Okay, I might be projecting a teensy bit on that last one, but who can blame me?
I catch sight of the time on the oven’s display screen and jolt. How have we been sitting here for over an hour?
“Thank you, for the food, and for…for helping me.”
He stands and takes the dishes over to the massive island in the middle of the kitchen. “Of course.” When he looks up, his eyes meet mine, and even though he’s ten feet away, I feel his gaze like a physical touch. That heaviness settles between us again, and it’s utterly silent in the penthouse. I’m suddenly very aware of my breath, of my pulse in my throat.
“I’ll just…grab my bag and head up to bed, I think,” I say, brushing my hands over my leggings. “I have class tomorrow morning, and it’s been a hell of a long day.”
He nods. “Do you need a ride to campus in the morning? I can have a car take you.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I usually take the subway.”
His lip curls slightly at that. “I’d feel better if you let me arrange a car for you.”
My eyebrows raise. “The subway’s perfectly safe, especially at eight in the morning.” It’s mostly just students and commuters with headphones on, pretending we’re not all in each other’s personal space.
He braces his hands on the island, and my mouth goes dry at the way it pulls his shirt taught over his broad shoulders. “Let me take care of you, Cam.”
Oh, god. There’s that sentence again, the one that makes me feel like my brain’s about to short circuit. It does something to me, something I don’t fully understand but that I really like. A lot.
I find myself nodding. “Okay, sure. Thank you.”
He shoots me a grin. “Good girl. You remember where your old room is?”
I nod, my skin hot and prickling, my stomach dipping and swirling. The things I would do to hear him call me good girl are indecent, especially given that he’s twenty-six years older than me and used to be my stepfather.
I don’t know what else to say, so I turn and head back toward the living room so I can grab my bag. It’s a light pink duffel bag with cherries on it that looks completely out of place in Jacob’s penthouse. I sling it over my shoulder and duck back into the kitchen.
“Good night, Jacob,” I say, watching as a pushes a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled.
“Night, Cam,” he says, his voice a little rough. He clears his throat. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. You know where my room is.”
My stomach plunges down to the floor and then up into my throat at the thought of Jacob’s bedroom.
The one he used to share with your freaking mother, I remind myself, because I can feel this little crush already threatening to spiral out of control.
And yet, coming here doesn’t feel like a mistake. Sure, I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but something about this place still feels like home. A part of me knew I could still count on Jacob after all these years.
I head up the stairs to my old bedroom, which isn’t decorated like a teenage girl’s room anymore, but it’s just as big as I remember. A king-sized bed on one wall faces an enormous TVmounted to the opposite one. Fancy wood paneling covers the walls, and the bed’s headboard is made of tufted leather and reaches almost to the ceiling. A plush cream rug covers the wood floor under my feet, and a sofa sits at the far end of the room, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, currently covered with dove-gray curtains. A fireplace sits in one corner, and a large bookshelf in another. It’s all very neutral in a way that screams quiet luxury.
I poke my head into the adjoining ensuite bathroom and find it’s mostly as I remember it. Same bright white floor, same floating vanity and softly backlit mirror, same walk-in shower and soaker tub.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day. I know I’ll still have to deal with the flooding tomorrow. I’ll have to find out how long it’ll be before my apartment is fixed, and how to go about getting my things replaced.
I’ll also have to find a way to live with Jacob without doing or saying anything wildly inappropriate. He’s doing me a massive favour, and I need to be on my best behaviour.
Plus, it’s not like he’d actually…not when we used to technically be family. Not when he’s old enough to be my father.
That thought makes an ache pulse between my legs.
I’m such a freak.
I sigh, tipping my face up into the warm spray, trying to push it all out of my mind.
I dry off, change into my only pair of pajamas, and climb into the world’s most comfortable bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
Four
