“You honestly believe that?”
“That happy ever after is a fable?” She paused. “Yes, I do.”
“Then like it or not, I do feel sorry for you, sugar.”
Chapter Four
Had he ever been this happy to see the sun peek around a pair of drapes? If so, it had been one heck of a long time ago. Maybe the Christmas morning he’d gotten his first bike, the black one he’d found hidden in the shed two days before and couldn’t wait to get his hands on.
Jake liked hanging out in bed as much as the next guy, especially with a good-looking woman beside him. But this particular night had been one of the longest and most miserable on record. He’d tried to keep his hands off Lucy, tried to hug the far side of the bed. He really had.
She wouldn’t let him.
Crazy as it was, she’d fallen asleep almost the second she closed those sexy tiger eyes. He’d figured she’d lie awake half the night after the day she’d had, second-guessing herself, replaying scenes. He’d been deathly afraid there’d be tears. But nope. She’d gone out the same way Katrina had leveled Bay Saint Louis—hard and fast. Then she’d rolled over and curled into him. Asleep, she’d sighed, long, soft sighs that made his blood heat, and snuggled, one arm wrapped around his neck, one leg draped over his.
Pure hell…or as close as he cared to get. This vixen, dressed in his shirt and that tiny scrap of lace, could drive a man insane. Made him want to be that shirt, wrapped around her, caressing her body. Lucy smelled like a woodland on a warm summer night replete with spellbindingly seductive secrets. She was warm, her skin soft as silk under his callused hands, hands that had involuntarily whispered over her in the night.
He buried his face in the mass of red curls she’d freed from her wedding do last night and instantly broke out in a sweat. Oh yeah. Sweet temptation. That’s what she was.
And God! When she’d walked out of that roadside restroom yesterday in those body-hugging jeans that fit like a second skin and that midriff-baring top, it was all he could do not to let his jaw hit the ground. No woman had a right to look that good!
Why did her father have to be Andrew Darling? What he and his company had done—and were still doing—was flat-ass wrong. Problem was, he was having one hell of a hard time believing this vulnerable woman—and wouldn’t she just hate that description—had a hand in what Darling Enterprises was doing to the shrimpers and fishermen in the Gulf region.
Could she really be unaware of her father’s machinations? Unaware that while she stocked up on designer gowns and shoes, her daddy was sucking the lifeblood from hardworking people? That they had to open their veins to pay for her shopping sprees?
Well, one thing was for sure. Somehow, he had to extricate himself without waking her, because, not a doubt in his mind, if she woke to find her body entwined with his, she’d blame him. Very slowly he worked one leg, then the other, free of the twisted sheet. He lifted her arm from around him, gently laid it on the bed and slid out.
He grabbed his jeans from the floor and tugged them on, needing to put some sanity-saving distance between them. He watched her sleep, lips slightly parted, all that crazy, wild hair spread over the pillow. Long, thick lashes rested on her cheeks, hiding those incredible eyes. Slender, she still managed curves in all the right places.
His willpower was rapidly slipping through his fingers. Time to get out of this small room. They needed to mingle with others, where she wouldn’t tempt him so strongly.
“Hey, sweetcakes.” He leaned down to brush the hair from her forehead. “Time to rise and shine.”
Her eyes opened, and he read the disorientation there. That sense of where am I?
Holding the sheet close, she sat up, studying their unbelievably ugly room.
“What time is it?” Her voice was husky from sleep. Sexy as all get-out.
“Almost eight.”
“Eight?”
He ruffled her hair. “We’ve got a lot to do. Come on. Get dressed, and let’s head to Mabs’. I’m famished.”
“After that huge dinner last night?”
“Yep. I’m a growin’ boy.”
Twenty minutes later, she was dressed again in those mouthwatering jeans. With the little jars and brushes she’d pulled from her duffel, she’d done something magical to an already incredible face. Her hair curled down her slender neck. Oh yeah. The lady tempted him.
His self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he moved to the door. “Let’s roll.”
The restaurant was packed with Peach Festival revelers. A chalkboard inside the door announced fresh-peach-stuffed French toast as the day’s special.