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  He turned down the bed in the guest room and prepared himself for a long, painful night, and then spent the next five minutes trying to decide how to pick her up. He didn’t think she’d appreciate the fireman’s hold, which left him . . . what? The Rhett Butler carry. Damn, he hoped to hell she’d sleep through it. He wouldn’t want her to think he was copping a feel.

  “Addison, come on. Wake up.” She slept like the dead. He shook out his arms, then took a deep breath before sliding one hand under her thighs and the other behind her back. He got a firm hold and did a dead lift. She was a lot lighter than she looked, and her head lolled against his biceps, so he lifted her a little higher until it rested against his shoulder. Then her breath hit his neck, and he nearly groaned.

  Jaime carried her to the spare room, trying to tamp down all the Me, Tarzan feelings zinging through him. This was definitely not the time to start the whole chest-pounding thing. No, he just needed to lay her down, cover her up, and get the hell out of the room. And he did just that, stopping only to turn on the light in the bathroom, in case she woke up and didn’t know where the hell she was. He closed the door behind him and released a breath. “Damn, Addison, what the hell are you doing here?”

  He went to the kitchen and heated up a cup of coffee in the microwave; if he brewed a pot, he was afraid the scent would wake his houseguest. He knew it was senseless to go to bed, because there was no way he’d ever get any sleep with Addie sleeping one room away. He took a sip of the reheated coffee and shook his head. Addison Lane could make him drink reheated coffee. He tugged his sweater over his head, then kicked off his Timberlands and booted up his computer. He might as well get some work done.

  At six in the morning, he put on a fresh pot of coffee and poured her a cup. He tapped lightly on the door, and when he didn’t hear anything, he stepped in. She’d kicked off her covers, hugged a pillow to her chest, and thrown her leg over it. Her dress had slid up enough to show off a nice length of creamy thigh but nothing else, which was a damn shame. “Rise and shine, Addison.”

  Her eyes shot open, and when she saw him, they widened farther. She sat straight up, hugging the pillow to her chest like a shield. “Jaime, what are you doing here?”

  He just raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s my question. You were the one in my living room, Sleeping Beauty.” He handed her the coffee and watched her take a sip.

  She closed her eyes and groaned. “God, that’s good.”

  Addie definitely wasn’t a morning person, and she looked a mess—her mane of hair was wild, like she’d been dragged through a hedge backward, her dress was twisted, and she had a pillowcase crease on her cheek.

  “I just sat down for a minute to warm up. Hey, where were you, anyway?”

  “Oh no. Where I was is none of your business.” He stood because if he didn’t, he’d be tempted to kiss that torqued look right off her pretty face. “I didn’t know what time you needed to get up. It’s a little after six. There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, towels on the counter, and shampoo and stuff in the tub. Use whatever you need. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. Come on out whenever you’re done and tell me what was so damn important that you felt the need to camp out in my living room. And you might want to remember that an unlocked door is not an invitation to enter.” He left her sitting there with her mouth hanging open.

  Jaime was not in a good mood. He slammed a cast-iron pan on the stove, turned on the heat, and tossed in the bacon, then grabbed a loaf of bread to make toast and took the eggs out of the refrigerator.

  He had a nightmare day scheduled, so he took out the makings for a few sandwiches. He wouldn’t have time or the energy, thanks to his sexy little houseguest, to go out and pick something up. “Addison, do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

  “What?”

  He turned around, and she was standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around her, the corner stuffed between her breasts. Her hair was wet and drops of water slid down her chest.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Yeah . . . um . . . Do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to.”

  He stepped back, because his finger itched to pull out that corner and see what was hiding under the terry cloth. What was she thinking coming out of the room naked? “That’s not what I asked. Do you want a damn sandwich or not?”

  “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I minded.”

  “Jeez, Jaim. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or are you always like this?”

  “I didn’t get to bed.” He mumbled.

  “Why not?”

  “Roast beef, turkey, or both?”

  “Both.”

  “Mustard or mayo?”

  “Both, please.”

  “Fine.” He shook his head.

  She stood there dripping and stared at him. “Thanks, Jaime.”

  “Just go get dressed before you freeze to death.”

  “Oh.” She looked down like she just realized she was standing there wearing nothing but a towel. She might not have noticed, but he sure as hell did.

  Five minutes later, she came out wearing the same clothes she’d slept in. Her hair was dried and tied in a ponytail hanging down her back.

  “More coffee?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Suit yourself. You always do anyway.”

  She leaned up against the counter and watched him.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Over easy.”

  “One, two, or three?”

  “Two, please.”

  “So, what the hell was so all-fired important that you needed to come all the way here and wait for me?”

  “I wanted to find out what you learned.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And it wasn’t something that could wait until morning?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay too. I know how close you and Teddy have been over the years. I thought if it didn’t go well, you might need a friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” The last thing he wanted from her was friendship. Damn, didn’t she get that?

  “Kendall left me a note telling me she was going to be in Boston, packing up the apartment. I know she met with Grace at my place before she took off, because Grace brought over a loaf of pumpkin bread.”

  “Yeah, well, Jax is getting ready to fly to Chicago. I think he has an eight o’clock flight. Teddy was pretty adamant that he leave Kendall alone until she cools off. Besides, he needs to get his shit together too.”

  “Kendall’s going to think he left her. Just like David did.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Jax told me he was going to write her a letter and explain everything. He has responsibilities in Chicago—he has to at least go back and decide what he’s going to do. He’s been away more than six weeks.”

  She shrugged. “Kendall is coming off a bad relationship. David was manipulative. What seems reasonable to us might not if you’re looking at it from her vantage point. Desertion sucks, and twice in a few weeks would tend to put a woman on the defensive. Kendall might just see his explanation as nothing more than a Dear Jane letter.”

  “It’s nothing of the kind. Or at least I don’t think it is. Jax told Teddy that he loved her.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. He’s got it bad.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you doing okay?”

  Hell, no. But it had nothing to do with Teddy and everything to do with her. He turned her eggs, threw a few pieces of buttered toast and bacon on her plate, and then plated the eggs. She stood way too close to him, and even with different soap and shampoo, there was something about her that made him want to nuzzle her neck and drink her in.

  “Go sit down.” He finished cooking his eggs and sat beside her at the breakfast bar. Shit, he should have just eaten standing up in the kitc
hen.

  “You didn’t answer the question. Was Teddy that upset with you?” She slid a piece of bacon between her lips and he couldn’t look away. Everything she did seemed erotic. “Jaime, what’s the matter with you?”

  He spun her barstool around, put a hand on either armrest, and leaned in. “You come to my house uninvited and fall so soundly asleep in my chair that it would take an atomic bomb to wake you. I had to pick you up and put you to bed without so much as copping a feel. I’ve been awake all night, fighting a hard-on and trying not to think about you sleeping in the next room, and you’re asking me what in the hell is the matter?”

  Her gray eyes looked green in the light and seemed to darken. Her color came up and she licked her lips.

  He almost groaned. “Addie, the last thing I want to be is your friend. So if that’s all you want, I’m not interested. Eat your breakfast, take your lunch, and leave.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “If it’s not, you should probably eat your breakfast, take your lunch, and leave anyway, because I have a full day of work ahead of me, and so do you.”

  “Oh.” The pulse in her throat beat like the wings of a hummingbird, and he had an overwhelming urge to slide his tongue over that spot and suck on it.

  “Are you going to wear a turtleneck today?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “Because I want to suck on your neck.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Bad. It might leave a mark. I want to do a whole lot more to you too, but I’m in a rush. I just need to taste you, okay?” As he slid a hand behind her head and drew her close, his nose rubbed against her and he smiled. “Breathe.”

  She let a breath out and sucked in another.

  He kissed the corner of her mouth and slid the tip of his tongue across the seam to the other side. Her eyes were still wide open, either in shock or excitement. Then he went in for the kiss. Her lips were tense and her whole body vibrated. He wanted to soothe her, excite her, and then shock the hell out of her. He started out soft, sweet, and slow, and waited for her to relax. It wasn’t happening. When he opened his eyes, hers were filled with terror. He pulled away slowly and stepped back. “Addie, you’re okay.”

  As soon as he gave her space, she vaulted off the barstool. “I have to go.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking, and stepped way back. Out of reach.

  “Don’t forget your lunch.” He didn’t make a move; he just held the bag out for her to take.

  “Thanks for . . . Well, thanks for everything. I’m sorry . . .” She brushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “I really need to go.”

  He sat at the counter and did his best to shoot her a smile. “Make sure you call Kendall after school today and tell her to read Jax’s letter, okay?”

  “I will,” she grabbed her coat and missed the armhole twice. “You know Kendall when she’s hurt. Once she finds out he lied and then ran . . .” She shook her head and punched her other arm through the sleeve before hugging herself again, the paper bag crunching in her hand. “There’s no telling what she’s going to do.”

  The food he’d eaten sat like lead in his stomach. Jaime nodded, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, like she hadn’t just about jumped out of her skin, like he hadn’t just scared the shit out of her with a simple kiss. He felt sick. “You have a good day, Addison. I’m glad you came by.” He grabbed both plates and put them in the sink. “Take your time getting your stuff together. I’m just going to get in the shower. I was supposed to be at the shop fifteen minutes ago. I’ll see you later. Let me know what Kendall says, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response; he just turned and headed to his room to give her time and space to calm down.

  His first thought was to put his hand through a wall, but that was the old Jaime. The only thing that would get him was another cast, if he hit a stud like he had the last time he’d lost his temper. No, what he needed was about an hour in the basement—just him and his seventy-pound punching bag.

  He didn’t know what had happened to Addison, but someone had hurt her. Someone had hurt her bad, and if he ever found out who the hell was responsible for the look of sheer terror in his Addie’s eyes, he’d kill the bastard with his bare hands.

  *

  Jax stepped out of the limo, and the doorman did a double take before recognition crossed his face. Since he’d never seen Jax wearing anything but a three-piece suit, he supposed worn Levi’s, a wool sweater, and hiking boots were a little out of character.

  “Hi, Tom. How’s it going?”

  “Just fine, Mr. Sullivan. Do you want me to have your bags sent up?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got them. Do you have the time?”

  Tom gave him a weird look, but looked at the clock above the elevators and smiled. “Twelve-oh-five, sir.”

  It was an hour later in Boston, and Jax wondered what Kendall was doing. Had she read his letter? Did she decide to stay at the cabin? Was she okay? It had been almost thirty hours since he’d seen her, and it felt like a lifetime.

  Tom called the elevator for him, and Jax stepped in and inserted his key. He was doing better with numbers, but he was beat, and right now he was thankful he lived in the penthouse. A few moments later, the elevator opened into the entry.

  Jax had spent the night at the cabin alone in his bed but didn’t sleep. He just lay there surrounded by Kendall’s scent, thinking about her and remembering the way she smiled when she’d catch him watching her, what she looked like before her first cup of coffee, how she’d tilt her head when she questioned his sanity, and the spark in her eye when she lost her temper. He missed her so much, his body ached with it.

  He tossed his bag on the black-and-white marble entry, noticing that his hiking boots looked strange against the shiny surface. He didn’t think he’d ever really noticed the floor before. He supposed he was used to just thinking that his dress shoes would be fine, but his hiking boots were a different story. They tended to drag a lot of crap in on their treads. Then again, the cleaning crew came in twice a week whether he needed it or not, so what the hell? He might as well give them something to do.

  Jax headed straight to the wet bar—he hadn’t taken any painkillers stronger than Motrin or Tylenol all day, so he poured himself a scotch. He stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared across the frozen lake. The cold radiated through the thermal panes. Even at midday it was flat and gray, just like his life and his apartment. There was no color, no warmth, no life. He tried to remember if he’d ever had anyone over to his apartment. His assistant had dropped off a contract for his signature once when he was down with pneumonia. She brought him a pot of homemade chicken soup and some orange juice, and even picked up a prescription for him. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for him since he’d started working at Sullivan Industries. Rocki also visited once for a weekend a few years ago.

  He’d lived here almost five years and he’d had only two people into his home—unless you counted the cleaning service.

  Jax might not have a life yet, but he wanted one, and he wanted it to include Kendall. All he had to do was figure out how to make that happen.

  He headed to his room, stripped down, and took his drink into the shower with him. Today he was going to do his best to sleep, and first thing tomorrow morning he would start fighting for his life—fighting for Kendall. He just needed a little help, and he knew just who to ask.

  He picked up the house phone and pressed the button for his office.

  “Good afternoon. Jackson Sullivan’s office. This is Anne Pivens. May I help you?”

  He stood there wearing a towel, listening to his assistant’s greeting, and tamped down his nervousness. “Yes, hi, Anne. It’s Jax.”

  Silence.

  “Jackson Sullivan.”

  “Mr. Sullivan, hello. How are you?”

  “I’m good, thanks. And you?”

  “I’m fine. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Mrs. Pivens, I need a favor. I was wonderi
ng if you would be able to meet with me tomorrow at my office here in the penthouse, and bring a copy of our confidentiality agreement with you.”

  “Our agreement, sir? As in, the agreement I signed, or the boilerplate Sullivan Industries confidentiality agreement?”

  “Yours.”

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “No, no problem. I just need to go through it before we talk.”

  “I’ll bring two copies, then. What time would be good for you?”

  “Nine o’clock, but call me at eight, and, um, if you wouldn’t mind, could you order something for breakfast to be delivered?”

  “Certainly. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hit the End button, tossed the phone on his bedside table, flipped the switch to lower the black-out blinds, and slid between the fresh sheets of his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was home, lying beside Kendall. It didn’t work.

  *

  Kendall slept and dreamed about Jack. She rolled over, reaching for him, only to wake up hot and bothered and alone. She opened her eyes and they landed on the envelope lying on the ugly coffee table, silently mocking her.

  She went to the kitchen, made another pot of coffee, and stared into the living room. She’d always hated the furniture. David had seen the room in some yuppie magazine and wanted to re-create it.

  Why was she moving furniture she hated? Then it occurred to her that she didn’t have to keep it. She took a picture and thought she’d see if the consignment shop would be interested in taking it, because she wasn’t. No, she was going to get rid of everything in the apartment she didn’t love. She was going to purge David from her life.

  Kendall looked at her list as she set out for the day. She stopped at the bank to make sure David’s name was off all her accounts, then stopped to pick up boxes and moving supplies on the way to her favorite consignment shop. The owner loved the furniture and even offered to pick it up, which totally worked for Kendall.

  By the time she finished her take-out Chinese dinner, the ugly furniture was history and she had a stack of book boxes already filled and labeled.

  Kendall heard her phone ring and had to feel around the dining room table to find it. Addie’s face flashed on the screen, and just seeing it made Kendall smile. “Hey, Addie. How are you?”