“You deserve so much more,” he said as she stroked him. She gasped as he bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth.
“Come inside.”
She heard him swear under his breath, and in one fluid motion he was there, inside, filling her with everything she needed, taking what he needed. She looked into his eyes, the sweat glistening on his brow as he reached for something she wanted desperately to give him. She heard him growl against her, finally relinquishing his hold on his self-control as he took them both over the edge, to a place Claire hoped they’d be together.
…
Jake’s hands fumbled with Claire’s blouse. He’d never had a problem with the buttons on a woman’s blouse. Or maybe that was because he was used to undoing them, not buttoning them up. Or maybe it was because he’d never really given a damn about the woman wearing the blouse. He avoided eye contact with her, even though he could feel her eyes on him. He stepped away from her, watching as she tucked her shirt into her skirt, fighting the urge to walk away.
She’d said she loved him.
She knew everything about him and she loved him. He felt exposed, raw and naked. And scared. He hadn’t been prepared to tell her everything. There would be no more hiding. Would she still see him as a man worthy enough to be a husband? She loved him, but did she see him as the right father to their baby?
“Jake,” she began in that voice that always seemed to seep through him like warm honey. “Thank you for telling me everything. I know how hard it is to open up to someone.”
He shrugged, telling himself to say something. Tell her what she needs to hear. Repeat the words to her. Tell her you love her.
“Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough?”
She shook her head.
He nodded, taking her hand. “I don’t know how to say this, except to be completely straight with you,” he said, clenching his teeth, physically trying to stop himself from hurting her. He saw her concerned frown, the vulnerability as it crept into her eyes. “I need a bit of time to sort things out. I, uh.” He struggled to find the words that would justify what he was asking. “I need to figure things out,” he said.
Claire nodded slowly; her hand slipped from his grasp.
She stared at him with accusation and hurt. He wanted her to yell at him. Hit him. Tell him she never wanted to see him again. But she didn’t.
“I told you that I wasn’t selling my business. I’m not selling because I believed in you. I turned it down because I believed in everything you told me the last few weeks. I believed in us. I believed maybe we would be able to start a future together.” Her brown eyes held his prisoner. He stood unmoving. He was incapable of defending himself, because there was no excuse for what he was about to do. He walked over to extinguish the fire, not saying a word.
After a few seconds he heard her sigh, and then she walked past him to the front of the house, her heels echoing on the wood floor. He stared at the ashes, waiting for something. Waiting for something to save him.
It didn’t happen.
“Drive me home, Jake.”
Chapter Eleven
“No, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to call Quinn with this, I don’t work at Manning Construction anymore,” Jake said into his iPhone. He ended the call and shoved it into his back pocket. He resumed the sanding of the mantelpiece with extra fervor. This was the third call he’d fielded for his brother today. Hadn’t Quinn told anyone?
He stepped back to examine his handiwork. Of course, if his brothers had been speaking to him, they’d be here right now. Quinn would be helping him, and Evan would be making smart-ass comments, and maybe Ella and Holly would be here. And if he weren’t such a wimp, Claire would be here, probably be telling him he wasn’t sanding the fireplace properly. This was their house, and Claire should be here with him. He’d screwed things up again.
His phone vibrated in his pocket again. He yanked it out and read the display-—another call for Quinn. He let out loud a string of curses to relieve some tension.
“Jacob.”
Jake stopped moving. He slowly turned in the direction of the doorway and came face-to-face with Claire’s father. Normally he’d be concerned that the minister had just heard him talking to himself, in the foulest language he could come up with. But, considering he’d just gotten the man’s daughter pregnant, he was pretty sure his cursing was the least of Reverend Holbrook’s concerns.
He stared across the room at the man he owed so much to. He looked for traces of anger, disgust, and betrayal. Instead, Reverend Holbrook walked forward, kind brown eyes unwavering, brown eyes that were almost identical to Claire’s.