Have Me. Jo Leigh
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prioritize the next few unencumbered hours. It wasn’t until she took her first sip that her thoughts turned to Jake. And there was a problem.
Not her excitement, that was a pleasure and a rush. It wasn’t like her to want a man purely for sex. She was, in theory, at least to quote her mother, above that sort of thing.
Guess not, Mom.
When she returned to her desk, instead of clicking on her email, she got her purse from the credenza and took out Jake’s trading card.
Oh, yeah. She wasn’t at all sure why, but looking at him made her clench all kinds of important muscles. She hadn’t even met him and his face started a chemical spike inside her. The exact same reaction had occurred each time she’d sneaked a peek at his photograph. She refused to acknowledge how often that had been.
The problem was, with this level of excitement over the two-dimensional image, how on earth was the very three-dimensional living man going to measure up?
It was all about narrowing her expectations. She could do that. It wasn’t as if she wanted to fall in love with Jake or for him to love her. She hoped to like him, though, because she knew from experience that if he was a complete jerk, her attraction would vanish in an instant.
They were going to meet for drinks and that was to her advantage. She didn’t normally indulge to the point of feeling buzzed, but when she did, she became more forgiving. And, if it came down to it, she could probably get him to not talk at all.
She put his card away, determined not to look at it again until after work. Not only was she slammed for time, but she needed to get home early enough to go the extra mile with grooming. Oh, the joys and pains of getting naked with someone new.
She clicked on her email icon, and the sheer number of new messages was enough to chase away any thoughts of sweaty sex. Especially when the first of the emails was from her father. That never ended well.
THE MORNING COFFEE WAS already made by the time Jake limped his way down the stairs. It was freezing outside. Sitting in the kitchen, his father was bundled up in a thick wool sweater and had a lap blanket tucked around his lower half as he warmed his hands on his old NYPD coffee mug.
“The weatherman says we’re in for a cold one tonight.”
Jake nodded as he fixed his mug. Two sugars, half and half. He didn’t drink until he slid onto the banquette in the breakfast nook. He needed to do something about the cushion covers. They were almost as old as he was and the regular washings had made them threadbare and pale. “I’m going to the city.”
“Yeah?” his dad asked.
“Yeah.”
“Date?”
Jake drank some coffee, sighing in satisfaction as it warmed him. “Yeah.”
“I’ll get Liam to spend the night, then?”
“Already cleared it with him. He’s bringing over DVDs.”
“Ah, shit,” his father said, putting his mug down on the counter, then turning his wheelchair a few degrees so he faced Jake. “That means another goddamn Bruce Willis festival. Swear to Christ, Liam has, a whatchamacallit, a bromance, going with that guy.”
“What’s it matter? Pete’s got a hard-on for his car.”
“Yeah.” Mike picked up his cup again. “Everybody’s got something. Except you. What do you got a hard-on for, Jake?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that?”
“Watch the tone. I’m still your father. I’m wondering, that’s all. You spent a lot of time wanting to be in vice, then all those years doing undercover work. I’m thinking there’s gotta be something else now. Something, please God, more interesting than Bruce Willis movies.”
Jake drank some more coffee, not sure how to answer the question. If he should answer at all. But no, he would. He and his dad had spent a lot of years being distant. What with the work, then with Mom dying of cancer, and Jake having to be so hush-hush about everything. He’d decided to fix up the house by himself because he wanted to know his old man. Wanted someone to know him in return. Now was not the time to back off. “I don’t know, Dad. I got nothing. Just the house.”
“That’s not gonna last forever.”
“Nope. But it’s something to do while I learn how to be a civilian.”
“I hear that.”
Jake nodded in tandem with his father. It wasn’t easy, this talking thing. But dying alone in a warehouse filled with drug dealers wasn’t easy, either. He could do this. The worst that would happen? He’d look like an idiot. He already did that without trying. “I’ve got a date tonight,” he said. “She a looker.”
“Good for you,” Mike said. “Nice woman?”
“Never met her. Comes highly recommended, though.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s a Winslow.”
“Those Winslows?” His dad settled his cup snugly on his lap as he wheeled over to the nook. “What the hell does one of those Winslows want with you?”
Jake laughed. “No idea. Looking forward to finding out.”
“Probably heard who your old man was. Couldn’t resist.”
“You keep telling yourself that. See what happens.”
Mike awkwardly put the cup on the table, and Jake held back his wince. It was getting harder for his father to hold the damn mug at all, as his fingers twisted and bent. But there was no use crying about it. There wasn’t a cure, and the medicines and physical therapy could do only so much. Retrofitting the house was what Jake could do, was doing.
“You know Sally Quayle? Three doors down, her husband was killed in Afghanistan last year?”
“Oh, no, Dad. Come on. We talked about this.”
“We did, and we agreed.”
“I’m not goddamn Santa and I’m not the neighborhood fixer. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m also busy.”
“There’s always time to do right. She’s worried about being alone. Thinking of buying a gun.”
“Ah, crap. You want me to go talk to her.”
“I do. We all do. She needs to know how dangerous that could be. Go over her house security. Make sure she’s safe, yeah?”
Jake sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go over this week. After I get a good start on the new shower.” Why was it the only time Jake sounded like he was from Brooklyn was when he was home? He’d had the accent scared out of him at St. Francis Xavier high school, but it always came back the moment he was in the neighborhood.
“This week is fine. And don’t start anything too big on the shower this afternoon. You need to look your best tonight.”
“I what?”
Mike sniffed. “You’re my only son. And a certified hero. She should know who she’s dealing with, this Winslow woman.”
What could Jake say? “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll shave and everything.”
REBECCA PAID THE CAB DRIVER, then got out on East 50th Street at the entrance to the Kimberly Hotel. She’d chosen it because the rooftop bar had spectacular views of Midtown. Also she liked the way they made their gimlets here with a very unique lime cordial. It didn’t hurt that their luxury suites were gorgeous, the feather beds to die for. Even if magic didn’t happen between her and Jake, she’d enjoy staying the night by herself, and if that happened, she already decided she’d be utterly decadent with room service.
With that in mind, she went inside, her gaze lingering on the lobby’s beautiful grandfather clock as she went to the front desk. She handed them her