In Your Corner (4 page)

Shocked, my father and I both stare. Mom never took sides between my father and me when I lived at home. She listened, kept her own counsel, and then sent me to my room. Except this time, I’m already in my room. Maybe that’s the reason for her first ever attempt to diffuse the hostility that permeates my relationship with my father—the hostility that began the day I dared to be born a girl. Disappointment number one.

Unfortunately, my father doesn’t heed Mom’s warning. He’s on his high horse and clearly determined to ride it to the end.

“Rest? She had all morning to rest and she was well enough to give a statement to the police. She needs to understand the extent of my frustration. Imagine. I was pulled out of bed on a trial prep weekend because our daughter, a Westwood, was found at a sleazy bar in Ghost Town.” He scowls in my direction. “You certainly got what you deserved. You should have known better than to go to a place like that.”

“You’re being a bit harsh.” My mother taps my father lightly on the elbow. “She’s obviously learned her lesson. Look at her. She’s…injured.” Mom’s voice cracks. I am disconcerted by her unexpected show of emotion. I must look pretty bad.

“Harsh? She’ll never be a partner at any law firm in California. After propositioning Farnsworth, she’ll never get a reference, and if people find out what she did, they won’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“He tried to blackmail me,” I croak. But before I can explain, my father cuts me off with a cruel laugh.

“As if I would believe that. A girl like you? You’re a goddamn sl—”

“Stan.” My mother interrupts. “She’s our daughter and I’m sure she knows she’s let us down.” She takes a step toward the door, urging my father forward, only to stop short when a tall figure dressed in black brushes past her.

Jake.

My foggy brain, already struggling to keep up with the family nightmare, freezes at the breathtaking sight of his hard, muscular body clad in a leather biker jacket and low-slung jeans.

“Am I interrupting something?” He casually interposes himself between my father and my bed.

My father pulls himself up to his full six-foot height, but he still has to look up to meet Jake’s gaze. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jake Donovan.” He tosses his helmet on the bedside chair and folds his arms, treating me to an up close and personal view of his broad back and tight ass.

My father harrumphs. “Mr. Donovan, we’re in the middle of a private family discussion. I suggest you visit another time.”

Jake’s shoulders stiffen. “Private? Everyone in the hallway could hear you. Not only that, but she’s hurt. Is this really the best time for a verbal assault?”

Emotion wells up in my chest at his unexpected support at the only time in my life I haven’t had the will or energy to defend myself.

“Jake…it’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“It’s not okay to me.” He looks back over his shoulder and catches me with his breathtaking gaze, at once furious and concerned.

The pulse in my father’s jaw throbs double-time and the blood drains from his face. Instinctively, my hands curl into the sheets. I know that look. And I know what comes next. I am suddenly so profoundly grateful for Jake’s intervention, my eyes prickle with tears.

“She’s my daughter and I’ll speak to her when, where, and how I choose,” my father barks.

“She’s my friend.” Jake closes the distance between them in two quick strides, his body quivering as if he wants to punch someone. “And I suggest you consider another time and place.”

Two inches taller than my father, heavily muscled, and many years younger, Jake in a rage is intimidating even to me. But my father didn’t get to be a partner at one of the top law firms in the city by backing down. Ever.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Do I need to threaten you?” Jake takes a step closer to my father and his voice drops to a low, warning growl.

“You’re out of line, young man.” My father’s lips curl in a snarl.

He’s right. Jake is out of line. But then, Jake doesn’t care about lines or rules or convention. His cavalier attitude was one of the things I liked best about him. A total disregard for the things that defined my life.

“Stan.” My mother wraps an arm around my father’s bicep and tugs. “It’s time to go. We can have a family discussion later. Let her visit with her friend.”

But my father doesn’t move. Instead, he and Jake face off. Eyes locked, chests heaving, fists clenched.

“She’s no family of mine,” my father mutters after a few tense moments. “There’s only so much disappointment a father can take. As of this moment, I never had a daughter.” With a final harrumph, my father breaks the stalemate and storms out the door. Mom takes a step after him, pauses, and then pats my foot under the covers.

“I talked to the doctor and he says it was just a minor concussion and a lot of bruising and you should be out of here tomorrow. If you need to come home…” Her gaze flicks to my father’s departing back and then to me. “I suppose we could hire someone…we’re both in trial…”

“I’m good, Mom.” I force the words out. “I’ll be fine.”

She gives an absent nod and looks up at a glowering Jake. “You almost had a lawsuit on your hands. You should be more careful. If he finds out who you are, he may press charges for threats.”

“Jake Donovan, Chairman of Donovan & Sons.” Jake pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to her. “Tell him to do his worst.”

I stifle a laugh. In his jeans and leathers, his hair just brushing his collar, and the faintest five o’clock shadow on his jaw, he looks like a badass biker and not a corporate chairman. Still, he has courage to throw himself on the mercy of one of the city’s top litigators.

Mom likes brass. Her mouth twitches slightly. “Well then, Mr. Donovan, maybe I’ll see you again, although I hope it’s under better circumstances.” She walks toward the door, her Louboutin heels clicking across the tiles.

“Aren’t you going to kiss your daughter good-bye?” Jake settles himself in the chair beside my bed, as if he’s here for a long stay.

Mom looks over her shoulder and gives him a tight smile. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Donovan, but we aren’t a kissing kind of family.”

“Nice parents,” Jake says after she leaves the room. “No wonder you never introduced us.”

I tense at his words. “Mom’s okay. She’s just always been preoccupied with her work, and my dad…well, he always wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. They’re both high achievers with very high standards, and they expected the same from me. Unfortunately, I often disappointed them, especially with my choice of boyfriends.”

“I thought I had a rough time growing up.” Jakes shakes his head. “I was a bit of a wild kid and my parents blamed me for everything that went wrong in the family. But they weren’t cold people.”

Touché.

He tilts his head to the side and studies me so intently I wonder for a moment if I said the word out loud.

“Being a disappointment is hard enough.” His face softens and he tucks an errant curl behind my ear. “But without the affection to balance it out…it must have been really hard.”

Disconcerted by his sympathy, I lean back against the pillow and shrug. “I survived. I learned how to be independent and self-reliant. That way no one can let me down. Not so sure how I’ll get back in their good graces after this fiasco.”

Jake gives a bitter laugh. “Sometimes no matter how hard you try, it isn’t enough.”

A smile ghosts my lips. “I know that feeling well.”

Jake’s eyes meet mine and something changes in the air between us. Whether it’s the realization that we actually have something in common or a mutual sympathy at being unable to meet parental expectations, for a brief moment we are bonded by a force other than the attraction of opposites.

Tearing my gaze away, I reach for the water glass on the tray beside my bed, only to wince as the IV tugs at my wrist.

“Here, let me.” Jake holds the straw to my lips and I take a sip. The cool water soothes my parched throat, but Jake’s tender gesture makes my stomach flutter.

When I’m done, he sits back in his chair. “Makayla is on her way. I called her last night to let her know what happened. If she hadn’t been on a double shift with the ambulance crew, she would have been here when you woke.”

Tears sting my eyes and my throat tightens. “Thanks. I lost my purse last night, and I was just about to call her from the hospital phone when my parents walked in. I reported my stolen purse to the police when they came this morning to take a statement…”

Jake pulls my purse from his pack and places it on the nightstand. “Fuzzy brought it to the station after he arrested those two goons. They were charged with assault and attempted theft.” He clasps my hand and runs his thumb back and forth over my knuckles. His seemingly absent caress electrifies my skin. But I can’t deal with the rush of remembered emotions that come from his gentle touch and I jerk my hand away.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you okay? Something hurt? Do you want me to call the nurse?”

“No. I’m just…I can manage.”

A pained expression crosses his face. “I wish we’d gotten there sooner. We wasted time sorting out who got to go and who had to stay.”

Relieved to switch to a neutral topic, I relax back on the bed. “I was surprised to see you. I thought you said you didn’t go to Redemption anymore.”

“I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t bumped into you. But after I saw you at the law firm, I started thinking about how big a part of my life it had been when we were together, and how much I’d enjoyed training and fighting and teaching classes. I decided to give it another try and see if I could fit it into my schedule after all.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Jake shifts uncomfortably in his seat and then reaches for his helmet. “I should really get going. I’m sure Makayla will be here soon and I’ve got a meeting in an hour. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After all, it was because of me you lost your job and wound up where you did.”

Whoa, Nelly
.

“It isn’t your fault, Jake. It would have happened anyway. And I didn’t lose my job. I quit. Over a totally different issue.”

But he isn’t listening. He scrubs his hands over his face and shakes his head. “Fucking things up is what I do best. My parents got that right about me.”

A screech startles us both. I glance up to see Makayla and Max in the doorway. Makayla’s thick auburn hair is tied up in a ponytail and her hazel eyes are dark with concern. Tall, dark, and chiseled, Max has an arm around her curvy body. They are the perfect picture of an overprotective alpha male and a daredevil woman hell-bent on keeping him on his toes.

Jake pushes himself out of his chair and gives Max and Makayla a nod as he heads out the door. “Take care of yourself, Amanda.”

My heart sinks. If that wasn’t a “good-bye forever,” I don’t know what is.

“So.” Makayla takes a seat beside me as Max follows Jake into the hall. “Jake called me last night and told me what happened. Why didn’t you phone me?” She gives me her best Makayla glare, which just makes me laugh. Anger isn’t Makayla’s style.

“Look what happened last time I asked you to accompany me on an ill-fated adventure to a dangerous place.”

Makayla pales. She doesn’t like to be reminded of the night we were kidnapped and she thought she’d lost Max forever.

“I was on the graveyard shift and couldn’t get off work, so I called Drake and ordered him to get down here pronto. Did he make it?”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I was in good hands. After the police left, he was here for an hour checking me over like he knows all about head injuries, scolding me for not waiting for him to come to my place last night…”

She frowns. “I thought you were done with him months ago. Are you guys still—?”

“Not for a long time.” I lower my voice to a hushed whisper. “I kept meaning to tell him, but I never got the chance. The friends with benefits thing was fun for a bit, but it left me kinda empty inside.”

Makayla glances out the door where Max and Jake are engaged in a heated discussion in the hallway and leans toward me. “What about Jake? I thought you said he didn’t want to have anything to do with you after he saw you at the office last week. And yet, he was the one who called, and here he is now.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “I guess he feels responsible for what happened, although it’s totally ridiculous. He’s here because he’s just…you know…a nice guy.” Too nice for someone like me.

“And you’re a nice girl.” Makayla pats my arm. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be my best friend. Nice girls and nice guys belong together. Maybe he’s forgiven you and wants to try again. People have a great capacity for forgiveness. Look at me and Max. After everything that happened, we worked things out.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “You guys were meant to be together. I knew that when I saw you—the girl who can’t stomach violence—sitting on the bleachers in Redemption, watching him fight the first day you met. It’s not the same with me and Jake. I hurt him, and in the worst possible way. He’ll never forgive me for that.”

Makayla’s eyes flick to the doorway and then back to me. She jerks her chin ever so slightly in the direction of the hallway. Max is gone, but Jake is leaning against the doorjamb. He studies me for the longest time, his blue eyes boring deep into my soul, and then he turns and walks away.

’MANDA, ’MANDA, ’MANDA

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The incessant knocking at my front door wakes me from a deep sleep. For a moment, I consider ignoring the irritating tapper and returning to oblivion, but only Makayla and Drake know I’ve moved into my grandmother’s Tudor-style house in Oakland’s sleepy Montclair Village, and if I don’t answer the door, whichever of the two it is will have no qualms about breaking it down.

With a sleepy sigh, I brush the matted hair off my face, pad through the house, and pull open the heavy front door.

My blurred vision makes out a non-Makayla, non-Drake-shaped figure. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular chest. Distinctly male. Holding a backpack.

Blinking several times, I focus on startling blue eyes and soft, golden hair.

Jake.

Shock mercilessly slaps me into acute awareness. “What are you doing here?”

He frowns and peers over my shoulder. “What are
you
doing here? Makayla said you’d moved out of your apartment, but I didn’t think you would move into a house especially after…” He grimaces and cuts himself off.

After I lost my job. Great. Just what I need. Another reminder.

“Sorry.”

I shrug and make a mental note never to speak to my busybody friend again. Why is she talking to people about me when she knows I just want to drop off the face of the Earth?

“This is my grandmother’s house. She died last year and left it to me in her will. I used to come here and stay with her when I was really lonely at home. It’s too much for one person, but I haven’t decided what to do with it yet.” He doesn’t need to know I had to give up my apartment because I could no longer afford the rent.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Jake pushes his way past me and marches into the house, dropping his backpack on the table.

“Um…can I help you?”

“Interesting place. Not a lot of houses left in Oakland with this much character. I’ll just take a look around.”

For the next ten minutes, I trail after him as he thumps walls, taps windows, jumps on floorboards, and opens and closes cupboards and doors.

“Good house.” He takes a look around the kitchen and then leans against the counter. “Clean lines, strong foundation, impeccably framed. Tons of character with all the period details and the wood floors, and I see you still like the country chic decor. But if you’re serious about selling, the inside needs updating and it could use a new roof and windows.”

Irritated by the intrusion and missing the warmth of my bed, I snap, “Well, seeing as I have no job, that won’t be happening any time soon.”

He flinches and I immediately apologize. But seriously, why is he here? Why won’t he just go and leave me in peace? Desperate to get away from the sudden onslaught of emotion and back to the numb stupor of the last few weeks, I put my hands on my hips. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Jake’s gaze drops to my chest and he sucks in a sharp breath. Then his eyes travel down my body. And up. And down. And part way up. And stop.

My cheeks heat. I am suddenly and uncomfortably aware I am wearing a pajama tank top and shorts and nothing else. Like a bra or panties. My attire for the last few weeks is not really appropriate for visitors. Especially male visitors. Not that it seems to bother Drake when he stops by every few days to feed me coffee and donuts and harass me about getting out of the house. But with Jake…

“Maybe I’ll go put on some clothes.” My voice barely rises above a whisper.

His jaw tightens. “S’okay. I’m not staying. I just came to deliver the backpack for Makayla. I was up at Grizzly Peak chilling with Max when she came back from shopping. She said you weren’t looking after yourself, so she’d bought a load of food and other stuff she thought you might need. But she got paged for the ambulance crew just as she was walking out the door so she asked me to bring it.”

“Thanks.” I try to sound thankful when all I really want is to get my hands around the throat of my interfering best friend. My grandmother’s house is only fifteen minutes from Max’s place and Makayla virtually has to drive right past if she takes the Warren Freeway into work, which she almost always does.

“Not a problem. I was heading to Redemption and you were only a couple minutes out of my way.”

“Are you teaching tonight?”

“No. Just going a few rounds in the practice ring, but if I ever get the company back in the black or convince my family to sell, I might start training seriously again and try to work my way through the amateurs.”

“Why did you agree to run the company if it’s not what you want to do?”

His jaw tightens. “Peter was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago and my dad fell apart. He was going to lose everything he had worked for. I couldn’t let that happen. In the end, they are my family.”

“I’m so sorry about Peter.” My throat tightens with sympathy. “Makayla told me about the accident. I called but I got your voice mail, so I left a message…” Jake hardly talked about his family when we were together, but I knew he and his brother, Peter, were close.

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks. I just wasn’t up to speaking to anyone at the time.” He opens my squeaky cutlery drawer and closes it. Open.
Squeak
. Close. Open.
Squeak
. Close. Then he opens it and frowns. Suddenly all my cutlery is on the counter and my drawer is upside down on the table. He grabs a bread knife and viciously attacks one of the screws on the rail.

“Dad was so happy when I took over the company. Said it was the first useful thing I’d done with my life. But I prefer to be outdoors, working with my hands, rather than stuck in an office all day. And I’d rather live in a place like this…lotsa space with a big backyard so I could get a dog like I had when I was a kid, but I had to get a condo in the city so I could be close to work.” He replaces the drawer and gives it a test.

Open. Close. Open. Close. No squeaks.

“All fixed.”

“Thanks.” I fiddle with my bracelet in the awkward silence that follows. Why is he sticking around? As if the depths of my despair aren’t deep enough without having to watch him strut his perfectly toned body around my house.

His gaze rakes over me in an entirely assessing and nonsexual way and then he frowns. “Makayla was right. You’ve lost weight. I’ll fix you something to eat before I go.”

Ummm…hello?
But then, this is Jake, and once he makes up his mind about something, he doesn’t let trivial things like manners or what other people want or not knowing how to use a stove get in the way.

“You’re going to cook?”

“Yes.” He points to the stool at the kitchen counter. “Now sit while I whip up a gourmet feast.”

“You?” I don’t sit because first, I have no food; and second, I never once saw Jake in front of a stove the entire time we were going out. He lived on protein shakes, protein bars, and meat lover’s pizza, hold the crust.

Jake pulls open the fridge door and frowns over his shoulder. “There’s nothing in here. When did you last eat?”

“I can’t remember.”

“How can you not remember when you last ate?” His incredulous look is almost comical.

I give a theatrical valley girl sigh to hide the emotion welling up inside me. On top of everything else, seeing Jake making himself at home in my kitchen is just too much. I just want to retreat back to the warm, cozy darkness of my bedroom. “Eating isn’t important. Nothing is important. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not really hungry so I’m going back to bed.”

Before I even make it halfway across the kitchen, Jake grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Makayla said you haven’t left the house since you got discharged from the hospital. She said if she hadn’t done your shopping, you would’ve starved to death. She thinks you’re depressed.”

“You know Makayla.” I sigh and wrench my arm out of his grip. “She’s prone to exaggeration.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t you think two weeks is enough? Don’t you think it’s time to rejoin the world?”

My hands ball into fists and I press my lips together. Who is he to waltz in here and tell me how to run or not run my life?

“Jake?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you for bringing the backpack and fixing the drawer and offering to make me dinner. It was lovely to see you, but I have sleeping to get back to. Good-bye.” I may be depressed, but at least
I
have manners.

With a firm click, I flick off the kitchen lights and stomp up the stairs to my bedroom. My home away from home when I was growing up. Grandma and I decorated it together over the years—first, the bed with its wrought iron frame, then the antique night table and a chest of drawers. Over the years we added a desk, repainted the walls a soft lilac, and sewed soft furnishings in country-chic pastel colors. It is the one place I feel I belong. Safe. Loved.

As I throw back the covers, a floorboard creaks behind me.

“Now what?” I spin around and glare.

Jake leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, biceps bulging under his tight, white T-shirt.

Tease.

“I’m giving you a choice.” His voice drops from conciliatory to commanding. “Option one. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We stay here and I cook up whatever is in that backpack. Option two. You shower. Get dressed. Do girly things. We grab some burgers. You come to Redemption. Say hi to the guys. Watch me fight. We go for more burgers. I take you home.”

My brow wrinkles with a frown. “How about option three? Amanda stays in her pajamas, climbs back into bed, and goes to sleep. I haven’t fully recovered. Maybe in a few more weeks.”

“Makayla says the doctor gave you the all clear.”

And that’s one less person on my Christmas list. The backpack was definitely a setup. “Makayla talks too much.”

“She loves you,” Jake says quietly. “She’s worried about you. She says she’s never seen you like this. She thinks you’ve given up.”

With a groan, I puff my pillows and slide under my fluffy down comforter. “I haven’t given up. I’m taking a break from life. I’m catching up on all the sleep I lost while I fruitlessly banged my head against the partnership wall at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m healing my battered body and soul. Eventually, I’ll find a job at another big firm and redeem myself in my parents’ eyes. But not right now.”

Jake crosses the room in two long strides and whips the comforter off the bed. “Yes now. You need to face the world or life’s gonna get tired of waiting for you.”

In my fury, I think nothing about snatching the cover out of the hands of a glaring six-foot-two tattooed fighter with a bee in his bonnet. I rearrange the blankets over myself and sink into the pillows. “You can see yourself out. I’m taking option three. I’m exhausted from all this talking.”

His eyes narrow. “There is no option three. Right now, you’re going to take a shower and eat. Tomorrow, you’re going to look for a job—”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

Torn between being extremely irritated and highly amused, I fold my arms and revert back to the taunting voice of my childhood. “You and what army?”

“Shower,” he barks like a drill sergeant.

“Go to hell,” I respond like a clueless new recruit.

Wrong thing to say. Down goes the comforter. Up goes Amanda. I screech as he secures me over his strong shoulder, my ass in the air, my legs pinned tight against his broad chest.

“Beast. Let me go.” My fists thud uselessly against his tight ass.

Jake rumbles a laugh. “Oh, I will.”

He dumps me unceremoniously in the shower, and before I can escape, he turns on the freezing cold water. With a wicked grin, he bolts and closes the door behind him, laughing when I yell obscenities at his departing back. “You are going to be so damn sorry.”

Half an hour later, showered and dressed for the first time in I don’t know how long, my “girly stuff,” aka makeup and hair, done, I descend the stairs. Jake is tapping a wall with a small hammer and muttering to himself about plaster.

“Ahem.”

He spins around and I pose for him in the only clean pair of jeans I own, a sparkly tank top, and kitten heels.

A grin splits his face. “Wow. You do clean up well.”

“Now it’s your turn.” I give him an evil smile before I drench him with the pitcher of freezing water I had been holding behind my back.

His shocked expression is worth the risk. His subtly raised eyebrow and menacing growl are not. Laughing, I race through the house, but my heels slide on the hardwood floor and Jake catches me around the waist before I can make it to the patio doors.

“You know better than that.” His fingers dig under my ribs, tickling me until I can barely breathe. My heart squeezes in my chest. This is how it used to be between us. Fun. Playful. Hot.

“Let me go.” I mock a growl. “You know I hate being tickled.”

His arms tighten around me and his lips brush over the sensitive skin of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. I try to wriggle away from his sodden clothes. I wiggle and wriggle.

“Amanda…stop.” His words are barely more than a pained whisper, but I freeze instantly and for the longest moment he holds me against him. His face buried in my hair. His heaving chest pressed against my back. His erection nestled into the crack of my ass.

Oh
God.

“Sorry.” Pulse racing, I wrench myself away and half turn toward the stairs. “I’ll get you a towel.”

Before my brain has even processed that he has moved, I’m in his arms, my breasts pressed tight against his rock-solid body.

“I have a towel,” he rasps, deep and low. “And she’s not running away.”

So hot. So hard. So utterly masculine. One slide of my body against his and my nipples tighten into hard peaks. My blood turns molten, burning its way through my veins. No one has ever aroused me the way Jake does, and even after all this time, it is clear nothing has changed.

A shudder runs through me, but when I try to step away from the tormenting rub of his body against mine, he tightens his arm around my waist and threads his fingers through my hair, gently easing my head back until I am forced to look up into eyes as dark and stormy as the ocean.