Jake was silent for long enough that Nicole glanced curiously toward him. Her eyebrows rose when she found him staring at her intently, expression focused. She couldn’t tell if he was glaring at her, or trying to find Waldo on her face somewhere. Either way, she didn’t know how to take this response and arched one eyebrow. “Are you having a mini seizure or something?”
He blinked at the question, and confusion crossed his face, so she glanced toward the road again and explained, “I read somewhere that people can have petit mal seizures where they just stare and aren’t really conscious or aware . . . although,” she added, glancing toward him again. “You looked aware, just kind of fixated.”
“No,” Jake turned to peer out the window. But then he cleared his throat, and added, “But my apologies. I understood from Marguerite that you didn’t want to be bothered with details, but I will consult you in future.”
Nicole relaxed. It was so Marguerite, very sweet, but Nicole was too much of a control freak to allow anyone to take care of her that way. The control thing was a new development. She’d seemed to briefly lose control of everything in her life while married. Now that she had it back, she wasn’t letting it go for anyone . . . no matter how good-looking and how nice they smelled.
Damn, she thought as she took a deep breath and her senses were filled with a mixture of a woodsy cologne and what she suspected was just Jake. The man definitely smelled good. The thought made her frown. She had no business noticing that. He was an employee . . . and she was just getting divorced. It was too soon for her to get involved with anyone. Not that he had said or done anything to make her think he wanted to get involved. But she shouldn’t even think of him that way, she told herself firmly.
Five
Jake stared out the window and concentrated on his breathing. In one hundred, out one hundred, in one hundred, out one hundred—damn Marguerite!—in one hundred, out one hundred—son of a bitch!—in one hundred—dear God what had she got him into?
He distinctly recalled Marguerite telling him there were some things he should know about Nicole that he could only learn from reading her. Well, now he knew. He couldn’t read her, that’s what there was to know. She was his bloody life mate. He hadn’t even adjusted to being an immortal and now he had a possible life mate. Great.
Closing his eyes, Jake leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the window and tried to just concentrate on breathing again, but he couldn’t get that knowledge out of his head. He couldn’t read or control Nicole.
When she’d said she wanted him to consult with her before making decisions, Jake had heard the upset in her tone. He’d thought to get into her thoughts and just ease her annoyance with him. He wasn’t surprised by it. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t thrown a fit at his spending her money so freely. But he and Marguerite had decided last night that the security system was necessary. Thanks to her resistance to protecting herself, Jake was on the job alone, and even he, immortal or not, could not stay awake 24–7 for two weeks straight until the divorce was finalized and there was no more reason for her husband to want her dead. A security system would free him up, give him backup of a sort.
However, he’d been startled to find he couldn’t seem to get a hold on her thoughts and control, or even read her.
He couldn’t read or control Nicole Phillips.
That was what Marguerite thought he should know. The bloody woman was matchmaking again. It made Jake wonder if her ex-husband really was trying to kill her . . . or even if there really was an ex-husband. He wouldn’t put it past Marguerite to lie to get life mates together. That thought made him turn sharply to Nicole. “Marguerite said you’re on the tail end of a divorce?”
She stiffened at the blunt announcement, her hands tightening on the steering wheel and sending the car swerving the smallest bit before she regained control of herself and steadied it again. Her response was just as blunt as his question. “Yes.”
“Amicable?” he asked, watching her. When her mouth tightened, he added, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pry, but it occurred to me today that I’m not sure how I should handle the situation if he shows up at the door looking for you.”
“He won’t come to the door,” she said firmly. “And if he does, you can tell him that I’m not in, and that any contact should go through the lawyer.”
“Not amicable then,” he said wryly.
Nicole was silent for a minute and then let her breath out and seemed to force herself to relax. When she spoke, her voice was softer, less angry. “I tried to handle it amicably, but . . .” She shrugged.