“Yeah, I suppose you would need help here.”
“It’s not such a big deal.” She hated the urge to apologize for her wealth. “My mother had a butler.”
“Only for parties,” Jacob responded absentmindedly, while he studied the crown molding with a heavy fascination. “Not on a regular basis.”
Akira rocked back on her heels. “Right.”
His eyes softened. “Sorry. Did you not know…?”
“The box is in my library.” She covered her slip hastily, not eager to delve into all the ways this man had known her mother better than she had. “Do you want to wait here while I grab it?”
“I’ll come with you.” He fell into step beside her, adjusting the strap of his ever-present messenger bag.
“You don’t have to.” Probably best to keep him to safer parts of the house. She’d assumed they would eat in the dining room. Harris had laid out a simple spread for the two of them before heading out for his night off.
She supposed she could have handed Jacob the box, in accordance with their stupid agreement, and left him to it while she attended to her own affairs, but he had provided dinners for the past two nights. If nothing else, she was a good host.
This had nothing to do with her newly discovered fascination for the way he dug into his meals with such relish and gusto, the movement of his strong throat as he swallowed, the unselfconscious way he threw himself into enjoying his meal. Nor did it have anything to do with their still-strained, yet oddly compelling conversations between bites.
“I don’t mind,” he said mildly.
She slid him a sideways glance as she led him down the hallway. The first floor was made up of her library, kitchen, formal dining room, and three sitting rooms. The library was the only room she actually used when she was alone. “You just want to see my library, don’t you?”
“How could you tell?”
“You looked mildly aroused when I used the word ‘library’. And I know it wasn’t for me, since I don’t elicitmildarousal.” The flirtatious sally wasn’t deliberate. It was an automatic reflex. She wanted to recall the words as soon as she’d uttered them.
She flirted with her friends, but Jacob probably didn’t. Would he become cold and cutting now? A shaft of sorrow ran through her, but it didn’t get far, because he spoke.
“No,” he responded, his tone husky. “You don’t.”
She glanced at him sharply, but his hair hid his eyes. Still, a little fission of awareness ran down her spine.
Well. Well. Well. Was Jacob Campbell flirting with her?
“I like your house. Or what I’ve seen of it,” came his deep voice. Not cold or cutting.
“Yeah?” She quickened her steps. His longer legs automatically matched her stride. “My mother was here once. She declared it all incredibly tacky.” Mei had sneered at the huge chandeliers and lavish furnishings. And she had never even made it past the first floor. The second, where Akira did her entertaining, would have given the woman a heart attack.
“I don’t think it’s tacky. Did you decorate it yourself, or did you buy it like this?”
Her shoulders lifted. “I did it myself.”
“It’s beautiful. Really.”
She gave a single, decisive nod, a tight knot in her chest releasing. “Yes, it is.”
“Though I’m probably not qualified to judge. I hardly visit Pacific Heights houses regularly.”
“No Specific Whites friends for you?”
He tipped his head, acknowledging her use of the derisive term for the elite, mostly white neighborhood. “No. And I’m okay with that. No offense.”
“None taken.” She gave him a shark’s smile. “The old lady next door still mutters about the ‘upstart Oriental’ who bought Buffy and Harold’s place and turned it into a den of sin.” She opened the door to her library.
Jacob stopped. Good. It meant he was properly impressed. “May every den of sin look like this.”
“If you’re going to sin, darling, you should do it with class.”
