His Secret Love by Ava Ryan
2
Jake
Holy shit.
It’s her.
I pull up short as rapid-fire first impressions overtake all rational thought.
She’s taller than I expected. Fit. Her swinging, chin-length hair is more auburn than red, with coppery streaks that catch the light. Her skin is honeyed rather than fair, with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Minimal makeup. A cute white top and faded jeans. A wicked smile because she knows she’s caught me off guard.
Her eyes…
Like I said, holy shit.
They’re riveting behind her tortoiseshell glasses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with true green eyes before. I’m not talking about that vague hazel color that can’t decide whether it wants to be green or brown when it grows up. I’m talking about a vivid green that’s the color of Ireland when you picture it in your mind. The color of emeralds so fine that only Queen Elizabeth or Mariah Carey could afford them. Which maybe accounts for their enhanced sparkle because, let me assure you, this kind of wattage is not normal.
She smells like a handful of berries fucked a bouquet of flowers and produced the type of scent that Aphrodite wore when they appointed her the goddess of sex.
“Hey,” she says, topping it all off with the sort of mellow voice you’d love to have whispering your name in your ear when you come. She gives me a swift once-over that causes color to bloom in her cheeks. I’m taking that as a positive sign. “I’m Skye.”
She certainly is.
With that introduction, I make it my life’s ambition to fuck this woman soon and often. Once I, you know, solve world hunger and establish peace on earth. Oh, and make sure my kids grow up healthy, happy and kind.
So much for proving there’s nothing special about her.
“Hey,” I say, working hard to get my brain back online. I mean to smile back at her, but it appears I’ve lost the ability to multitask.
“Not what you were expecting?” she asks, her own smile fading.
“A thousand percent more than I was expecting. Let me assure you.”
“That’s good to hear,” she says, her re-blossoming grin glorious enough to give me heart palpitations. “A lot of times there’s a little hug and kiss when you first meet, so I thought I’d better check.”
I give that some quick thought. “I’m not sure how many hugs and kisses I’m going to get tonight, so I’m going to save it.”
One of her delicate brows goes up. “Is it saved or waived?”
“Oh, it’s definitely saved.” I extend a hand because I still want to touch her, the sooner the better. “Jake.”
“Great to meet you, Jake.”
Another set of jumbled impressions hits me as we shake.
Great eye contact. Firm grip. Soft hands. Crackling electricity.
I’m in love.
My dick is, anyway.
“Just to let you in on a little secret—I figured it was you,” she says. “You look exactly like your picture. Although you look very fancy tonight. Is this your standard bookstore outfit? It looks like we’re going on two separate dates.”
“Interesting pick, by the way. Bookstore.”
“Like I said, it weeds out the assholes. Like inviting a suspected vampire to join you for church on Sunday to see how he reacts.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Well, you passed the test. Great suit.”
“I like to be prepared for any contingency,” I say. “What if we go for drinks?”
“Not dinner?”
To prolong my time with her and see what she will say next? I’m happy to stage a progressive dinner all over the island of Manhattan, with every course of every meal served at a different restaurant. At this point, I’m aiming for drinks, dinner and breakfast tomorrow morning.
But I don’t want to come on too strong at this early juncture. No need to mention that, in an abundance of hope, I scoped out several local upscale bars and made reservations at about five restaurants within a several-block radius of the bookstore, all at varying times.
I prefer not to leave things to chance.
“I’m not ruling out dinner. It’s firmly on the table as an option. I don’t want you getting hangry on my watch. Or diagnosing me as an asshole.”
“Look at you. Points for paying attention.”
“I always pay attention. Nice glasses, by the way.”
“You like them?” she asks, giving them a minute adjustment. “Sometimes men act funny when I show up wearing them. They help weed out the assholes.”
As if I’m a big enough fool to let something inconsequential like glasses affect my impression of a woman like this.
“I absolutely like them. I feel like I need a buffer between me and those eyes of yours while I get acclimated.”
“What about my eyes?”
“They’re dazzling. Use them with care tonight. Maybe click the safety back on.”
She hesitates, the air sizzling between us.
“Wow,” she says, looking a little breathless now. “You’re good.”
“I’m serious,” I say, and I am.
“Yet you walk around with no sunglasses on,” she says. “Is that fair?”
I’m embarrassed to admit that I have nothing to say to that. Words aren’t easy to come by when I’m so consumed with doing the socially acceptable thing and keeping my hands to myself instead of, say, hurrying her behind the nearest bookshelf and kissing her senseless. So it’s a good thing when the friendly neighborhood bookseller who greeted me pops up just then, startling me with this reminder that the rest of the world still exists.
“How are we doing over here, folks?” she asks brightly. “Help you find anything?”
“I think we’re good,” Skye quickly says. “But I will give a shout if we—”
“Actually, I’m in the market for a philosophy book,” I say. “Anything in the original Greek would be great.”
Bookseller’s brows shoot up, but Skye bursts into throaty laughter that feels like both a lotto win and an injection of undiluted sunshine into my veins.
“Oh, no,” she cries. “And you showed such promise.”
“What?” I keep a straight face, a feat that feels like defying gravity. “What if this whole date goes south on me? I’m going to need some sort of entertainment for the rest of the evening. I’m not leaving here without something to read. What about muscle-building magazines? Got any of those?”
More laughter. “You can have a romance, a mystery, a thriller of any sort, a horror, a young adult, a memoir or a narrative nonfiction. I’ll even look the other way if you want to grab a literary novel, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Well…” I say, making a show of thinking hard.
“So you folks are good?” Bookseller asks with an indulgent smile at Skye.
“We’re great,” Skye tells her with a wink. “Thanks.”
“Call me if you need me,” Bookseller says, melting away again.
“Okay,” Skye says crisply once she’s gone. “What’ll it be? Steel? Patterson? King?”
“I want a copy of your favorite book. Or the book that’s had the most influence on you. So I can see what kind of person I’m dealing with.”
“What if it’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?” she asks, dimples deepening.
“A golden ticket?” I say before I think to stop myself. “I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight myself, to be honest. Glad you didn’t ghost me.”
She hesitates. “Me too.”
Some staring ensues. I’m probably doing the bulk of it, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s about a fifty-one- to forty-nine-percent split. Luckily, right when my oxygen-starved lungs are about to start gasping for air and I’m beginning to wonder how obnoxious it would be for me to suggest that we adjourn to my place, which is right around the corner, she takes my hand and turns to lead the way somewhere.
At this point, I don’t care where we’re going. Hidden dungeon downstairs? Portal to an alternate reality? Don’t care. Not when our fingers are laced like this and I can feel the softness of her palm against mine. Unfortunately, we quickly arrive at a section in the back corner, where she selects a book and hands it to me.
“Here it is. Most influential book,” she says.
Letting go of her hand with great reluctance, I check the cover. “Grisham? The Firm?” I raise my brows. “You’re a fan of naïve lawyers who get duped into working for the mob? Didn’t see that coming.”
“No. I read it earlier this year when I was in my second semester of law school at Cardozo. I hated it.”
“The Firm?”
“No, smartass. Law school. The book helped crystallize that I do not want to be a lawyer and spend my days arguing with everyone about everything.”
“As a doctor, I approve. There’s no good reason for anyone to be a lawyer. Ever. But the standard lawyer probably isn’t going to wind up on the run for his life and being blackmailed by thugs. Plus, that seems like the sort of thing you would’ve ironed out before you went to law school. Just saying.”
“True, but the standard lawyer does work ridiculous hours and often has a tough time fitting in a decent family life.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I say. “Family is important.”
Something melancholy flickers over her expression. “Family is everything.”
“Did I touch a nerve?” I ask, afraid I’ve ruined the evening before it got off the ground.
“Ignore me,” she says, flapping a hand. “You were saying?”
I do my best to recalibrate. “So I take it you won’t be having a second year of law school?”
“Correct,” she says grimly, taking the book and returning it to the shelf.
“So what do you do now?”
Rueful grin. “To be determined. Hopefully I’ll have a workable plan by the end of the year. Now you. Most influential book?”
I think hard. “Does Gray’s Anatomy count?”
“No.”
“Damn. What about the Bible?”
She gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Only if you mean it. And if you’ve read the whole thing.”
“Fair enough,” I say, tapping my chin. “This is hard. Captain Underpants?”
“No! Are you even trying?”
“Fine,” I say with an aggrieved sigh. “I can see you’re not letting this go until I reveal something deeply personal.”
“You should. I just did.”
“Your revelation was about career logistics. Mine’s about me as a person.”
“Stop stalling,” she says sharply.
“‘Occasionally cranky and always opinionated,’” I say. “You didn’t lie, did you? You should really rethink that whole legal career, by the way. You’re relentless. I have no problem envisioning you making people cry when you get them on the witness stand.”
“I’m waiting,” she says, laughing.
“It has to be one of two books. A Separate Peace, because I didn’t know a book could rip your heart out like that. It made me think about what kind of person I wanted to be. And what kind I didn’t. I took myself pretty seriously in high school. Soccer. Basketball. Academics. I was a legend in my own mind. There were a few people skills I needed to work on.”
She nods. “I get it. I was the kind of boring and quiet girl you wouldn’t have noticed back then.”
I don’t believe that for second.
I give her a pointed once-over, doing my best to confine it to her face. “I’m noticing you now.”
“You’re good at flirting,” she says, color flooding her face and making her eyes sparkle even brighter. “I’ve noticed that about you.”
I shrug. “I want you. A lot. Have you noticed that?”
She grins and hastily looks away, ducking her head. I don’t blame her for that. There’s some outrageous chemistry flowing between us. Makes it hard to maintain eye contact.
“Focus, please,” she says. “What about the other book?”
“Steinbeck’s The Pearl.”
“Another heartbreaker,” she says, watching me closely as her smile fades. “Why?”
“It’s a good reminder to pay attention to what’s right in front of you,” I say, riveted by the way her brows come together when something resonates with her. “To not go running after things that don’t matter and will never make you happy anyway. Oh, and Around the World in Eighty Days. It made me want to travel everywhere I can.”
There’s a pause.
“I really like your answers,” she says quietly.
My response is right there, dying to come out.
I really like everything about you.
“Good,” I say instead. “Did you notice? Those were not the book choices of an asshole.”
She breaks into a wholehearted laugh that engages every part of her face, from the crinkling outer corners of her eyes to the plumped-up apples of her cheeks and on down to the sparkling white of her teeth.
She’s fucking delicious.
And I absolutely lose my head.
“Sorry,” I whisper, already leaning in as I take her face between my hands. “I have to.”
Her surprised gasp immediately turns to an indistinct hum of appreciation as she tips up her chin to meet me. I brush her lips with mine, giving her a small kiss. Taking a taste. And if my lips firm up a bit at the end, that’s not the end of the world, is it?
That’s all. No tongue. Still incendiary.
“Let’s grab dinner,” I say when I pull back, letting her go with great difficulty. “I don’t want you getting hangry on my watch.”
“Okay,” she says, her breathlessness matching mine.
I’m hoping she’ll take my hand again as we head to the front of the store, but she doesn’t. Instead, much to my astonishment, she heads straight for Bookseller, who’s once again minding her post behind the counter, and gives her a quick hug.
“We’re grabbing dinner, Jasmine,” she says. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I didn’t see that plot twist coming.
“Hang on,” I say, remembering the kiss that still has my lips tingling and sending up a frantic prayer that the spot where said kiss occurred was as secluded as I thought it was at the time. “You two know each other?”
“Oh, I thought I mentioned that,” Skye says with that spark of mischief again. “I could have sworn I introduced you to my sister.”
“You did not,” I say, giving her a sidelong scowl as I extend my hand over the counter. Under normal circumstances, if I find myself meeting the family of someone I’ve met online, my day has seriously gone sideways. So it surprises me to discover that I’d hate to think I made a bad impression on this particular sister. “Jake.”
“Dr. Jake,” Skye adds, earning herself another scowl from me. Some of my colleagues walk around introducing themselves as doctor this and doctor that as though Doctor is the first name on their birth certificates. A pretentious habit and pet peeve of mine.
“Great to meet you, Dr. Jake,” Jasmine says with a smile and a firm shake. “Don’t be a stranger. You two kids have fun. Oh, and I’ve got your face on about ten different cameras, Dr. Jake. So I’m sure you won’t get any funny ideas.”
“I will not,” I say, trying not to be too amused and outraged as I connect a few more dots on this sister act. “You two have quite the routine going, don’t you? You were here the whole time, weren’t you, Skye? Scoping me out before you made your appearance. Don’t deny it.”
“You’re just lucky you made the cut,” Skye says, flashing a triumphant grin as she heads for the door.
“Good luck, Dr. Jake,” Jasmine says with a wave. “You’re going to need it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, hurrying after Skye.
“So?” she says as soon as we hit the sidewalk and drift a few steps away from the bookstore with no real destination in mind. “Where should we go?”
“I made reservations at about ten places nearby. Italian. Thai. Chinese. Indian. Fusion. But the date’s over if you’re a picky eater.”
“Any of that sounds great,” she says, her color high again as she runs a hand through her hair and tucks it behind her ear.
Something pokes me between the shoulder blades, urging me to take a chance. Whether it’s unadulterated lust or an ounce of extra courage, I couldn’t say.
“Or we could, ah, hang out at my place,” I say. “Order in. Have drinks while the food comes. Watch a movie or something. See what happens.” When a light breeze picks up and blows a strand of hair across her face again, I brush it back for her, taking great care to trail my fingers down the side of her neck as I do. She shivers in response. “Your profile says something about you enjoying Sauvignon Blanc and small adventures, as I recall?”
“It does,” she says, the gleam of sensual knowledge in her eyes belying her light tone. “And you enjoy casual fun, I believe?”
“I do.”
“Which way?” she asks.
“This way,” I say, taking her hand again as we set off. I give myself a second to relish the connection between us and the temporary lack of hollowness inside me. It dawns on me for the first time—but not the last—that anything to do with this woman is going to be a big adventure.
Not a small one.