Dangerous Lies(25)

Staring in the mirror, my eyes widened. I literally had mud caked all over my body, and when I stripped, my pale, clean skin underneath made it look like I still had clothes on. I flushed, a touch of embarrassment passing through me knowing Jake saw me looking like this, well, the version with clothing on. I wondered what he would think of me without clothing. Examining my body, I bobbed my head back and forth, thinking he’d be pleased. Martin never seemed to find me attractive, but he could kiss my ass.

When I was finished cleaning up, which took a very long time to scrub away all of the mud, I grabbed my laptop and headed for the back porch. Jake startled me when I passed through his office. He was sitting at his desk, intently focused on words on his screen.

I tiptoed passed him, but failed at opening the door quietly. I caught his lip turning upward, but his eyes remained on the screen. He was holding his chin with one hand.

“Sorry,” I muttered, yanking on the door.

“No worries. This version of you is way less intimidating.”

I furrowed my brows with confusion at him.

Taking his attention from the computer, he brought his gaze to mine, a smirk settled on his face. “The Swamp Thing wasn’t a good look for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I scared myself when I looked in the mirror. Why didn’t you tell me how ridiculous I looked?”

He spun in his chair, both hands palming each arm rest. He was fresh out of a shower as well, his hair damp and pushed to the side, a clean gray t-shirt and pair of black gym shorts covered his yummy lean body. He pulled off the casual look perfectly.

“You looked cute, and I didn’t think you needed to add any other troubles on your plate.”

My shoulders fell. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Least of my worries, Love.” His line of sight found my laptop clutched under my arm. “Gonna give it a go?”

I nodded. “Can’t hurt.”

He sucked in his bottom lip, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “That wasn’t a confident response.”

“I haven’t been very successful, well, besides last night.” I shivered, remembering the text message.

Jake stood from his seat, towering over me. The clean smell of his soap was inviting. “Maybe use those feelings toward your next manuscript? No one said your whole story needed to be mushy gushy. Liven it up with some crazy ex-husband.” He gave me a wink. “Your pub will love that.”

I laughed under my breath. “She wouldn’t make the connection. Her son is perfect in her eyes, he’s even ‘doing so much better with therapy.’ She’s crazy and wants us to work things out.”

Jake cautiously brushed my damp hair from my shoulder. “Is that what you want?”

I practically snorted in response. “Not a chance in hell.”

He grinned, setting his hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t think so. Grants you all the power in the world to make your villain be just like that son-of-a-bitch you were married to. Use your horrible experiences to enhance your story. Don’t let it take control of you.”

I swallowed and nodded. “You’re right. It just might take me some time.”

He dropped his hand, his smile becoming sad. He took my words more literally than I meant for them to be. “You’ve got all the time in the world at my place. Stay until you figure it out.” He opened the screen door the rest of the way. “I’ll be right in here if you need me.”

I frowned. Did I push him away again? I really didn’t mean to.

“Want to join me outside?”

His eyes perked up. “You want my company?”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I think it might help.”

“Can’t say no to a pretty face.” He grabbed a laptop that was charging near his desk, following me outside and sat opposite of me on the patio couch. I stretched my feet across the middle cushion, using pillows to prop my back against the armrest. Jake was relaxed, setting his feet on the ottoman with his computer on his lap. It was a cozy feeling, both of us comfy on the couch doing what we love. Now if only the words would start spewing from my brain.

I kept getting distracted, peering over my screen at Jake deep in concentration. If his fingers weren’t typing away, his hand was on my ankle or foot, massaging or stroking. It was such a simple and methodical gesture, but felt amazing. I was thankful his mood had returned and he wasn’t afraid to touch me.

Unfortunately, my writing was still at a standstill. Maybe I needed to take Jake’s advice and try a different twist in the story. It couldn’t hurt. The worst thing that could happen would be deleting everything. At least I’d get my feet wet.

Even though I had made up my mind on which way to go with my storyline, I kept getting distracted by Jake. His stubble covered jaw ticked on and off, a sign he was in deep thought. The look came when he would stroke my ankle.

After an hour, he stretched his hands high above his head and grunted, setting his laptop on the ottoman. He rotated on the couch and pulled my feet onto his lap, beginning to massage them with both hands. I hid my delighted eye-roll behind my computer screen. It felt amazing, especially after the long bike ride. His hands took turns between my feet and my ankles, then gripped up to my calves. “We didn’t stretch out after the ride.”

“This will help,” I sighed, melting into the couch.