Fight From The Heart (Heart Collection #4) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,4
and realize I’m not wearing what I came to his house in. Instead, I’m wearing a large T-shirt that smells very much like Jacob. The clove fragrance is intoxicating, and I shouldn’t be thinking of his scent or anything else about him—like how close he is to me, or how he’s looking at me right now, or the fact . . . I’m in Jacob’s bed.
“Did you undress me?”
Jacob holds a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re upset that I took your clothes off.” He slowly smiles, finding humor in his own words. “You know I’ve been dying to do that for years as well.”
He’s a liar. He’s a lying liar who lies. Jacob Vincent has never once wanted to remove my clothes or take me to his bed, and I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion. I glance down. I’m not wearing a bra, only my underwear and his T-shirt. My head pops up, eyes widening. Oh my God, Jacob has seen me naked—all large-breasted, curvy-hipped, not quite flat belly of me.
I’m mortified. Like dear God, come and take me because I can never look at this man again.
“Relax, Lilac,” he says, his lips slowly curling. “I didn’t check out the goods.” However, as he speaks, his eyes lower, more like a flick downward before flashing back up to my face, which heats the rest of my body. I’m suddenly warm everywhere, only I can’t kick off the covers because I’m hardly wearing anything.
My thoughts race. Have I shaved my legs recently? When was the last time I trimmed the privates? Did he notice the roll of my belly? My eyes close. My throbbing headache pulses faster than my heart.
“Lilac, could you please lie back down? You need rest, angel.”
The softness of his voice could break me if I wasn’t already weak and wondering what was happening. He twists again for the top of his low bookcase and hands me a glass of water, then holds out two pills.
“Nurse’s orders. Every four hours.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t know any nurses. He’s more of a recluse, so he hardly knows anyone here. He’s a writer-in-the-woods kind of guy. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement after we met and he asked me to work for him, so I wouldn’t reveal who he was or where he lived. I don’t dare ask him who he knows that’s a nurse because I’m certain I’ll hear about some skank he was with when he was on a break with his on-again, off-again girlfriend. They’ve been together as long as I’ve known him.
Willingly taking the two pain pills, I sip the water, hoping the fever reducer will kick in quickly so I can dress and get the heck out of Dodge.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” he warns me as if reading my thoughts.
“You know I have another job.” I remind him of my work at Mae’s Flower Shop, but Jacob only shakes his head.
“And you aren’t going to your other job anytime soon. You’re sick, and you’re not leaving me.” His head pops up. “I mean, here. You aren’t leaving my bed.” His voice drops on the last statement, and the heat of my body alleviates. How I’ve longed to hear those words said with such intention, but he’s only making the demand because of my condition.
“Which brings me back to why am I in your bed?” His stepsister has a room on the opposite end of the house. She isn’t using it, and I could be in there. He also has a guest bedroom on the first floor behind the kitchen. I could be in that room as well.
“Because I want you close to me. I can take care of you better in here.” He looks away from me, reaching for his laptop as if signaling the end of this conversation. I’m dismissed. Taking a moment, I observe his profile. Those etched cheeks. The slight crook to his nose. The pout of his lips. The line of stubble along his jaw. He has a sexy, fighting Irish vibe about him. However, he’s hurting while he’s hunting for gold at the end of some unforeseeable rainbow. Jacob never seems truly happy. He smiles, and he jokes, but he also drinks a lot to take off the edge or maybe keep something at bay. He’s almost full of as much pretend in his personal life as the fictional situations he puts on the pages of