Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(41)
Okay, and turn about was fair play, but it could also get a woman in a crap-ton of trouble.
One corner of his too-sexy mouth hitched at the sight of her nervousness before he cleared his throat and took a step toward her, pinning her with his too-green gaze. “I, uh, I want to apologize for the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” she interrupted, taking two hasty steps back toward the safety of her bedroom. “You shouldn’t have. But it’s fine. Just as long as it doesn’t happen again.”
He tilted his head and smiled as he advanced on her retreat. Those blasted dimples taunted her. “That’s one of the main reasons I fell in love with you, you know.”
Why did he insist on using that word when he didn’t truly understand its meaning?
She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “What are you talking about?” she asked from the relative safety of her bedroom’s doorway.
“Your sweet, forgiving nature. I’ve never met anyone as thoughtful and caring and quick to give everyone the benefit of the doubt as you.”
Oh, God. And any sexual heat she’d been feeling was instantly doused.
“I’m not as sweet and thoughtful as you think,” she admitted, suddenly fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to cry.
Okay, and maybe she should seek some pharmacological intervention. Because it wasn’t normal to feel randy as a teenage boy one second and sad as a circus clown the next, was it?
Of course, she figured she could blame some of her hot/cold emotional seesawing on the fact that about a hundred tons of fear and worry and adrenaline had poured through her system at some point that night. Then again, she knew that was only part of it. Because even under the best of circumstances, she wouldn’t have been able to listen to Jake make a list of all her redeeming qualities without suffering a sharp, dizzying stab of guilt.
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, and she could only shake her head helplessly. “Anyway,” he went on, “I wanted to call a truce, okay? I’m supposed to be here as your bullet-catcher, and that’s all I’ll be until this thing with Boss is over. There won’t be any more shenanigans. You have my word on that.”
She couldn’t help but notice he made no promises about how he’d behave when it was over. Of course, by then she hoped to have convinced him that he didn’t really want her, didn’t really love her.
“Thank you,” she whispered and took the hand he offered.
A jolt of awareness passed from his large palm into hers, but she chose to ignore it as she quickly withdrew her fingers. Ignoring the hard glint of desire in his eyes was impossible, however, as she quickly and quietly shut the door on his damnably handsome face.
***
The next day…
Jake watched Franklin working with the industry of a three-year-old, tongue held between his teeth, little brow beetled in concentration as he rolled a huge wad of mismatched Play-Doh into a giant, multicolored snake on the coffee table in Shell’s cozy living room.
He’d never before thought of himself as the kind of guy who’d enjoy having kids around. But after spending the day with Franklin, following Shell from one appointment to the next, he had to admit, he could get used to the idea.
He actually liked reading those silly Dr. Seuss books over and over again. Playing Transformers was surprisingly fun, especially since Franklin seemed to get such a kick out of his Optimus Prime impression—not to mention all those questions he’d forgotten to contemplate as an adult, but that occurred with regularity in mind of a child.
Why is the sky blue?
Why does the sun follow us when we’re driving?
Why do the birds sing?
He’d marveled at Shell’s ability to answer each question patiently and honestly and with just the right amount of complexity for a three-year-old to grasp. If he planned to stick around, which he most certainly did—despite the anxious, uncertain looks Shell had sent him all day long, God love her—he’d have to learn her technique.
The only time Franklin turned to him with a question, Why does the Tooth Fairy want so many teeth?, he’d sputtered and looked around the doctor’s office they’d been waiting in, and was saved from having to come up with an answer—thank the Big Kahuna—when another little boy came over to play.
“Yo, little dude,” he said now, ruffling Franklin’s soft hair, “where’d your mama run off to?”
“She’s putting on whipstick,” Franklin replied, concentrating on getting the snake’s tail just right.
Whipstick? What the hell is whipstick?
“But you can’t have any,” Franklin continued, turning to him seriously. “It’s not s’posed to be used to color, and it’s only for girls anyway. And even though it smells good, you’re not s’posed to eat it either.”
“Do you mean lipstick?” He gestured to his lips, smiling when he realized how Franklin must have reached the conclusion about the non-edibility of lipstick.
The kid was a handful, no doubt.
Franklin ignored him as he grinned, flashing those sweet little boy dimples, and pointed at the clay snake. “Look. It’s like your tattoos.”
“Just exactly like,” he said, pushing up his sleeves to once more show Franklin the twin vipers curled around each of his biceps. The boy had been fascinated by them all day long, constantly shoving up his sleeves and tracing them with a pudgy finger—that is when he wasn’t coloring, jabbering, or crashing toy cars into one another.