His Secret Love by Ava Ryan

9

Jake

Skye finally emergesfrom her room after eleven that night, her bare feet padding softly down the hallway like she’s a cat that’s lost the bell from her collar. I feel a tremendous surge of satisfaction. A nice switch from the way I’ve felt for most of the night, which is aggrieved and ridiculous. I’m a grown man with a life. As such, I should theoretically be far too dignified to leave work early because I can’t wait another second to see that special someone or to act as though my entire night’s been ruined because my crush didn’t deign to watch a Disney movie with me and my kids. And don’t get me started on the way my shriveled pride allowed me to sit out here for over an hour, waiting and praying for her reappearance like Lin-Manuel Miranda fans waiting for a glimpse of him at the stage door following a Hamilton performance. I feel an urgent need to explain myself, which is beneath me, considering that Skye and I are little more than complete strangers to each other.

Yet here I am with no discernible self-esteem left. Pity me.

Anyway, I’ve positioned myself in my favorite reading chair in the corner of the living room, which means that I have a bird’s-eye view of the way she glances around, clearly looking for something. I half expect her to whoop with glee when she doesn’t see me immediately, so I’m thrilled and excited to see the way she hesitates, her shoulders drooping as though she’s disappointed by my absence.

Then the blue light from my e-reader snags her attention. She turns in my direction, her breath hitching, and our gazes connect. Swear to God, the subtle flare of excitement I see in her expression is an exact match for my current emotional state.

She’s in her pajamas, by the way, a significant detail that doesn’t help my equilibrium. Tank top. Little striped shorts. A summery robe that hits her at mid-thigh with the belt untied. Not exactly Agent Provocateur, but still sexy as hell. Especially when my overactive imagination gets to work thinking about how quickly a few strategic yanks would render her completely naked. I’ve also changed into my bedtime ensemble, a T-shirt and baggy bottoms. Nothing else. I could drop these bottoms and have her flat on her back on the sofa beneath me in thirty seconds if I put my mind to it. She wants it as much as I do. I can smell it on her.

Too bad neither of us can figure out how to get there from here.

Oh, and one other thing: I’ve never seen her completely naked. The chances are about even that I never will, a prospect that annoys me to no end. I’m not used to people appearing out of nowhere and turning my entire life upside down. It makes me cranky.

“Nice of you to show up,” I say, raising my tumbler of scotch and toasting her with it. “I’ve got nothing better to do than sit out here all night and wait for you to finish sulking in your room.”

Those eyes flash at me in the relative darkness. I can see her violent intent all the way across the room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She walks stiffly into the kitchen, yanks the fridge open hard enough to make its contents rattle around inside and emerges with a water bottle before slamming it shut. Then she loops back around to the living room. “I don’t sulk.”

“Sure you do. On both counts,” I say, standing because I’m way too charged with adrenaline to keep still. “You took off and spoiled the night for the kids. And for me.”

“Oh, please.”

“Maybe don’t roll your eyes when I tell you how I feel.”

I wait until she goes very still and focuses all her reluctant attention on me before I continue.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been so excited to come home. A very long time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to spend time with my kids. I’m talking about wanting to come home to a place that’s peaceful and fun. With no anger. No tension. No cold silences.” I hesitate, knowing I’m revealing way too much—I’ve only hooked up with this woman one time, for fuck’s sake—but unable to stop myself because I want more of her. I want so much more. “Just a person I want to get to know better. The three of us wanted you to stick around. We were all disappointed. That’s true whether you believe me or not.”

She shifts restlessly, running her hands through her hair. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before, Jake.”

“Neither have I.”

“I’m not sure how to act.”

“I get that. But hiding in your room and pretending we don’t have a situation here is not it.”

She hikes up her chin. “I prefer to think of it as taking a moment to remember what my place in all your lives is.” She shoots me a pointed look. “And what it’s not.”

I edge closer. Things are starting to get interesting.

“Because you were jealous. About that text.”

Bingo. Her jaw tightens as though she’s grinding diamonds with her back teeth.

“I’m not the jealous type. But you are clearly the arrogant type. I should’ve known.”

I take another step forward, close enough to feel her body’s heat and to detect the scent of those sultry flowers and berries on her skin.

Close enough to see the veiled flare of sensual panic in her eyes at my approach. To her credit, though, she stands her ground.

“I’m wondering what’s arrogant about watching your head nearly blow off.” I let my attention dip to her pouty mouth, which I would dearly love to kiss. Hey. I’m human. “If anything, that makes me observant.”

Humorless snort of laughter from Skye. “Yeah, okay. If there’s nothing else?”

“There it is, actually. Would you like my explanation? About the text?”

The sudden tension in her body is almost imperceptible. Luckily, I’m close enough to feel it. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Now I bark out a humorless laugh. At myself, not her. “I know. The question isn’t whether I owe it. It’s whether you want it.”

She opens her mouth, straining for a response that takes its sweet time coming.

“Your personal life is none of my business, Jake. I know that.”

“Right again. That’s why can’t figure out why I’m so eager to explain myself to you. But I am, for what it’s worth.”

“I don’t want it to be worth anything.”

“Fair enough,” I say, staring her dead in the face. “But if we got what we wanted in life, I’d be fucking you over on that sofa right now.”

She gasps, a sultry little sound that makes me surer than ever that this thing here is not all one-sided. I can’t think of anything to say. She can’t seem to catch her breath. The resulting stalemate lasts until the spiking electrical charge overcomes us both. She hastily retreats to the chair nearest the sofa and sits. I hastily kill the rest of my scotch, set the tumbler on the coffee table and sit on the sofa.

Waiting.

“I’m going to sit here and drink my water,” she says, then unscrews the cap and takes a big gulp. It may be a trick of the dim lighting, but I’m not entirely sure her hands are steady. “If I happen to accidentally hear you saying something while I do that, such is life.”

This time my laugh is genuine. Have I mentioned how delicious she is? How intriguing? When it comes to this thing between the two of us, she doesn’t have any more pride than I do. There’s some comfort in that, I suppose.

I know I need to keep my wits about me for this conversation, but I surge to my feet and walk to the bar for a refill anyway. Anything to escape from the power of her force field and regroup for a second. She’s got this weird way of making me feel like she steals bits and pieces from me every time we’re together and hoards them in her soft hands. I haven’t missed anything yet, but, on the other hand, I sure as hell don’t trust her to give them back when I need them.

“Drink?”

“No thanks,” she says.

I return to the sofa. Sit. Sip. Wonder what it is about her watchful gaze that unglues me like this. And why I’m so determined for her to think the best of me.

“It’s not that big a deal,” I say. “Jessica’s a colleague from the hospital. She’s in obstetrics. She got divorced around the same time I did. We had drinks one night. It was easy enough to hook up with her. Easy enough to keep doing it.”

“I see,” she says, her expression giving nothing away.

“There’s nothing else there. Never has been. Never will be. Not with her.”

She gives me a skeptical look.

“Maybe on her end she’d like a little more,” I add reluctantly. “Not on mine.”

“That seems like a shame,” she says, frowning as she looks away and raises her water bottle. “She’s got great boobs.”

I watch her drink deeply, frustration rising inside me.

“The thing is, I don’t have any curiosity about her life. I don’t wonder about her relationship with her kids or her career plans. I don’t know or care whether she’s good with kids because I don’t plan for her ever to meet mine.”

Sky stares down at her hands, saying nothing.

“You, on the other hand?” I say.

Her head comes up. “What about me?”

“I have a lot of questions,” I say, then toss back the rest of my scotch and savor the burn down the back of my throat. Anything to clear my head a little, even if it’s only temporary. “Starting with why you’re so good with kids. And whether you have any idea how sexy it is when I see how great you are with my kids.”

Something softens in her face, but then she seems to catch herself. “I’ve always loved kids. I’ve been a nanny before. All through college. And maybe you’re not arrogant or observant. Maybe you’re just lazy or opportunistic. Nanny by day and hookup by night. That’s gotta make life easy for a busy single dad, right?”

I see why she might think that. But I don’t have to like it.

“Good point,” I say coldly. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about when I had you arching beneath me on the lounge chair right outside the French doors there the other night. Childcare arrangements.”

She stiffens, watching me with a wary new respect. “I don’t want to get fired. I also don’t want to get attached to or used by a guy with a messy personal situation.”

“Thanks for that,” I say, my mouth twisting with bitterness. “You just think I’m an all-around shitty guy, don’t you?”

Finally, the magic combination of words to jar her out of this cold façade.

“Of course not,” she says with new urgency, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning closer. “It’s just that I’m not sure what you want here.”

Well, she’s got me there.

“Neither am I,” I say. “Maybe we could start by agreeing that there’s chemistry between us. Powerful chemistry. And it’s not going away.”

“What good does that do?” Her level of opposition to the idea suggests I’ve asked her to use a vat of chlorine for the kids’ nightly baths. “We’re supposed to be working together in a professional capacity. Which would seem to preclude us from, I don’t know, going out to dinner. Don’t you think?”

“What I think is that I can’t stop thinking about you.” The stark admission makes my voice husky, but I can’t help it. That’s the thing about Skye: she’s got me doing a lot of things I can’t seem to help. “And a plan based solely on us trying to avoid each other is unrealistic and unlikely to succeed for the next three months. Look at us right now. If we really wanted to avoid each other, we’d both be in our rooms.”

“Wow,” she says with a shaky laugh, wincing. “Feel free to pull your punches once in a while.”

“Sorry. Why sugarcoat it?”

“I’m sure things will get less awkward,” she says. “Once we get settled into a routine—”

“Skye. It’s not that easy. I’m doing my best, but it’s not like we just spent half an hour together getting coffee. You and I had the best date I’ve had in years. I know what you sound like when you come for me. How am I supposed to forget that? Have you forgotten? If you have, how about you tell me your secret?”

She lets out a serrated breath. “There’s no secret,” she says, an unmistakable tinge of regret in her voice. “And things would be a lot easier if you stopped looking at me like that.”

Yeah, sure. Right.

“Just so you know, I’m not any happier about the situation than you are,” I say.

“Since we’re both so unhappy, we should both go back to our rooms.”

I mirror her posture, leaning in with elbows on knees. “Good idea. You start.”

What’s the saying? A pregnant pause? Can a pause be pregnant with triplets?

We stare at each other, sensual steam rising between us. I note her shapely legs. The hint of cleavage where her top dips low in front. Her parted lips. Her eyes, heavy-lidded now.

She wants me. God knows I want her.

Why make it more complicated than that?

I’m right on the verge of saying fuck it and reaching for her when the worst possible thing happens. Or maybe the best, depending on how you want to look at it.

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her robe, startling us both and creating another blue patch of light in the darkness. She pulls it out, checks the display and freezes, holding the thing as though she’s unexpectedly discovered a ticking bomb in her hand.

“Marlene.”

“Fuck,” I say.

Not because I feel guilty or I’m worried about getting into trouble with my ex. But because I know that any reminder of Marlene at this crucial juncture is going to cause a setback with me and Skye. And I felt like we had something of a breakthrough just now.

Skye and I exchange a tense glance before she hits the button.

“Marlene. Hi.”

Skye listens.

“No, I wasn’t asleep,” she says.

More listening, at the end of which Skye cringes.

“Jake? I’m not sure where he is. Let me check the living room.”

Now wearing an expression you’d expect to see if she swallowed a toad, Skye gets up, does a couple of laps around the living room, thumping loudly with her feet, and speaks into the phone again.

“Here he is. Wait, what? Speaker? Hang on.” Skye pushes another button and holds the phone between us. “It’s Marlene,” she tells me, looking miserable.

“Hey,” I say with a healthy dose of trepidation.

“Sorry it’s so late,” Marlene says with her usual briskness. “I just got back from a dinner meeting and I wanted to catch you both together.”

“No worries,” I say.

“I got that promotion,” Marlene says. “They told me tonight.”

Science guy that I am, I’ve never been good at corporate speak and haven’t bothered to keep up with Marlene’s career trajectory since the divorce, although she’s high up on the organization chart. There’s no telling what her new position is. Probably global director and CEO of the Galactic Federation or some such by this point.

“That’s great,” I say.

“Congratulations!” Skye says.

“So, obviously I’ll be doing much more traveling. Starting with next week. They’re sending me to Tokyo.”

“No worries,” I say, beginning to see where this is going just as a dawning look of unrestrained horror crosses Skye’s face.

“For at least a month,” Marlene adds. “They may extend it through the end of the year.”

The only thing that keeps me from jumping up and pumping my fist with triumph is Skye’s stricken expression as she slowly shakes her head.

“But…” Skye begins weakly, keeping an eye on me as though she doesn’t dare turn her back for second. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Marlene. I’m supposed to be living primarily with you. I just moved everything into your—”

“You can still access whatever you need,” Marlene says with her usual impatience. “I’m not boarding the apartment up. And I’m sure you have no problem relocating to Jake’s luxury apartment. He’s got hot water, right? A bed? Groceries in the fridge? Wi-Fi? You can make do?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I recognize there’s a certain inconvenience factor involved, which is why I’m going to give you an extra three thousand at the end of the year. Five if you stay through the first week in January,” Marlene says, figures that make Skye’s eyes widen. “So that’s settled. Anything else?”

“You didn’t even check with Jake,” Skye says, her voice pitching higher. Increasing desperation does that to a person. I’m betting she realizes, as I do, that we don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping our hands off each other if we spend a month together. Not with this kind of heat swirling between us. “Maybe he doesn’t want some strange nanny he didn’t hire living in this apartment for most of the fall.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Marlene snaps. “Jake doesn’t mind. Do you, Jake?”

I lock eyes with Skye, barely willing and able to conceal my triumph. I feel as though my birthday has been made into a month-long national holiday. I can barely contain my glee.

“I don’t mind,” I say. “I don’t mind at all.”