Her So-Called Fiancé. Abby Gaines
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you want to remind him how you don’t need him anymore?”
“He’ll soon see that.” Her dad’s impeccable sources would have reached him in Dallas where he was playing golf this weekend. He would know she was back and would be intent on shielding her, comforting her. Yet he would deny with his last breath that he had no respect for his youngest daughter—plenty of love, but no faith in her capabilities. Why had she let him, and everyone else, get away with that attitude for so long?
Sabrina realized Jake had taken a turn away from the direction of Buckhead, the exclusive area of Atlanta where they’d both grown up. “Hey, where are you going?”
“My place.”
Her heart jolted, the way it had the first time he’d said those words to her, years ago. “Excuse me?” That came out high, panicky. Because no way could he be planning on doing what they’d done back then. Could he?
“I want to talk to you.”
Talk. Sabrina’s pulse slowed. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind.
“Without the risk of one of your sisters barging in,” Jake added.
Sabrina swallowed, licked her lips. “You and I don’t talk.”
Technically, they talked often. Their families were close friends, they met at so many social occasions, it would be impossible to maintain the level of hostility that had consumed them five years ago.
To ease those social connections, they’d fallen into a kind of barbed banter that let them express their dislike in a way that didn’t discomfit other people. Everyone knew their history, no one expected them to be pals. Except Tyler, who, for an intelligent man, had a naive view of their potential for reconciliation.
But they didn’t have private, personal conversations—Sabrina couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone with Jake. Correction, she wished she couldn’t remember.
“Don’t you think it’s time to forgive and forget?” Jake said. “Time we started talking again?”
Jake Warrington, the man who never did anything that didn’t serve his ambition, wanted to be friends? She didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope, I’m good for a few more years.”
His mouth twitched. She looked away. “I want to go home now.” Home. Sabrina had moved back in with her dad when she won the Miss Georgia title. For her security, her father had insisted. He would argue when she told him she was moving out, but this time she would stand firm.
Jake kept driving in the wrong direction.
“This is kidnapping,” she pointed out.
“Only if I ask for a ransom and threaten to cut off your fingers.” He accelerated to get through a light before it turned red. “I’ll deliver you back to Daddy after we talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“I need your help.” He made a face, as if the words tasted of arsenic.
What help could Jake possibly need from her? Fashion advice? She slid a glance at him. She couldn’t fault his style. He looked fantastic whatever he wore.
He wasn’t about to divulge more. Short of wrenching the steering wheel out of his hands—and she would never, ever knowingly do something that might cause another accident—Sabrina had no choice but to go with him. She tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
When it became obvious Sabrina wasn’t about to argue, Jake relaxed his grip on the wheel. He caught himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. That flower in her hair, the orchid, made him think about his father and that in turn made him think about all his problems. He dropped his gaze to the graceful curve of Sabrina’s neck, then lower. Don’t go there. He forced his attention back to the road. Any guy would find her a distraction. From a beautiful, slightly skinny twenty-one-year-old, she’d grown into a stunning woman with curves that made his hands itch. An itch he planned to ignore.
SABRINA SPENT THE remainder of the journey to Virginia Highlands shoring up her resolution. Whatever Jake needed, she wasn’t the one to help him. The distance between them might be all about hostility on his side, but on hers it was self-preservation. Jake had broken her heart five years ago. Just looking at him reminded her of a pain she didn’t want to revisit, a vulnerability she never wanted to succumb to again.
Jake flicked his turn signal and pulled into the driveway of a house that blended modern design and rustic materials—stone base, natural cedar siding, cedar-shingle roof—to stunning effect. Sabrina had never been here before, but she’d heard all about it. The reality was even more impressive. She buzzed her window down, stuck her head out. “This place is fantastic.”
“Built by Warrington Construction.”
She knew from Tyler, whose brother Max ran Warrington Construction, that the basic design was Jake’s, handed over to an architect for refining.
Jake walked around the car to open Sabrina’s door. He hadn’t opened a door for her in years. “What’s going on, Jake? I don’t trust you when you’re nice.”
“Welcome to my world,” he muttered.
She climbed out, pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as she looked up at the house.
Jake’s scanned her, head to toe. “Inside,” he ordered.
The sooner she heard him out, the sooner she could go home and get on with her life. Sabrina stuck her chin in the air and marched up the front walk.
Jake keyed in an entry code and the extra-high, double-wide front door swung silently, easily, on industrial-size hinges.
Sabrina stepped into a slate-floored atrium, glanced at the elaborately framed mirror on the far wall, then up to the ceiling. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He led the way to the open-plan living and dining area, dominated by a stone-and-timber fireplace. Recesses in the fire surround stored logs and pinecones. Rustic.
“The kitchen’s through here.” Jake pointed to the doorway beyond.
She followed him into the large, south-facing kitchen. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the French doors, making patterns on the white marble floor and the warm wooden cabinets.
“Have a seat.” Jake waved to the stools at the marble-topped island. He filled the kettle and put it on the stove.
“You must love living here, in a place you’ve created for yourself,” Sabrina said as he retrieved mugs, coffee, sugar.
He shrugged. “I wanted to build something distinctive, but with an architectural integrity that would stand the test of time.”
Typical of Jake to reduce this incredible home to something as calculated as architectural integrity. They lapsed into a silence while they waited for the kettle.
At last, Jake concentrated on adding boiling water to the French press. He added half-and-half and one sugar to Sabrina’s cup, nothing to his, then poured the dark, rich brew. He slid hers across the island.
Sabrina blew on the hot coffee then took a sip. She gave him the thumbs-up and a mischievous smile. “Perfect.”
Jake’s scowl told her he wished he hadn’t remembered how she took hers. He reached for the folder on the end of the island and handed her a sheet of paper. “Read this.”
Curious enough to obey, she put her mug down on the island. She scanned the page, a summary of the latest opinion poll about the forthcoming gubernatorial primary. “Ouch.”
“Exactly,” he said. “The public trust me about as much as they’d trust an arsonist with a match.”
She gripped the paper more tightly. “You must have known that would be a problem.”
“Know