A Taste of Honey (9 page)

No wonder she hadn’t been able to tell him she loved him.

Hot, humiliated tears burned his eyes, and he thought for a second he might barf all over her keyboard.

He had to get out of her apartment.

Grabbing his pants from where he’d dropped them last night on the living room rug, he hopped his way into them and slammed open the bedroom door. He saw her jolt awake in the corner of his eye but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. If he did, he was afraid he’d strangle her, or worse, start crying like a chick and beg her to tell him none of it was true.

Tugging his suitcase out of the closet, he started throwing his clothes inside, yanking open the dresser drawer he’d claimed and shoving in shirts, underwear, and socks. Suits, pants, dress shirts were pulled from hangers and piled on top.

“Jake, what are you doing?” Kit asked. The mere sound of her low, sleep-husky voice nearly brought him to his knees.

How could he have been so wrong? How could he not have seen her for the cold-hearted bitch she really was?

He looked at her, reclining in the bed, un-self-conscious as the sheet slipped down to reveal gorgeous breasts he’d spent a good part of last night worshipping with his lips and tongue. Despite the stabbing pain in his heart, his cock sprang to eager attention. He had his answer.

“I’m leaving,” he said, stuffing his running shoes into the corner of the suitcase. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Kit?” He paused, staring at her hard. “Or do you prefer to go by C. Teaser, since that seems to be what you truly are?”

She swallowed audibly as all the color drained from her face. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

At least she had the grace to look ashamed even if she didn’t bother to defend herself.

She clutched the sheet to her chest, looking so vulnerable that for a moment he was ready to forget everything and believe it had all been a big, harmless joke.

But phrases he’d read drifted through his mind, cutting words that had the unmistakable ring of Kit’s ruthless sense of humor.
Lately he’s been hanging on my bra straps…Some might say I’m taking advantage, but why should I turn down the chance for a little pleasure along with a side of revenge?

He shook his head, filled with disgust for both of them. “You got me, Kit, you got me real good. You wanted revenge, you have it. Congratulations. If I hurt you even half this much the first time we slept together, I’m surprised you lived through it.”

“No, Jake, you don’t understand—” She babbled something about the column, a book deal, being pressured into writing more about him even though she didn’t mean it.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I thought we were past what happened, Kit, but apparently you’re still the same hurt little girl who wants to blame everything on me so you don’t have to admit that you had as much hand in what happened as I did. I may have screwed up royally afterward, but you wanted it as much as I did.”

“That’s not true,” she sputtered, “you came on to me—”

“We both know that’s a lie.” He laughed harshly. “And it’s pathetic that you’re still trying to convince yourself it’s not. Almost as pathetic as the fact that you use what happened as an excuse to push people away, to never let anyone get close enough to have anything real with you.”

“I loved you,” she burst out, “and you tossed me away like a dirty sock! How was I ever supposed to trust anyone after that?”

“Jesus Christ, Kit, it was twelve years ago.” He pulled on a shirt and zipped up his suitcase. “Past time for you to get over it and grow the fuck up.”

T
he slamming of her front door echoed through the apartment. Kit wrapped her arms around her knees, still attempting to process what had just happened. She felt like she’d fallen asleep and woken up in some alternate universe, one in which everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Numb, she managed to drag herself out of bed. Pulling on a robe, she wandered out into the living room wondering just what in the hell she was supposed to do now. The smell of coffee permeated the room. Coffee Jake had made before he stormed out in a fury like she’d never seen.

Her laptop was on, her e-mail in-box displayed for anyone to see. A burst of righteous anger hit her. How dare Jake snoop in personal e-mail! But even in her head the words sounded hollow. She could blame Jake all she wanted, but she was the one who’d kept things hidden, the one who’d mocked and ridiculed every moment they’d shared. Sick with grief and guilt, Kit let the tears roll unchecked down her face, stunned by the depth of her pain as she thought of the things Jake had read, how betrayed he must have felt.

More betrayed than she’d felt when he’d taken her virginity and left without so much as a good-bye.

His accusations rang in her head.
You’re still the same hurt little girl who wants to blame everything on me so you don’t have to admit that you had as much hand in what happened as I did…you use what happened as an excuse to push people away…

She stumbled over to the coffeepot, poured a cup, and sank limply into a chair at her kitchen table. Staring blankly at the window over her sink, she let herself really remember that night. Jake was right. All these years she’d blamed everything on him. Painted him as an unrepentant seducer of virgins, a user who’d taken what he wanted without any regard whatsoever.

Now she allowed herself to remember that night, remembered what she’d tried so desperately to block out. How love struck she’d been by Jake, her older brother’s gorgeous best friend. How much she’d wanted him to notice her, to see her, not as a little girl, but as a woman. A sexual, desirable woman. The eagerness and fear that had coursed through her when he’d appeared on her doorstep. The way she’d employed every amateur seduction technique in her pitiful arsenal, convinced that this was her big chance to prove to Jake that she loved him, that they were meant to be together.

He may have kissed her, but she’d made the first move. Rubbing up against him on the couch. Taking off her shirt so he was sure to see there was no bra under her paper-thin tank top. And she’d encouraged him to go further, shoving his hand up her shirt and down her shorts as she’d pulled at his clothing.

And yes, the actual sex had been painful, embarrassing, and disappointing. But what had really hurt was Jake’s expression afterward. Instead of falling immediately, irrevocably in love after she’d given him the gift of her virginity, he’d looked embarrassed. Ashamed. As though he regretted what had just happened with every fiber of his being.

So instead of facing the situation like the adult she’d thought she’d been, she’d run up to her room and cried her eyes out into the belly of her teddy bear. And used the experience as an excuse to avoid love and intimacy and tears ever since.

It never occurred to her, until now, that Jake had been young too. In her eyes he’d always seemed so much older and mature. Maybe he was embarrassed and ashamed because he knew he’d botched her first time. Maybe he worried what his best friend would think about him doing his little sister on the sofa in the TV room.

And really, was it any wonder he’d never called her? What twenty-two-year-old man—boy, really—wanted to deal with a girl who’d run sobbing from the room after the first time they’d had sex?

She banged her forehead lightly on the kitchen table. God, she was such an idiot. An immature, emotionally handicapped idiot.

Maybe if she apologized…
You never chase after guys, remember?
But this was different. This was Jake. The first man she ever loved. The only man she ever loved. The man who, after all these years, proved to her that real love was possible.

Where’s your pride? Are you really going to run after him and beg him to love you?

Pride? Hah! Pride had gotten her into this mess, and Kit considered it a small sacrifice if she could get Jake to love and trust her again. She didn’t care what it took, what kind of blow her ego had to suffer. She had to get him back, had to make things right.

The question was, how?

A little over two weeks later, Kit still wasn’t sure if what she was about to do was right. Or if it would work. One thing she was sure of, though, was that the intensity of her feelings for Jake hadn’t changed. Sitting across from him at the rehearsal dinner at the Lighthouse Winery in Napa Valley, her heart felt like one giant, aching bruise.

He looked beautiful, his dark hair recently cut, gorgeous body set off perfectly in tan slacks and French blue button-down shirt. Kit wanted to think that the sharp cast to his features was due to the same inability to sleep and eat that had plagued her, but her usual confidence in her own appeal had faded considerably in the past two weeks.

She’d taken special care with her appearance tonight, carefully applying smoky eyeliner and pale lip gloss that made her mouth look like a ripe peach. Her coral print halter-neck dress was tastefully low cut, barely hinting at cleavage while leaving her arms and back bare. She could have been wearing a flour sack for all Jake seemed to care.

Jake sat across the large, round table, chatting up one of the other bridesmaids, his mouth quirked in a sly half smile at whatever she was saying. He’d managed to ignore her from the moment she walked into the room, as he had for the past two weeks, three days, and six hours.

To be fair Kit supposed he’d only actively ignored her for that first week or so. After several days of unreturned phone calls and unanswered e-mails she’d stopped trying, and instead geared herself up for confronting him here personally at Elizabeth and Michael’s wedding.

But all of her personal pep talks and plans to run him down bodily if need be fled as he glanced up, met her gaze, and looked past her as though she were a particularly uninteresting houseplant.

She couldn’t ever remember feeling this kind of utter dejection, fearing she was mere seconds away from bursting into tears and making a complete ass of herself.

She straightened her shoulders and did her best to ignore the knot of hopeless grief squeezing the life out of her. She’d come this far, and now was not the time to give up in despair. Once again she reminded herself that she was a strong woman who went after what she wanted, even if it meant beating the man she loved into submission if that’s what it took to convince him.

That’s what she’d do, she vowed. As soon she could get him alone.

Although with everyone from Grandpa Ed to fourth cousin twice removed getting up to give a toast, it could be awhile yet.

Kit’s heart gave leap when, midway through dessert, Jake got up from the table.
It’s now or never.
She whispered a little prayer, drained her wineglass for fortification, and grabbed her purse.

Weaving her way through the crowd, she made a beeline for the men’s bathroom. Perhaps it was tacky to corner a man while he stood at the urinal, but good manners were the least of her worries.

She peaked inside the men’s but found it empty. Frustrated, she started back toward the table when she saw a shadow moving across the courtyard outside. She slipped out the exit and jogged toward the figure, trying not to snap a heel in the cobblestones. “Jake,” she called, and the figure froze.

She stopped ten feet away, unable to see his face in the shadows cast by the outdoor lights. But his body language all but screamed “Get away.”

It took everything in her not to obey.

Instead she walked slowly toward him, until she was close enough to see his clenched jaw and cold glare. “Jake, please talk to me, just for a minute.”

“I don’t have anything left to say to you.”

“Fine, listen then. Or better yet,” she fumbled in her purse and extracted the sheet of paper she was looking for, “read.”

He ignored her outstretched hand. “After what you did, you think I want to read anything you’ve put on paper?”

“Why won’t you let me apologize?” she cried, nearly stamping her foot at his stubbornness.

He started to walk away, and she lunged at him, clinging to his back and refusing to let go. “Don’t walk away from me.”

He swore and choked as her forearms wrapped around his neck. “Fine. If I read this will you leave me alone?”

She nodded against his back.

Straightening his shirt, he snatched the paper out of her hand, and for a split second she was afraid he would rip it into tiny bits. Instead he brought it about two inches from his face. “Sorry.” He smirked. “Can’t read it. It’s too dark.”

“Auggh!” The Charlie Brown–like sound of frustration erupted from her throat, and Kit pulled him across the courtyard and through the first unlocked door she could find. Heavy and arched at the top, the door lead to the winery’s barrel room, she realized as she flipped on a light. “Is this okay or do you need your reading glasses?”

He scowled but started to read the “Stripping It Down” column she’d written the morning he’d discovered her secret identity. The one where she’d confessed to the world that she’d fallen madly in love with Jake.

She held her breath as he read the first few lines. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, but his expression was remote, unreadable. No reaction at all to the fact she’d admitted she was in love with him.

He finished the page and handed it back to her. “I’m sure it will be great in your book” was all he said.

The sickly kernel of hope she’d nurtured for the past two weeks shriveled and died. He wasn’t going to forgive her.

Taking the paper from his hand, she hung her head, sick with the knowledge that Jake Donovan had broken her heart, and this time she had no one but herself to blame.

Jake tried to keep his hand from shaking as he handed back the paper. He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching them into tight fists as he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and tell her he forgave her, that she could write any damn thing she pleased about him.

I’ve fallen in love…

He wanted to believe her so badly it was like a physical ache. But what if it was another lie? What if she was manipulating him to get more material?

Did he even care if she was?

Yes, he decided. His pride—at least what was left of it after he’d made a complete ass of himself and let her walk all over him—was the only thing keeping him going these days.

“There is no book,” she said, followed by a soft sniffle.

Oh Christ, she was crying? Tough, take-no-crap Kit? The sound of her tears hit him like a hammer to the solar plexus. Then her words registered. “No book?”

She shook her head. “I told them I wouldn’t include the columns about you, so they won’t move forward with the book.”

That made no sense. After he’d left San Francisco, Kit had sent him several e-mails trying to explain why she’d done what she’d done. Her explanation about the book hadn’t improved his attitude, instead proving to him that she was willing to use people she cared about to further her career. That he remained anonymous didn’t matter. How could he ever trust her when she could so easily exploit their relationship and twist it for public consumption?

Though he hadn’t forgiven her, he understood how important this book was to her career. It was her big chance to break free of her boring job at the
Tribune
and have a career writing what she wanted.

She scrubbed her eyes with her fists and sniffed again. “I know it doesn’t matter. It’s still out there on the Bustout.com site, but I couldn’t let them put it in the book. No matter how I tried to rationalize it, I couldn’t do that to us.” She paused and stared up at the ceiling in a futile effort to stop crying, before she continued in a trembling voice. “A magazine bought the rights to the column, so I’ll still have that, but the stuff about you will never see the printed page, I promise.”

Jake’s mind reeled at this. After he’d read through all the columns, he’d been so sure Kit was a manipulative bitch, willing to do anything to further her career. Now it seemed she was willing to sacrifice it all. “Why?”

“Because I love you,” she cried, sounding exasperated and none too happy about it.

He couldn’t stop the flare of warmth that pulsed through him at hearing her say the words. Not exactly the way he’d hoped to hear them, but he’d take what he could get. “Let me get this straight. You gave up a chance to sell a book to protect me, even though only you and I will ever know those columns were about me?”

She shook her head. “You couldn’t remain anonymous for long. The editor wanted to do a big publicity campaign, and people who knew about us would put two and two together. It wasn’t worth hurting you more. And it wasn’t fair to you, the way I used the column to get revenge for something I should have gotten over a long time ago.”

Tears poured down her cheeks, her full pink lips trembling at the corners. She always tried so hard to be tough, unemotional, and now she didn’t bother to hide her hurt and shame. Or her love. He knew how hard it was for her to admit she cared, to lay herself on the line. Gone was her bravado and confidence. Kit was once again the naïve teenager waiting to have her heart crushed.

God knew he wasn’t the man to do it. A slow smile spread across Jake’s face as he pulled her into his arms, imagining those green-eyed, black-haired babies she’d mentioned in her column. She stiffened a moment, then melted against him, her body going boneless as she leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, sighing like she’d found the one safe haven in the world.

She tilted her head back and looked at him with big, gray, mascara-smeared eyes. “Forgive me?”

Jake could barely speak past the lump in his own throat. “Yeah.” It sounded like a croak. He kissed her, tasting salt and Kit, and it felt so good it almost hurt. His lips traced over her cheeks, forehead, even the tip of her red nose. “I want you to write your book, Kit.” She started to shake her head. “It doesn’t matter what you said, as long as I know the truth.”