Make Me Lose Control (7 page)

But hell, this was a lake, wasn’t it? A finite body of water that meant he was caught forever within its boundaries. Any trip would only bring him back to his starting place.

To London.

To Shay.

To those misgivings that continued to emerge from the troubled pool of his thoughts.

But no, damn it, he assured himself. He’d made a decision to cut this sojourn short. The right decision.

All he needed was a little caffeine to cement that certainty.

So he turned back to the house, only to find someone else was up, as well. In the kitchen Shay was at the counter. Once more she was occupied with the coffee machine, her back to him.

The overhead light picked out gold threads in her auburn hair. The color warmed the stainless-steel-and-cement kitchen, a flame that seemed to give the place some much-needed life. A simple white T-shirt hung from her slender shoulders to brush the waist of the soft, beltless pair of denim jeans she wore. They were cuffed at the ankle to reveal her small bare feet, her toenails painted a translucent pink. Through the windows, the same shade was washing the sky as the sun began to rise over the mountains.

Jace stared at the woman, the same feeling every time he saw her rising like those vapor ghosts on the lake. It went beyond wanting her—and he wanted her very much. Maybe because she’d made him smile and laugh and, most important, take himself a little less seriously.

Just as her presence enlivened the house, for those two nights at the inn, she’d made him feel a bit more human.

Shay suddenly broke the silence. “When are you going to tell London?” she asked, her back still turned.

He blinked. She’d been aware he was standing there...admiring? Clearing his throat, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Tell her what?”

“About the change of plans.” She turned and carried a full mug of steaming coffee in his direction. His hands automatically reached for it when she held it his way. “About the upcoming summer session at the boarding school.”

“Uh...” For someone with such bright hair, her blue eyes could be so damn cool, he thought. They stabbed at him now like icy shards. “I’m not sure.”

She returned to retrieve her own thick white mug, where bold red letters proclaimed Size Matters. Jace glanced at the side of his own. Biker Chick. Huh.

“If you’re uncertain about that,” she said, gazing at him over the rim of her coffee, “perhaps it isn’t the right thing to do.”

He took a swallow of the hot dark brew. “It’s the right thing to do.” Because he was the wrong kind of man and it was certainly the wrong time—as in, too late—to try to forge a real relationship with the teen.

Shay shrugged one shoulder. The wide neck of her T-shirt slipped, revealing the lacy edge of a pale pink bra strap. Jace’s belly, and then his groin, tightened. Hell. It took just that small glimpse of intimate apparel and semiprivate flesh to get his full sexual attention.

Tightening his hold on his mug, he glanced away, trying to distract himself and the instinct that was clamoring at him.
Snatch her up
, it said.
Throw her over your shoulder.

In his bedroom, he’d toss her to the mattress, strip her bare, then fist his hands in her hair as he insinuated himself between her thighs. She’d be wet for him, and hot, and he’d lose himself in her and all the problems plaguing—

“What’s everybody doing up so early?” a new voice asked.

Jace jolted, then glanced over his shoulder to see London shuffling into the room, the hem of a plaid flannel robe flapping around her ankles, her starkly dark hair hanging in her face. Even half-asleep there didn’t seem to be any child left in her.

What did you expect?
he asked himself.
Teddy bears and Barbie dolls?

“What can I get you?” Shay asked now. “OJ?”

The girl tipped up her chin so her gaze could meet the tutor’s from behind her swathe of hair. “Espresso?”

“I don’t think so,” Shay said, shaking her head. “Green tea? Or I can make you a fruit smoothie.”

London spun around and it was then Jace noticed she was wearing slippers shaped like strawberries. Was there some little girl left inside her, after all? “I’m going back to bed,” she said around a huge yawn.

“Classwork starts at eight,” Shay called after her.

Her mumbled reply sounded sleepy.

“Why the hell do you suppose she bothered to get up?” he asked, bewildered.

Glacial blue eyes shifted once more to his face. “My guess?” Shay said. “To make sure you’re still here.”

Shit.
Jace didn’t know how to reply to that.

“It’s why you should explain what’s going on right away,” the tutor continued. “Tell her about the school, the new timetable.”

He stared into his coffee. “Maybe it would be better if it came from you.”

She made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “You’re not paying me enough for that, big guy.”

Double shit. He wasn’t. “I could—”

“Save your breath. This is all on you.”

“All right. Fine.” And he knew she was right. What he didn’t know was exactly how to explain it to London. Still, after a quick breakfast and a detour to his room, his determination got him to the upstairs study area in a timely fashion.

Or not so timely, he realized, when he saw London in front of a computer, already perusing what looked to be some complicated math problems on the desktop’s monitor. It was 8:05 a.m.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as the girl and her tutor looked up. “At it already?”

Shay had an essay in front of her, a red pen poised over it. “London loves her quadratic equations.”

The teen rolled her eyes—once again circled with that black somewhat disturbing makeup. “I don’t love anything.”

Jace had no adequate response. But he couldn’t just walk away, either. “Do you mind if I hang out awhile?” His gaze went to Shay. “I’ll keep quiet.”

“Or not,” she murmured, sending him a significant look.

Ignoring it, he pulled out a chair on the same side of the table as his daughter. While she continued to work, he drew a science textbook toward him and began turning pages.

At the scratch of pencil on paper, he looked over. London was intent on the numbers she’d transferred there. The computer monitor had changed to screensaver mode. Photographs popped onto the screen like rabbits from a hat before being sucked down again and another moved into view. Jace stared at image after image of his ex-wife.

After a couple of minutes, he became aware of London. Her head was up and she was as focused on him as he’d been on the screen. He floundered for something to say.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Those are good. Very good likenesses of your mother. Did you take them?”

The girl nodded.

“She was a beautiful woman,” he said. Though she looked more mature in the photographs than he remembered, of course, there was still that knockout figure, the beautiful flow of light brown hair hanging down her back and her vivacious smile.

“Is that why you married her?” London asked. “Because she was beautiful?”

His grin felt rueful. “It certainly didn’t hurt. I was twenty-one.”

“She was older, right?” the teen said. “Like, a cougar.”

“No.” He laughed and he glanced across the table to gauge Shay’s reaction. She didn’t appear to be listening, her focus still on the essay, the red pen moving along. “Your mother was only five years older than me. I met her when I was doing some moonlighting at her house—where she lived with her father.”

London tilted her head. “‘Moonlighting’?”

“A second job.” He closed the science textbook and shifted his chair to more fully face the teen. “I had a day position, but I also made extra money by doing some building on the side...weekends and evenings.” Hal Olson, the construction firm owner he worked for Monday through Friday, had promised if Jace could get some cash together he’d let him buy into a slice of one of the company’s new projects. Canny as all get-out, but already feeling the ill effects of the disease that would finally take his life, the old man had tapped into Jace’s ambition and unflagging drive.

For a long time he’d thought those same qualities had doomed his marriage. Later, he’d understood that Elsa’s agenda had been part of the problem, too.

But when he was twenty-one... “I remember the first time I saw her. I was up on the roof of the garage, and she sped into the circular drive in her white convertible, her hair waving in the wind like a flag. She looked up at me, gave a jaunty wave and...”

“And?” London’s prompt was oh-so-casual.

“And we ended up getting married.” Though in his mind there’d been no hurry to get rings. He would have been content to date Elsa—yes, and bed her. Six months later, however, she’d come to him with the news of her pregnancy and the suggestion of a quick trip to Las Vegas. Jace had considered marrying the mother of his child the right thing to do, despite her father’s fury.

“But then my mom went to London.”

“Then your mom went to London. There were some issues with her family she wanted to get away from. And I...I had financial responsibilities in LA that meant I couldn’t leave with her.” By then, Hal Olson was clearly losing his fight with cancer and wanted Jace to take over the company, giving him a big piece of it so that he would keep Olson Construction in business. That way, Hal had ensured a future income for his young grandchildren.

“But I did come visit you,” Jace said. “Do you remember that?”

London was looking down now, her pencil in hand as she drew idly on her paper. What did girls doodle? He was a swords-and-stacks-of-boxes kind of guy. These looked like tiny circles or maybe a bed of flowers.

“I think I’ve seen some photos of us together,” she said, frowning a little. “Or maybe they’re memories. I’m not sure.”

“Every couple of months I came to see you, until you were about five.” Things had gotten sticky with Elsa after that. She’d filed for divorce and then he’d taken the company international, which meant long periods of time in India, Vietnam, China. He cleared his throat again, wondering how much to say. “I should have kept up my visits. Your mom...”

“You don’t have to say it.” London glanced over, her voice lowering. “I knew my mom pretty well.”

Shit.
A kid shouldn’t have to sound like that, like
she’d
been the adult in the relationship. He wanted to punch his own face again. At the time, he’d done what he’d thought was best, sending money, sending—

“Really, it’s all right,” the teen said. “She could be lots of fun. Exciting to be around, you know? In a drama-rama kind of way.”

Yeah, he knew. But he also knew that at this moment the kid sounded like she was a fifty instead of fifteen.

London had scribbled a field of flowers now. “And you know what? She was really good at picking books.”

Everything inside Jace froze. If he moved, he thought he might crack in two. “Oh?” he managed.

“Mmm-hmm. Every month or so she’d give me two or three—some just out, others that were old but I’d never read before.”

There was pain in his chest and pain at the base of his skull. They both throbbed in time to the dirge of his heartbeat. “That’s...that’s great. A nice memory. A very nice memory.”

The computer screen had gone black now and Jace was grateful his ex’s image was gone. He put his hand to the back of his neck and tried to massage away the discomfort.

“Jace?”

Masking a wince, he shifted toward Shay, who was staring at him from the other side of the table.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

No. He’d never be all right. But his relationships with those who should be closest to him had been a disaster for years.

This conversation was only more proof that he was better on his own. The lone wolf, howling at the moon, but at least hurting as few people as possible.

“Jace?”

Shay sounded more concerned. He couldn’t look at her pretty face as it would only make the ache sharper. “It’s the altitude again,” he mumbled. “I’ll get some water and be right back.”

No lie. He went for water. And then for fresh air. He took a few minutes to stretch out on a lounge chair in the shade on the deck, letting the gentle breeze flow over him.

He awoke sometime later, disoriented. The angle of the sun said he’d slept for hours. Damn jet lag. Someone had draped a soft throw over him. He fingered it. The loosely woven wool was the same color as Shay’s eyes.

Tossing it over his arm, he got to his feet then made his way into the house. A note was left in the kitchen, he guessed in Shay’s handwriting: “Sandwich for you in the fridge.”

Another was propped on the table in the study area. “We’re out walking.” Bemused, he stared at the spray of daisies penciled in one corner. Shay’s hand again, his daughter’s drawing. Without his permission, his fingers reached out to snatch the small piece of paper.

“We’re out walking,” he read again.

Which meant he couldn’t yet tell the teen about the change of plans. Something tight inside him loosened. He breathed in deeply, breathed out. As he shoved the note in his back pocket, he wondered why, if it were such a good idea to make a quick, clean break with his daughter, he felt such immense relief at the postponement of imparting the news.

CHAPTER SIX

L
ONDON
HURRIED
AWAY
from the house, trying to leave behind her father and all thoughts of him, as fast as her feet could carry her.

He wasn’t a bad guy, she supposed. Not pushy, and not too parental. Maybe Shay had already shared with him how London was doing with her schoolwork, but she was still glad he hadn’t hovered over her shoulder that morning, eager to insert commas or double-check her computations.

They’d conversed about her mother, and that hadn’t been so terrible, either. It was kind of interesting to picture Jace up on a roof, her mother catching his attention as she drove by. Her mother had been like that— eye-catching. London had seen other men falling all over themselves in order to get her mom’s notice...and then try to keep it.

But Elsa had been like a hummingbird. Flying high, dipping low, never stopping in one place for long...or with one man.

So London didn’t blame her father for the divorce.

And maybe it was London’s own fault that being around him made her feel...juvenile. She’d had to clamp down on the urge to turn his way and grill him on what he recalled of her baby self. To ask him if he’d ever twirled her around, her legs swinging out behind her. To wonder aloud if once upon a time she’d sat in his lap, her head against his chest, while his heartbeat was in one ear and his storytelling voice in the other. Was it a real memory or some silly ancient wish?

But it was dumb to dwell on that. She wasn’t some little girl with a need for her daddy!

Mortified by the mere idea of it, London gave an extrahard shove to the door of the abandoned boathouse. The slivered wood swung open with a creak and crashed against the wall, setting a wrinkled piece of paper scurrying along the carpeting. She kicked at the sheet, sending it on another scuttle, then she plopped onto one of the tattered cushions.

With her toe, she caught the door then pushed it closed. Sunlight was strained through the chinks and cracks in the old walls, making the unlit interior murky. Though the day was warm, it wasn’t too hot inside the boathouse, those same chinks and cracks allowing the lake breeze to worm its way in and cool the temperature. London drew up her knees and yanked the oversize black sweatshirt she wore over them. She propped her stacked hands on her knees and her chin on her knuckles.

A dark ball of teenager who didn’t need anyone.

She wriggled her butt into the thin pad and stared ahead at nothing. Her bum was turning numb and despite herself she began mentally reviewing her Spanish vocabulary when the door swung open.

London’s skin went hot beneath her clothes as she lifted her gaze to the backlit figure filling the entry. The sun dazzled her eyes, but she knew who had come to the hideout, interrupting her solitary interlude.

“England,” Colton Halliday said in greeting.

She straightened, pushing her shoulders to the wall and shoving her legs out in front of her. Her fingers tugged at the stretched-out hem of her sweatshirt. “Um, hi. Fancy, uh, seeing you again so soon.” Not for a driver’s license and a car to go with it would she admit she’d come this way—ditching Shay in the process by insisting on a solo walk—with the vague hope that she might meet him here again.

And it was vague. While she’d only been to the place once at night—last night—she’d visited other times during the day and hadn’t encountered a soul. Her breath caught as a brilliant thought flashed through her mind. Had he come in hopes of running into
her
?

Colton stepped inside, his leather flip-flops snapping against the bottoms of his feet. He wore with them a T-shirt, shorts and a faint shampoo smell. Leaving the door open so the light streamed inside, he looked about him. “Have you seen a wallet? I think I might have dropped mine in here yesterday.”

Hopes dashed, London shook her head. No, he hadn’t anticipated seeing her again. Lying about being seventeen hadn’t made her a jot more interesting. Or maybe he’d caught on to her freak-ness. How could he not? Hadn’t she spilled about her mother’s death and then about being homeschooled?

She couldn’t imagine what he’d think if he knew she’d been separated from her father for ten years. Well, yes, she could very well imagine. Colton would think...

Freak.

“That’s some fierce expression you’re wearing.” He crouched beside her, then made a small cry of triumph. “There it is.” One long tanned arm stretched out to snatch a wallet from beneath a ragged piece of beach towel. “Whew.”

He stood to shove it in his front pocket, then dropped onto the floor beside her. “I would’ve hated to lose that.”

Lost in her low mood, London didn’t answer.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Is it something I said?” He lifted his elbow and pretended to sniff his armpit. “Do I stink or something?”

“No!” A smile tried tugging at the corners of her mouth. This close he smelled even more strongly of shampoo. His hair, she realized, was still damp from a recent wash. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be out of school?”

“Minimum day. Played some pickup roundball once we got out, then when I was showering after, I remembered where I might have left my wallet.”

London thought of him naked, water running over his skin, and felt herself go hot again. To disguise her blush, she tried pulling more of her hair over her face.

“You’re pretty, you know,” he said, all casual and cool, as if doling out compliments was something that came naturally to him.

“No, I’m not.” How else was she supposed to answer?

He nudged her with his shoulder again. “Sure, you are. Though I’m not certain black is your best color.”

Mortification sluiced through her and she hunched in on herself. “So you’re a fashion consultant?”

He grinned. “Nope. Have a younger sister. Go to school with a bunch of other girls.”

London sniffed. “Black is classic.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “But it’s almost summer. Pretty soon it’ll get too hot for jeans and hoodies.”

It was too hot for jeans and hoodies now. Upon arriving at Blue Arrow Lake she’d realized that she didn’t dress like the other girls—and that her dark makeup and dyed hair didn’t make her fit in, either. But London hadn’t a clue how to shop...and hadn’t anyone to ask to go to stores with her.

Though she wanted so badly to be like any other American teen, she had no idea how to remake herself. A girl at her last school had dared her into the black hair and black eyeliner and mascara and she’d kept up with the style because...because...

Because it was something to hide behind.

The bright colors and limb-baring clothes the Southern California mountain girls wore wouldn’t allow that. Short shorts with suede boots. Sun dresses with surfer-girl sandals.

If she wore things like that, would Colton like what they revealed?

“England,” he said, his voice serious, “things can’t go on like this.”

She glanced over at him. “Like what?”

“I usually amaze girls, you know. I don’t make them frown. I hardly ever get the silent treatment.”

Now she detected humor and it eased her discomfort a little. “Is that so? You amaze them?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. And with little effort. But you seem to be an especially hard nut to crack. Which means I’m going to have to bring out the big gun.”

When he reached for his front pocket, she felt her eyes go buggy. “Wh-what?”

Peering more closely at her face, he started to laugh. “Geez, England. Not that. I’m going to show you magic.”

That didn’t sound much better, but she stayed silent as he yanked out his wallet and withdrew a dollar bill. Then he made a big show of tapping it, straightening it, letting go of one end and then the other to flick it with his fingers.

“A single, right? Nothing more than a simple dollar bill?”

“Um, yes.” She shifted her glance from his hands to his face. “You’re really going to do a magic trick?”

“My one and only. Pay attention.”

Dutiful now, London focused on the bill. He made a show of folding it this way and that, until it was a square. Then, with his other hand cupped beneath, he pinched it between two fingers. A quarter plopped into his cupped palm.

London blinked. “Hey...” She frowned. “Do it again.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

He slid his hands behind his back and then brought them forward again, the coin gone, the dollar straightened once more. For a second time, he squeezed a quarter from the folded bill.

“Let me see that,” she said, reaching for the cash.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he said, holding it over his head. “Magicians never give away their secrets.”

Too dignified to pout, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Then show me again.”

At the third performance of the trick, she finally shook her head. “I give up. You
are
amazing.”

His expression turned smug. “I knew I could make you smile.”

And she was, she realized. Smiling. At some silly parlor game that would entertain a child. London yanked at her hair again, wishing she could disappear behind it forever. “I probably seem like some weird little kid to you. Who wears the wrong clothes and smiles at the wrong things.”

“Hey—”

“You said I was a nut. A freak.”

“Hey.”
He grabbed her hand, squeezed. “Hard nut to crack. It’s an expression.”

“I know that,” she mumbled, her attention focused on her fingers. No, on his. Those long, bony,
boy
fingers.

This was a first. No boy had ever touched her. No boy had ever held her hand.

“You’re not a freak,” Colton said.

By degrees, her chin lifted, and her gaze shifted to meet his. Blue, blue eyes.

The room shrank.

Colton dropped her hand, jumped up. “Do you want to do something?”

London’s heart felt like it was unloosed in her chest. “Do what?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced around, then paced to the door. His hands gripped the jamb and he stared out at the water. “Go for a walk. Or if we had access to a boat...”

Access to a boat.

London swallowed and got to her feet. Access to a boat was something a seventeen-year-old who lived on this lake would have. “You know how to drive one?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Sure.”

What had she thought last night? That she was the master of her fate. The captain of her soul.

She curled her fingers into her palm to savor the memory of his hand in hers. Not a little girl. Not a freak. Seventeen. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

S
HAY
’
S
FEET
STUTTERED
as she stepped into the kitchen to find Jace standing by the sink, his gaze on something in his hand. He looked over, shoved whatever it was in his pocket and leaned against the countertop. His arms crossed his chest and she tried not to notice his masculine breadth and strength. But the raw power he exuded made her feel breathless and achingly female.

“Did you have a nice walk?” he asked.

A polite comment, so she felt compelled to answer it in a similar tone as she continued forward. “Yes, thanks.” Leaving plenty of room between their bodies, she crossed to a cupboard and grabbed a glass. She’d top it off with the cold tea in the fridge then escape. Hide out in her room, where she planned to spend as much time as possible until the remaining weeks of her employment were completed.

“London’s not with you?”

She briefly glanced over her shoulder. “She’s fifteen, not five. I let her off the leash on occasion.”

“Yeah. Well.”

Even with her back turned, she sensed his eyes on her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the top of her head, between her shoulder blades, along the bare length of leg that showed beneath her skirt. It was a swingy cotton thing, not especially short, but now even the backs of her knees felt too...bare.

With careful movements, she returned the pitcher to its shelf and took a breath in preparation for getting out of his company as soon as possible. Her hand clutched the glass, which was already starting to sweat. “You’re feeling better now?”

Damn. The words just popped out of her mouth. She didn’t want to engage him in further conversation. She didn’t want to think about him or his headache or the bits of his life that she’d gleaned when listening to his conversation with London that morning. In order not to interrupt the moment, she’d played fly on the wall, but she’d taken in every sentence.

“Better. Thanks.”

“That’s good to hear.” And because she meant it, she grimaced. Poppy was the soft heart in the family, not Shay. Why feel concern for the man who was canning her as well as walking away from the daughter he barely knew?

Every couple of months I came to see you, until you were about five.

He’d said that to the girl, though, and it implied there was more to the story—

No. None of that was her business.

The hem of her skirt flew up as she turned, ready to hurry away. Her free palm clapped the lifting fabric against her leg but she saw Jace’s gaze had flicked to the inches of thigh the move had momentarily revealed. Ignoring the flutter in her belly, she began to step past him.

He caught her shoulder.

“Hey—” Her protest halted at the expression on his face. His brows were drawn together, and he stared out the window over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Hell,” he said. “Is that...? That’s...”

Shay twisted her head, peering in the same direction. A boat was motoring away from the dock and out of the shallow cove. The berth that belonged to the house was empty.

Her jaw dropped. “Who...?”

Jace’s expression turned grimmer. “If my eyes didn’t deceive me, that’s my daughter in that boat.”

Then he took off.

“The
Fun & Games
? It can’t be,” Shay protested, trying to keep up with him as he pushed through the back door and crossed the deck. “She doesn’t know how to drive.”

He shot a glance at her. “There was a boy at the wheel.”

A boy? Astonished, Shay froze, allowing Jace to pull away. Then she sprinted to catch up with him. “She doesn’t know any boys,” she said, already breathless.