her in the undertow. Things wouldn’t change until her
mother was better, and until then, she’d just deal with missed
buses and closed coffee shops.

She lifted her head to meet Jake’s gaze,
noticing how quickly the snow gathered on his dark hair. Her own
hair must be covered. She reached up a hand to brush it off, then
wished she hadn’t as the moisture made her fingers even colder and
frigid air rushed under the bottom edge of her coat. A shiver shook
her shoulders.

Jake muttered under his breath while
shrugging out of his black leather jacket. Before she realized his
intent, he stepped forward and draped it around her. Immediate
warmth permeated her somewhat threadbare coat, lethally combined
with the scent of leather and man. Her senses sharpened even as the
rest of the world faded away, leaving her unable to do anything
more than stare up at him.

He stood close enough to make her knees
weak, a hand on either lapel, tugging the jacket tight so she was
wrapped in a comforting cocoon of warmth. His eyes reminded her of
the melted caramel her grandmother used to drizzle over ice
cream.

“Let me take you home, Loral.”

Jake’s low voice sent a delicious frisson of
awareness along her spine. She wanted to say yes, but ended up
mutely shaking her head to combat his magnetic pull.

He made an impatient sound and gripped her
arms. “Don’t be stupid. Besides the fact that you’re freezing your
butt off, it’s not safe for you out here—and certainly not with the
amount of cash you’re carrying.”

Being called stupid on top of everything
else was enough to jolt her back to reality. She stepped back,
jerking free when his hands tightened in protest. Dragging his coat
off her shoulders, she thrust it at him. “And how do I know I can
trust you?”

It was a low blow. She had instinctively
trusted him from the beginning, but at this point, she’d say
anything to keep him from finding out where she lived.

Jake took the jacket. However, instead of
putting it back on over the black turtleneck sweater that clung to
his wide shoulders and trim waist, he fished in the pocket, jaw
clenched tight. Next thing she knew, he’d pressed a cell phone into
her hand.

“There’s got to be someone you can call—a
friend, or a neighbor. Give them my name and license plate and tell
them I’m bringing you home. If you don’t contact them again in
however long it takes to get to your house, they can call the
cops.”

His tone conveyed serious determination. She
handed the cell back to him, her anger over his
stupid
comment gone as fast as it’d flared.

He glared at her without taking the phone.
“Call.”

Not a request, but a quietly voiced, furious
order. Through the snowflakes drifting between them, their eyes met
and held. She drew in a deep breath of frigid air.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.”

A curt nod was the only acknowledgment of
her apology. Gone was the easygoing man from the shop who’d always
been so nice. Determination, like the Christmas lights in the shop
window on her right, glittered in his gaze. This man wasn’t taking
no for an answer, but instead of frightening her, his determination
warmed her more than his jacket had.

She activated the screen and dialed home,
where her call was answered on the third ring. “It’s me, did I wake
you?”

“It’s okay, honey, I was just dozing during
Miracle on 34th Street,” her mother replied.

“Sorry, but I missed the bus and wanted to
let you know a friend of mine is giving me a ride. I’ll be home in
about an hour.”

“Thank you for letting me know and be
careful. We’ve already got a couple inches here.”

“Yeah, it’s snowing here, too. See you soon,
love you.”

She disconnected and handed the phone to
Jake again with a quiet “thanks.” Their fingers brushed as he took
it, sending a spark of awareness up her arm. She was going to spend
almost the next hour in the dim interior of his vehicle as he drove
her home. If only this were a date instead of his self-assigned
rescue mission, she’d feel so much more at ease. Well, that, and if
he weren’t driving her
home
.

He held the car door open for her without a
word. After a slight hesitation, she slid into the plush, black
leather passenger seat. It was soft as a rose petal beneath her
cold fingers. Her heart leapt as he closed her door with a firm
push, then she watched him walk around to the driver’s side. He
hadn’t put his jacket back on and took a moment to brush snow off
his shoulders and hair before tossing it in the back and sliding in
behind the wheel.

The swipe of his hand had left his
previously combed hair rumpled and sexy. Moisture gleamed in the
dark strands until he closed his door and darkness enveloped them.
Loral caught the flash of his smile and gave a brief one of her
own, then focused straight ahead.

With a flick of his wrist, the engine purred
to life and the dash lit up. From the corner of her eye, she
watched him reach to adjust the radio until Christmas music flowed
quietly from the back speakers, then he pressed another button and
sat back.

The soft glow of reddish light from the dash
heightened her awareness of his strong profile beside her as the
scent of the leather interior teased her nostrils. Most disturbing
to her composure, however, was his raw male scent. Spicy, sensual
and oddly mysterious, it invaded her senses, making her want to
close her eyes and inhale deep.

Warmth spread through her. Her eyelids
drifted low, her chest expanded—and she suddenly realized the seat
beneath her was far warmer than her butt could’ve made it in the
few short moments she’d been sitting there.

“So, am I expected to read your mind, or
would you like to tell me where we’re going?” he asked in a light
tone.

Thankful for the dim light that hopefully
hid her flushed face, she straightened in the heavenly heated seat.
After a silent sigh of resignation, she told him the older suburb
where she and her mother lived in a low-rent apartment.

“My brother lives near there, in River View
Heights,” Jake said as he checked the mirrors, shifted into drive
and eased onto the wet streets that were beginning to accumulate
the rapidly falling snow.

Definitely the other side of the
‘tracks’
. Loral gave a noncommittal hmm and settled deeper into
her cozy seat. Despite her best efforts to keep her gaze trained
front and center, her attention kept shifting left. The second time
she slid her gaze sideways to sneak a peek at his handsome profile,
he almost caught her and she quickly looked away.

Say something.
Anything
. Nothing came
to mind that didn’t sound stupid in her head. And then she found a
distraction.

Jake’s hands held the steering wheel
precisely at ten and two. Dark hair scattered across the backs of
those hands, emphasizing their size and the strength she’d felt
when he’d taken hold of her arms earlier. And yet when he examined
her great-grandmother’s jewelry, his movements had been light,
confident. He handled the car in the same reassuring manner.

More than once over the past year she’d
watched him hold an antique object with gentle care and wondered
how it would feel to be handled by Jake.

Staring at his fingers, imagining his touch
on her skin, suddenly the warmth spreading through her veins had
nothing to do with the heated seat. It’d been so long since she’d
been with anyone, yet her imagination brought the possibility to
life. His palm cupping her cheek. Thumb brushing the pulse at the
base of her neck. Strong hands pulling her flush against him before
skimming down her back as his mouth lowered to hers...

From the corner of his eye, Jake saw Loral
staring at his hands—or was it the speedometer? The only sound was
the Christmas music and the rhythmic swipe of the wiper blades
doing their best to keep up with the snow storm. While stewing over
her phone call for the past fifteen minutes, and the “
love
you
” at the end, Jake hadn’t accelerated over forty miles per
hour on the slick roads. Now he wondered if she was frightened and
eased up a bit on the gas pedal.

Not that he’d ask her to admit to fear. The
way things were going, he was sure she’d bristle faster than a
cornered porcupine. He settled for the cliché approach with a tilt
of his head and an encouraging smile.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Her attention jerked up before her gaze
bounced away from his, and she stared out the window. Had she just
blushed, or was it the light from the dash reflecting on her pale
face?

“They’re not even worth that much,” she
mumbled.

Besides his precarious financial situation,
he also hadn’t asked her out before now because he didn’t want to
complicate their business relationship and risk her not coming back
to his shop. With that response, though, he wasn’t sure if he’d
taken a step in the right direction, or two leaps backward.

He pushed aside the question of who she’d
called and tried again. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned where
you work.”

“I’m currently unemployed.”

Crap
. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“So…what do you do when you are
employed?”

“I’m a landscape architect.”

She didn’t volunteer more and Manheim
Steamroller’s classic Christmas compositions filled the
conversation void. Desperate for something to say, Jake said, “You
know, a friend of mine owns a landscaping business—”

“I freelance, Jake. So, thanks, but no.”

He frowned at her abrupt dismissal. “All I
was going to say was—”

“I don’t need your charity.”

That stupid pride of hers again. “Damn it,
Loral, it’s not charity,” he ground out. “You didn’t even let me
finish. It’s obvious you need money, so what’s so bad—”

“I am not discussing this with you,” she
insisted in a frigid tone. “We don’t even really know each
other.”

Not true. Over the past year he learned she
was honest, determined, smart, witty, and sexy. Then again, he
realized, she’d never revealed anything too personal.
Like who
had she called?
He shoved that nagging question aside. Fine,
then, she had a point that they didn’t know each other that well,
but that didn’t mean he had to accept that excuse as the final
answer.

“Then let’s change that. What would you like
to talk about?”

Silence was her only reply.

“Loral?” He glanced at her stony profile and
wondered if she was still holding a grudge over his earlier offer
of a loan. He’d really put his foot in his mouth on that one,
hadn’t he? And again with the job issue.
Damn
.

“Can you give me a break, here? I feel like
I’m tip-toeing through a mine field trying to find a safe
subject—and I refuse to discuss the weather,” he warned.

“Looks like we’re going to have a white
Christmas after all.”

Add frustratingly stubborn to the list.

Jake clenched his hands on the steering
wheel and counted to ten. Or tried. He made it to three before
jabbing the preset button on the stereo for a rock station and
turning up the volume. He didn’t say another word until he flipped
his turn signal for the Greenfield Avenue exit thirty-four minutes
later.

Thirty-four excruciatingly long minutes of
wondering if the connection between the two of them prior to this
evening had been purely imagined on his part while her soft
feminine scent filled the dark, intimate interior of his car.

“Right or left off the exit?” he asked.

Loral leaned forward to turn down the volume
on Jon Bon Jovi’s
Who Says You Can’t Go Home
. “Right. Then
at the second light, you’ll turn left, and one block further,
another left. I’m in the apartment building at the end.”

I
, not
we
. That was
encouraging if he could get past her cold front. And he’d decided
he wasn’t giving up yet. Born and raised in the hearty Midwest, it
took a lot to freeze him out.

Plows hadn’t been through the area yet and a
slight test of the brakes revealed a layer of ice under the five
inches of snow that’d already fallen. The radio advised the storm
didn’t look to let up anytime soon, either. The system had shifted
south, adding another four inches to the six to eight that’d
originally been forecasted.