Chapter 9

A little over two hours later, Kayla met Jake at the corner of her house. He leaned over the passenger seat, opened the door to his sexy, blue-with-white stripes '65 Shelby, and Kayla climbed in, feeling like a sneaky teenager.

"Hey," she said, without looking at him.

"Hey," he returned as he pulled back out onto the street, his posture rigid.

"Are you having second thoughts?" she asked.

"No. Are you?"

"No. But I think I should be."

"Same here." He sighed.

"Then maybe you should take me back home. I'll be fine."

He looked over at her. "Do you really want me to take you home, Kayla?"

"Do you want to take me home?" she asked. God, they were ridiculous.

"No. I don't."

"Well, then," she said, knowing she shouldn't be as relieved as she was. But there was one more thing. "Um, before we get too far, I—I have one small request." He glanced over at her again. "Please promise me you won't kiss me, Jake. I'm notorious for my self-control. Heck, I was dumped for it, but you need to promise me you won't kiss me. I believe you'll keep your word."

Jake looked back out onto the road, and she noticed his posture had instantly loosened up. "I promise I won't kiss you unless you kiss me first."

"Like I said, that won't be a problem. It'll just be you, working on your house, and me, playing my violin, just two friends, or ex-co-workers or whatever it is we are, keeping each other company while we take a break and get away from it all," Kayla's voice trailed off as she looked out the window. Soon they were whizzing down I-57, heading west to Rock Falls. As soon as they left the city, she relaxed.

They stopped at an out-of-the-way Wal-Mart where Jake put the hood of his jacket so far up over his head it nearly covered his eyes. Kayla laughed. They had a surprisingly good time zipping the shopping cart around the supermarket section, trying to decide who would cook what. In honor of Thanksgiving, they decided on turkey everything; turkey bacon and sausages for breakfast, turkey ham sandwiches for lunch, and ground turkey for a Thanksgiving lasagna dinner because they couldn't find a turkey small enough for just the two of them.

By the time they finished shopping and were back on the road, Kayla was glad she'd agreed to the harebrained scheme. Every mile of the road brought further relief. It had been years since she'd taken time away for anything.

Jake asked her about her parents, her sister, and her niece. And he listened. She told him how her super-smart and responsible sister had fallen hard for Chris, Mia's father when they'd met as sophomores in college. "I think Tania was yearning for the same kind of love our parents had, to fill the void our dad left," she shared. Then, she told him how her sister had instead been badly burned; her story nothing like their parents' fairy tale.

Hesitantly, she asked him about his own life, knowing that privacy was a necessity for him. She was touched that he trusted her with a few details about how his father's actions had affected him, how he'd loved his father, but had never been proud of him. "For a long time, I was just as mad at how my mom would always take him back... but I love her too much to willingly judge her, so I learned to let that go."

They left each other to their thoughts for a time. Kayla found herself being grateful for the father she'd had, and the sting of figuring out that Brandon had been cheating on with a friend gradually subsided.

* * *

They meandered down a dark and narrow grove lined by oaks and elms, and Jake announced, "We're here." He turned to look at Kayla, and warmth traveled through his veins at the look on her face. She was as enchanted by the old country house as he'd been the first time he'd laid eyes on it.

"Wow, Jake, it's lovely. I feel like I've stepped into some other place and time. I can't wait to see it tomorrow, in the daylight!" she smiled at him.

Jake got out and opened the trunk, handed her violin case over to her, swung his bag on one shoulder, and carried hers in his hand. They walked toward the house and gave her its history. "It was built in 1853, and I'm working hard to save as many of the original details as possible."

"You're restoring it all by yourself?" she asked, incredulous. Jake nodded yes, and she looked up at him, clearly impressed. "No wonder your hands are so... um, well they're manly-man hands, not politician-hands. Not that I've ever held another politician's hand. Of course, it's not like I've held your hand, it's just that, you know, I've felt it."

Jake looked down at her and tried hard not to grin. She was clearly flustered at the thought of his... hands.

As with everything relating to Kayla, against all better judgment, he casually took her left hand in his right to lead her up the rotted stairs of the old world porch, through the front door, and into the large living area. The small action of walking into his house, holding Kayla's hand made him feel things he knew he had no business feeling.

It was one thing to desire someone, it was quite another to feel tenderness. He dropped her hand.

Kayla didn't seem to notice. She was busy looking around, her eyes darting from one detail to the next: the carpenter's lace above the doorway, the stone fireplaces, the winding oak staircase. Her gold-brown eyes glimmered, and her soft, glossy lips formed a sweet smile. Jake decided it was time to take a breather from so much togetherness.

"It's nearly two o'clock in the morning. Let's find you a room, and you can get settled in, and call whoever's been hounding you non-stop," Jake said in reference to the phone that had been sounding with calls and texts, and that she'd been ignoring, the whole way. "And I'll give you a tour tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Kayla agreed.

He led the way upstairs and showed her the bedroom he thought she'd like best. It had large picture windows and a window seat looking out over the moonlit river. He hadn't even begun to decorate the house, and the only furnishing in the room was a plain, full-sized bed.

Kayla walked over to the window and sat down. "You have access to the river?" she asked.

"Twenty-five feet of it. There's a small pier to the right, but you can barely see it, it's half-hidden by that black cherry tree over there." He walked up behind her and pointed toward the pier, his head just above hers. He took in the scent of that damned coconut-scented shampoo, the one that had driven him crazy while they'd been working together, and finally admitted to himself he'd missed her. "Do you think you'll be all right in this room?"

"Are you kidding? This is perfect," she answered before looking up at him. "What time do you wake up?"

"Six. I go for a jog before breakfast. But it's late, so I'll probably wake up later than usual."

"I want to practice at least six hours, in increments. Is that okay with you? Or is too much? Please be honest."

"I don't mind at all," he answered before wishing her goodnight and leaving. The thought of listening to Kayla play all weekend while he worked soothed his stressed soul.

* * *

Early the next morning, Kayla awoke to the sound of a door closing. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she walked over to the window, a feeling of contentment washing over her. It was easy to push away any lingering doubts she had about accepting Jake's invitation while looking out onto the shimmering water on a glorious November morning. The sun seemed to be dancing on the treetops and on the other side of the river, and the long grass along its bank swayed in the wind.

After showering and changing, Kayla set up in front of the window and began her warm-up routine of scales, arpeggios, and etudes before starting on excerpts from Straus Don Juan, Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique, and Bizet's Carmen.

A little over an hour later, she walked out into the hallway and came face to face with a towel-clad Jake. Right away, she glimpsed a solid six pack and sturdy shoulders she thought she has to hold on to. Never one to go nutty over the sight of a male body, she suddenly had every depraved-female symptom in the book. Her mouth went dry, her heart began to beat abnormally, and heat rushed to her face.

"There are no bathrooms inside any of the rooms," he reminded her after a full thirty seconds of her ogling. And damn it if he wasn't smiling like the devil himself.

"No master suite, huh? That's right. I remember. There's always breakfast." Out of all her jumbled thoughts, those were the fragmented pieces that came out of her mouth.

After a mostly silent breakfast where a freshly showered Jake sat next to her, smelling soapy and oh-so-masculine, he gave her a very detailed tour of the house.

Kayla would never have guessed that restoring an old home could be such a sensuous project. His hands smoothed over the projects he'd labored on as he talked about hammering things, rubbing stuff down, buffing... it all had her breathing hard. She couldn't stop looking at his hands.

A while later, unable to concentrate on her playing and about ready to jump out of her skin because she couldn't take her mind off Jake, she went down to the first-floor library to read Persuasion, remembering there was a leather-bound copy that Jake had said belonged to his mom on the desk. She figured she could learn a thing or two about formulating proper female thoughts from Anne Elliot, the epitome of delicate, modest female.

But then delicate, modest Anne Elliot had never come upon a smoking hot, shirtless Captain Wentworth in a hallway. If she'd had, Kayla was sure her thoughts would have scandalized the gentry.

A shirtless Jake coming in to work on the built-in shelves quickly sent Kayla and all her immodest thoughts up the stairs to do what she should have been doing all morning; pouring her frustrations into her music. For the next two hours, she chucked her routine and played the more passionate Bach Chaconne, Barber Violin Concerto, and Sarasate Zigeunerweisen, with a feverish energy that left her breathless. She ended her session with an especially vigorous Ysaye Ballade.

Sighing and feeling fully relaxed, she felt as if she should be having a smoke, even though she'd never smoked in her life.

When she came down for a late lunch, she saw Jake had already fixed them turkey ham, turkey bacon, tomato, and lettuce sandwiches. "I figured you worked up an appetite," he said. "That was some frenzied playing up there."

"It was not frenzied. It was spirited."

"Whatever you say." Jake shrugged, the mischievous glint in his clear blue eyes getting to her. It didn't seem like she was having the same effect on him that he was having on her, and he was behaving like a cocky SOB. She wanted to wipe the satisfaction from his face.

"So, is Marcus seeing anyone?" Kayla asked, her eyes innocent, and her tone neutral.

A long silence ensued. "Not that I'm aware of, but I'm pretty sure he has the hots for your sister. Why do you ask?"

"I think I look like my sister, don't you?" she asked, ignoring his question.

He gave her a good, long look. "I'm not sure. I always see her on TV, looking fine, well dressed, and tailored to a T. Right now, wearing those old jeans and Cubs baseball shirt, you don't really look anything alike."

"My first love gave this to me, along with my matching Cubs baseball jacket, and he still thinks I look sexy in both," she said without thinking. "He had the words They Should've Let the Goat In printed on both to make me laugh, and every time I wear them I think about him, and the best relationship I've ever had."

Jake gave her a slow smile. "Well Robbie is a cool guy, and he has a great sense of style, so maybe it's just me."

Damn her big mouth. Why'd she had to go and tell him she'd once been in love with Robbie? Her evil plan thwarted, Kayla lost her appetite. Resigned, she wrapped her sandwich up for later, thanked Jake for lunch, put on her favorite jacket—the one that matched her unsexy baseball shirt—and went out to explore the river.

It was hard to stay in a prickly mood with such a lavish landscape before her. She went out onto the tiny pier, dipped her hands into the cold water, and instantly withdrew them. She threw a few pebbles out and then laid down and closed her eyes, content to feel the cold breeze and take in the earthy scents around her.

* * *

Jake sat down next to Kayla. "Hey. Sorry I teased you."

She didn't open her eyes. "It's fine."

He laid down next to her. "And I'm sorry I said your shirt isn't sexy. It's actually the most seductive thing I've ever seen," he continued, only half-kidding. Kayla laughed wholeheartedly, and the sound filled him in a way nothing had in a long time. "And your hair tied up in a knot like that really, er, brings out your neck." She laughed again. But he wasn't kidding. She had a smooth, elegant neck.

"And those jeans..." he let his voice trail off suggestively.

"What about them?" she asked, and though he was no longer looking at her, he could tell she was smiling. The truth was her figure-hugging jeans had been driving him up a wall all morning. He couldn't find enough things to do with his hands in order to keep them off her. "Those jeans are second only to a pair of hot pink panties I once saw."

Kayla swatted his arm.

"It's true," he said. "There's nothing sexier than showing a little skin." Still not looking at her, he reached out to point to the knee of her jeans where he'd seen a slight tear. She bolted upright, giggling and desperately pushing his hand away. He opened one eye and laughed. "I wasn't even going to touch you! Are you that ticklish?" he asked, opening one eye.

"Oh my gosh, yes, it's awful!" She laughed, too, and the sun shone through a few gray clouds behind her. He remembered the first time he saw her and felt a tightening in his chest.

He sat up, to focus on the sparkling river and calm his growing desire to hug her to him as they both laid down on the ground and gazed up at the sky.

"Can you pick some of those wildflowers next to you for me?" she asked, after some time in companionable silence. "I want to make myself a crown."

The purple and white wildflowers she was talking about caught his eye, and he picked a few to give to her. "Somehow, I'm not surprised you know how to make a crown of wildflowers, even though you're a city girl, born and bred," he teased. He continued to pick flowers as her busy fingers wove them into a pretty crown. When she finished, she showed it to him, smiling, and he took it out of her hands to place it on her head.

A few drops of rain came down, and she sighed and set the crown aside. "I wish I could stay out here in the rain. It's not too cold, and I feel like it would do me a world of good," she said wistfully.

"Then let's stay," he said.

She looked at him for a long moment before saying, "I can't." And then she scrambled up and began walking away, the way she'd run away from him that very first night, also over a little rain that didn't even qualify as a drizzle.

He picked up the crown of flowers and got up, too. "A little rain won't kill you, you know," he said, thinking that a good soaking outside in the rain would do him a world of good, too. "And I promise I'll take you to the hospital if you sneeze," he teased.

She turned to look at him. "Please don't make me remind us of the differences between yet again."

He stopped dead. "What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea how much I would love to stay out here and play a fiddle if I could find one whilst I danced in the rain in my crown, like a flower child. But I can't afford to get sick. The only health insurance coverage I can afford is a high deductible plan, the deductible of which I can't afford."

Jake shook his head and tried to make sense of how she'd gone from a flower child playing a fiddle and dancing in the rain to... health insurance. Something to do with the difference between their worlds. And then, when what she was trying to do dawned on him, he became angry. "I understand some people can't afford to get sick, Kayla. But that's not what this is about."

"And that's exactly what someone who's never had to worry about it would say!"

He glared at her. "No. I'm not going to let you make me into a jerk because you feel the need to push me away. It's not fair to me, and it's unworthy of you."

The rain was beginning to come down a little faster, if not harder, and Jake watched as she breathed in and out a few times before plopping down in the grass. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "It's just... I didn't come here to—to feel closer to you."

He sat down next to her. "Why did you come?"

She sighed, shook her head, and looked at the ground. "I did come to practice, I somehow knew it would be the perfect place for it... but I also came for reasons I—I don't really understand. Please believe that." She looked up at him then, all wet lashes and searching eyes, and he watched her throat work. "Why did you invite me?"

It was Jake's turn to sigh. It was becoming harder and harder to hide his feelings from himself, and he realized he didn't care if she knew. He only cared that he didn't want to know, but it was too late. "I don't want a relationship—I don't have time for one, and I really don't ever want to get sucked into anything... anything I can't handle or control. But that doesn't mean I don't know that you're good for me, Kayla. I think I felt it that very first night. That you would make me see and feel the world in new ways. But every time you walk away from me—and it is always you who walks away—it makes me realize that I don't do the same thing for you. And I wish I did."

"But you do. I feel a strange connection to you when you're unguarded. You're thoughtful and earnest, and I don't know if this makes sense, but it echoes somewhere in here." She put her fingers to the middle of her chest. "It makes me feel more at peace with the world."

Jake was moved... and it brought the same old problem: He didn't want to be moved. But he couldn't push her away, either, not when he'd taken her to task for pushing him. So he put the crown of wildflowers he was still holding on her head and lifted her chin with his thumb. "You'd have made a great flower child."

She laughed, and her expression, which had become guarded again, softened. "And I'd have had a grand old time, playing the fiddle while the naked hippies dance. The problem is the hippies would have sent you away."

"Why?" Jake smiled, oblivious to the rain, aware only of Kayla's laughing eyes. He reached out and curled a wet strand of hair that had escaped her knot around his finger.

"You wouldn't make a very good flower child, what with all your suits and ties and khakis and fancy sweaters," she solemnly answered.

Jake slid the hand that was playing with her hair to the back of her neck. Her breathing became shallow, and her eyes took on a hazy quality. "Then I guess I would've stripped down, too, to stay with you," he said before lowering his mouth to hers.

But before he could kiss her, she panicked, and breathlessly reminded him, "You said you wouldn't kiss me."

So with much effort and great disappointment, Jake pulled away. He got up and decided he would be the one to walk away this time. Not because he was upset with her, but because it was the wisest decision.

* * *

Kayla's disappointment when he pulled away was intense and greater than her fears. She got up and called, "Wait!" Jake turned around, one eyebrow raised, and she hesitated only a moment before running and taking a flying leap into his arms. She caught her, and she took his face in her hands. "I know you think I'm crazy, but please kiss me anyway."

Jake looked into her eyes for a long burning moment. "I don't think you're crazy, I think you're adorable, and it drives me crazy," he said, before lowering his lips to nip at her neck and the slope between her neck and ear. And Kayla felt he was torturing her by not kissing her on the lips.

She shivered, but cold and wet as they both were, Jake's body radiated warmth. Her lips and breath hovered over Jake's now, and she almost couldn't handle how much she needed their mouths to touch. She brushed her lips against his, and then nipped at his lower lip.

Jake lowered her to the ground, pulled her toward him again, and plunged into her mouth with a possessiveness that left her dizzy and feverish.

When she came up for air and strength, she half-laughed, half-breathed, "I—I'm dizzy," and Jake laughed, too, and swiftly gathered her into his arms and carried her inside to an old, worn couch where they hungrily kissed, touched, and explored, always careful not to take it further than Kayla was ready to go.

She couldn't remember when it was that it stopped raining, and when it was that darkness began to fall because she was only aware of Jake's body beside hers, his breath, his lips, and his hands. It was a long time before anything else mattered.

Finally, when they could no longer ignore hunger pangs, they tried to prepare a Thanksgiving lasagna together. Jake kept distracting them with his hands and mouth, and it took forever. Finally, they shared a plate on an old recliner, with Kayla on Jake's lap.

* * *

"What do you want to do now? Do you want to watch some TV? Criminal Evidence is playing," Jake suggested when they finished eating.

Kayla put her head on his shoulder. "Ugh. I hate that show. The good guys always win."

"I thought you of all people would like that."

"It's not how it is in real life, and it gets to me," she said with uncharacteristic bitterness.

And then he got it. This was about her father. He propped her chin up, looked into her eyes, and kissed her once, softly.

Kayla sighed. "I know it's just a show."

"I understand," Jake said, and meant it.

She was quiet for a while. Her thoughts had clearly gone elsewhere. When she finally spoke, it seemed as if she'd come to a conclusion. "I don't think I'll ever stop being angry about what happened to my dad."

"I'd be angry too," Jake said softly, smoothing her hair.

"At least I'm not angry at my dad anymore. I went through this phase where I was so mad at him for choosing to be a policeman..." Her voice, tinged with guilt, trailed off and she was thoughtful again.

"Did they ever catch whoever did it?" he gently asked.

"He was shot and killed immediately after before he could shoot anyone else, but I can't help wishing he would've rotted away in prison instead, you know? It feels like instant death wasn't enough of a punishment. But it's also blessing my poor mom didn't have to go through a trial, or that we don't have to live in fear of his killer being released." She breathed in. "And I want to be forgiving, I really do, but I can't."

He put her head on his shoulder, kissed her temple, and hugged her close. It was exactly what she needed. Sometimes words were over-rated. After a while, she laced her fingers with his and asked, "Why do you really want to be mayor?"

He didn't hesitate. "Because Chicago is the greatest city in the world."

"That's not a real answer! I know plenty of people who feel the same way, and not one of them would ever think of running for mayor."

Jake hesitated. "I know this will sound silly, but I believe in Chicago, the way I believe in very few things. To me, it lives and breathes, and never dies. It's always changing, adapting, and surviving. Ever since I can remember, I've been trying to come up with ideas to help it continue on its journey." He looked up at her, and her eyes were so bright and clear that he knew she believed him. It made him want to kiss her, more deeply than ever, and he moved his hand to the back of her neck to do just that. But before his lips touched hers, she said, "That's what you should always say. You should open yourself up to the way you open up to me... well, the way you open up to me sometimes. You should talk to them about the festivals and the stations and, well, everything you've shared with me!"

* * *

Tired, they decided it was time to go to bed to sleep. Neither had gotten enough work done, and both wanted to make up for it the next day. But what started as a few chaste kisses good night at Kayla's door ended with Kayla backed up against said door, with Jake's hands and mouth making her feel desperate and unfulfilled. Jake seemed to notice she was feeling the need to go further because he broke away and said, "I don't think I have any restraint left to stop this if you don't stop this. And if you don't, then I'm afraid you'd regret it later, and I don't ever want you to do that."

She smiled a little. "You've shown restraint?"

Jake's eyes flashed with heat and a promise Kayla wasn't sure she could take. "Okay then. You can go away now. Just give me one more goodnight kiss. A little one," she clarified.

He gave her an unsatisfactory peck on the cheek. "There. Good night." He opened the door to her room and shoed her inside.

She laughed. "A bigger one."

He took her hands in his, and kissed both her palms, smiling, before bowing a gentlemanly goodbye. But the moment she felt his roughened palms she hesitated, holding on to them, and thinking about how they revealed a different side to him. Without thinking, she brought them up to her lips and kissed each of his palms, too. He looked down at her, and she looked up at him. The tension was back.

She hooked a finger in the front of his jeans and pulled him closer. His breath hitched, and he looked like he was in pain. He picked her up, brought her into the room, and set her down on the bed, without breaking eye contact. He was breathing hard.

"I like how deeply you feel things, Kayla. And I'm fascinated by how quickly you go from one emotion to another—" he began, his voice strained.

"Are you calling me emotional again?" she interrupted.

He smiled, and it relieved some of the tension in his face. "Let's just say I never have to guess what you're feeling," he answered, before more thoughtfully adding, "And if you hadn't acted on your feelings, we would've missed out on this weekend." He pulled her close, wound his arms around her, and kissed her forehead. "And right now, it's clear you want this as much as I do. But I'm afraid that will change when it's too late."

Kayla lay still, feeling safe in his arms, and searched her heart. No matter how wrapped up at the moment she was, and no matter how far away real life seemed, she hadn't lost sight of the fact that she didn't want Jake in her everyday life. He led a far-too-public life, and, more importantly, he had the power to permanently break her heart. Both deal breakers.

But she wanted to be with him, for this one weekend. The memory would be worth a hurting heart, of that she was sure. And a hurting heart healed.

She propped herself up on her elbows. "I've never wanted anyone like this."

He held her to him, and she felt two, out of control heartbeats. "Believe it or not, Kayla, neither have I. Not like this. Never like this."

"I have no doubts," she said.

Jake rolled her so that he was atop her, propped on his elbows. He searched her face and her eyes, and, satisfied with what he saw there, kissed her deeply, while his hands moved over and under her, warm and gentle, easing her into delicious intimacy. He slipped her sweater over her head, unhooked her bra, and proceeded to drive her crazy in the most delicious ways possible. "You're so responsive. I knew you would be," he half-whispered, half-groaned between kisses.

She undid his jeans, and the sound that came from his throat told her he was in real pain. It made her laugh, and he smiled on her mouth. The pause made him finally take his hands off her long enough to let her pull his sweater over his head. Skin to skin, he looked into her eyes, his caresses tender once more, his kisses sweet and clinging. He brought her to exquisite urgency slowly this time, and whenever she thought nothing could ever feel better, that she could die from the pleasure of it all, he'd take her to a new dizzying height.

The free-fall, when it came, left her with sensations she never knew existed, and the way he looked at her and wrapped himself around her when it was all over, breathing her in, and looking at her in wonder had her fighting hard to keep her heart to herself.