Page 50 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I think I might have to kill Gavin Lake for the state he left me in.

The moment I arrived at work, I made a beeline straight for the toilets. After twisting and turning in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t left a dark patch on the back of my dress, I hid myself in a stall and decided pantyliners should be my new best friends.

Thank God I took my own advice. Trying to concentrate in court when my mind kept replaying Gavin’s touch had been quite a battle. Fortunately, by the time lunchtime came around, the proceedings were adjourned until after the Christmas break.

Being back at my desk proves even less productive. Now that I’m under no immediate obligation to concentrate, my mind goes straight to Gavin’s hands on me, to drowning in that incredible eye contact.

When he brushed over my backside, when his thumb traced the outline of my breast, when he simply touched me anywhere , it took everything I had to hold back a long, throaty groan.

But most of all, he had every hair follicle on my body standing at attention when he spoke those low, gravelly words into my ear like an intimate secret. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. The night before I wanted his kiss. This morning, I wanted a hell of a lot more.

And I wasn’t alone. He had a predatory look in his eyes, like I’m his, and I’d better hurry up and damn well realise it.

Instead of unsettling me, I’d felt cocooned and unburdened.

He’d crashed through the crumbling walls around my heart and joined me on the other side, promising he could take as much weight off my shoulders as I’d allow.

Then my phone dinged .

And I start all over again, replaying it on a never-ending loop.

Until I start torturing myself about what I’m going to do when I get home. Pretend it never happened? Throw myself at him? Are those the only options?

As Benny would say, Christ on a cracker.

Fortunately, by the time 2pm rolls around, and I’ve accomplished exactly nothing for the day, the funeral home calls to tell me my father’s death certificate has arrived. I duck out of work early, pick it up, then hurry over to the solicitor’s office and collect Dad’s will packet.

Upon returning to an insanely busy afternoon, I don’t get a chance to look at the will. Or slip back into fantasy land.

With last night’s lack of sleep oozing into my mind and body, I relax against the headrest in the back of an Uber, close my eyes and think about my father’s will resting in my satchel.

I suppose I could open it now, but really, I can’t imagine that my father would have done anything other than leave half his estate to me and half to Anika.

“Lady? Hey, lady?”

My eyes snap open to the sight of the driver staring at me.

As I blink my grainy eyes, I we’re parked out the front of my house.

Grabbing my bag and travel mug, I exit the car and make my way up the porch steps.

Fully aware that I have no idea what might be waiting for me inside my home, my heart hammers so hard it thumps in my ears.

Will he interpret what happened this morning as a green light to go further, or pretend it never happened?

Weak-kneed, I step inside, shut the door and lock it with a trembling hand.

He’s behind me. I feel him.

Taking a deep breath, with nowhere to run from the turmoil in my head and stomach, I turn around.

He stands a few feet away, his handsome face creased with concern as he scans me from head to toe.

Before I can figure out what to say, he moves in, slips the satchel from my shoulder and takes the mug from my hand.

As he places them on the floor, he drops to one knee and looks up at my utterly bewildered expression.

“Gavin? What’re you—”

“Hold onto my shoulders.”

Too confused to argue, I follow his command.

When he cups my bare calf, I tense in surprise.

“Lift,” he instructs.

My hands bear down on his shoulders as I balance myself and raise my leg until I feel my strappy heel slip free. I do the same when he touches my other calf. As my bare foot returns to the cool floorboards, I groan with relief. “Oh, God. That feels so much better.”

Rising with a grin, he picks up my satchel and travel mug, carries them through the living room and places the bag on the dining table before striding into the kitchen.

I take a seat at the breakfast bar, watching as he grabs a glass, dispenses some ice from the freezer and fills it with sparkling water at the sink. After he places it in front of me, he returns to the sink and washes my travel mug so it’s ready for the morning.

Sipping at the water, I marvel at the amazing man in my kitchen. Of course, he was the one who made a big deal about how exhausted I am, but to look after me the way he is right now, without me even knowing it’s exactly what I need, has my heart melting.

I rest my chin in my hand and continue to watch the show he puts on every evening.

He sets a frying pan on the cooktop, turns on the burner, then removes a plate from the fridge containing two marinated steaks.

Despite believing I was too exhausted to eat, the moment the steaks hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle, my mouth waters.

“So, what did you do today?” I ask, remembering all too well the state he was in when I left for work.

“Mostly sanding down the side of the house, interspersed with dips in the pool and some reading.” From the fridge he grabs a bowl of salad and begins serving it onto two plates beside the cooktop.

“Mostly, hmm? Sounds heavenly. Almost like a holiday.”

I love that he’s not pressuring me about what happened this morning. It’s sweet and considerate the way he’s letting the night unfold naturally.

“Can’t argue with that.” He smiles over his shoulder at me. “Do you ever go away anywhere?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I had a few days off here and there when I needed to attend a school event for Anika or to care for Dad. The only time I actually went away for a holiday was before Mum died.”

He turns the steaks, then leans on the counter and looks at me. “Sounds like you must have a lot of leave owed to you.”

“About six months’ worth.”

“Ever considered using any of it?”

“I haven’t really had the chance.” And I haven’t. Previously, the thought of relaxing on holiday seemed impossible. But just an hour on a beach with Gavin showed me how wrong I’ve been. Not to mention the effortless way he looks after me. That alone feels like a vacation.

“You should, you know. I think you desperately need a break.”

He’s not wrong, but with my workload, it’s wishful thinking.

As we eat, Gavin recounts his day, his eyes lighting up when he mentions how much happier and enthusiastic Benny seems lately.

After we finish eating, I put down my knife and fork, and say from the bottom of my heart, “Thank you. That was amazing. Again.”

“You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Thanking me.”

I shake my head. “Not a chance. Every single time you cook for me, I’m grateful. And I want you to know that.”

“I’m cooking for us , Jamie. It’s no hardship.”

“Tell me that after you’ve been doing it for sixteen years.”

“I’d love to,” he says softly.

My heart fires up like a plane preparing for take-off. When I meet his stare, all I see there is honesty. This morning comes roaring back. His hand exploring, the heat in those eyes focused on mine.

I quickly look down at my empty plate and cross my legs. Goddamn the way he makes my body come alive, reminding me I’m a woman. As much as I’ve suppressed my sexuality all these years, he’s woken it up and it seems to have no desire to go back to sleep.

Not while he’s in close proximity. Who am I kidding? He doesn’t have to be anywhere near me. All I have to do is think about the man.

And it’s wonderful, and exciting. And it scares the shit out of me.

“Let me help you clean up,” I offer without glancing at him.

My plate disappears. “No way. But you can keep me company while I do it.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot. I picked up Dad’s will. I suppose I should take a look.” I grab the will packet from my satchel and slide onto the barstool again. Prying open the flap, I reach in and withdraw the document.

It’s short and to the point, but I read it five times before I understand I haven’t misread anything.

“That fucking arsehole,” I blurt a little too loudly.

Gavin glances up from stacking the dishwasher. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad,” I say, my anger rising. “Fucking Dad.”

Wandering over to the breakfast bar, Gavin glances at the will in my hand. Furious, I hold it up and flap it around.

“He left his whole estate … to me . There’s not a single mention of Anika in here! How could he do that to her?”

Gavin frowns. “You’re sure?”

“You think I don’t know how to read a will?” I snap, then immediately regret it. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Well, he just keeps delivering the hits, doesn’t he?”

I drop my head in my hands and let out a single sob, the exhaustion, the emotional roller coaster, finally overwhelming me.

“Fuck,” Gavin mutters.

Then he’s at my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I lean against him, taking shuddering breaths as I try to get myself under control. He must be so sick of me using him as a crying cushion by now.

“Christ, Jamie. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was extremely insensitive.”

I shake my head. “It’s so … fucking true.”

“Will Anika be able to contest it?” he asks, rubbing my shoulder.

“No.” I look up at him and wipe away my tears. “She won’t have to, because she’ll never know.”

He takes a seat next to me, holds my hand and squeezes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell her Dad left her half and, once probate goes through, I’ll transfer half the house into her name. The stamp duty will be a bitch, but she’ll never know. She can’t know. It’ll hurt her too much.”

“You’re a good person, Jamie.”

I shake my head. “I’m only doing what’s right.”

“I don’t think you understand how many people don’t do what’s right.”