Stealing His Heart(10)

Not. One. Word.

And he hadn’t smiled at all yet. Maybe he didn’t remember how. She had a feeling that he didn’t do anything dangerous anymore, either. Didn’t take risks, or do something simply because it would be fun. He’d resigned himself to a life of boredom and security, and it was drowning him. Even if he didn’t realize it…

It was.

She stole another glance at him before staring out the car window, hugging her bag to her chest. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. That powerful energy he’d always had hadn’t faded.

But he wasn’t the same man he’d been, and it kind of broke her heart.

Back when they’d been young, he never stopped making her laugh. He’d been goofy, free, and crazy. Now, he was all frowns and demands. He was wound tight.

So serious.

They turned down a road that led to a section of town that held small single-family houses. As opposed to the borough she lived in, where all the structures were more like mausoleums. She hated living on that street…but it had been her parents’ before they’d lost everything in a Ponzi scheme. It had been the first thing she bought after she got the life insurance money.

When they died, her parents had left her with a monstrous inheritance. One way too big for any one person to spend. She regularly donated to charity, but her father’s lawyer only allowed her to do so much a year. The rest of the time, she hired herself out as a recovery specialist.

Or as Jake had called it, a hired thief.

He pulled up and exited the car. Then he came around and opened her door for her. So, that hadn’t changed, huh? He still acted the gentleman, even when blackmailing her. The irony of that wasn’t lost on her. When he offered her his hand, she hesitated for a split second. Whenever he touched her, she went a little bit crazy in the head. Forgot about everything except how much she wanted him.

And she really, really wanted him.

Almost as much as she wanted to get out of this mess without jail time. She didn’t really think he would turn her in. He had to be bluffing. The Jake she’d known would never actually send her to jail. No one could change that much. At least, she didn’t think so. And even if he had…well, she wasn’t going to help him.

She had standards, and helping a man like Soltese wasn’t in her moral code. She’d rather go to jail. And she wouldn’t run, either. Guilty people ran. Bad people escaped justice. She wasn’t any of those things. End of story.

She’d play along. Act as if she wanted to cooperate, but failed. At least then, if she went to jail, she’d maybe get off a little easier. Good behavior and all that. If he actually sent her. She glanced at him, and he watched her with hard eyes. He looked so…cold.

Oh, God, she was going to go to jail.

She held on to him, letting him help her stand. When he dropped his hold on her, his fingers slid down the side of her ass in what could have easily been an innocent accident. But it didn’t seem innocent at all. “You still smell good. Like flowers.”

Her stomach clenched. One simple sentence, and she was ready to jump him. She pressed against the car door, trying to get some distance, but she had nowhere to go. “Uh, thanks? I shower to achieve that.”

His lips twitched at her attempted retreat, and her heart leaped. She’d almost gotten a smile out of him. A real, genuine smile. “What a novel concept.”

“Don’t smile. You might appear to be human,” she said, adding the proper amount of horror to her voice. “And what if something cracked?”

The almost-smile faded. He frowned at her and moved away. As he went around the back of the car, he popped the trunk open with his key fob. He walked as if he didn’t have a care in the world—while she wanted to explode with want every time he touched her. Not. Fair.

She headed toward the door, studying it instead of him. His home was a two-story brick colonial. Blue shutters framed all of the windows, with a matching blue front door. A wooden swing hung on the front porch, next to a rosebush. It was so…homey. Very…innocuous.

And way too nicely done for a bachelor.

She froze halfway up the stone path. “Did you decorate this yourself?”

He crashed into her, his hard body sending her reeling. Without much effort, he caught her while still managing to hold on to her bags. Even through the bulky sweatshirt, his touch burned. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because this”—she gestured to the house—“looks way too pretty for a man to have done all by himself.”

His lips tilted up a tiny bit more, almost becoming a real smile, and he stepped closer, into her personal space. He smelled like cologne and the outdoors. And man. Pure, sexy man. “I assure you, I did it all on my own without any feminine help. The only woman I need in my life is Christine.”