There was a tense pause where he didn’t move and she didn’t draw breath. Again, she was highly aware of the fact that he wasn’t used to women making demands of him. She wondered if he’d refuse.
“All right. As long as you hear what I’m saying right now. It’s not going to happen again. I’ve thought about it. I wouldn’t have shown up at your house if I hadn’t come to a solid decision. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about life, it’s that dwelling on the past is like carrying around a ten-ton load because you’re too stupid to drop the damn thing and move on. Every day is new,” he said, sliding his firm lips against hers. Her lungs hitched. “I remake myself every day,” he said quietly, his warm breath brushing against her mouth.
She craned for him, her lips caressing his when she smiled.
“Do you really believe that?” she asked, her whisper barely heard above the sound of the soft surf.
“No. I know it,” he said, plucking at her lips teasingly one more time before he covered her mouth in a hot, melting kiss.
By the time he lifted his head a heart-thumping moment later, her brain was hazy and her sex had gone warm and achy. When he took her hand in his and led her in the direction of his beachside mansion, Harper followed without question. After that kiss, it seemed like the most natural—the most inevitable—thing to do.
They approached the terrace doors, Jacob still holding her hand in his while he touched his forefinger to a pad on a security monitor near the door.
“Good evening, sir,” a male’s voice resounded into the dark night. Harper started.
“Ms. McFadden is here with me, Tony,” Jacob responded calmly, givin
g Harper the impression it was common business for him to communicate with discarnate voices coming not only from dark woods, but as in this case, from the very air itself.
“Thank you, sir. Have a good night.”
The lock on the door clicked and Jacob opened it, drawing Harper over the threshold. She followed him through the shadow-draped great room toward a magnificent, sweeping staircase made entirely of lodgepole pine, the hushed sense of anticipation building in her. He drew her down a high-ceilinged hallway to a large carved door. He glanced back at her as he turned the knob. Harper swallowed a knot of anticipation that had grown in her throat.
He closed the door behind them.
She stood for a moment, admiring the beautiful room. As in the great room, the old Tahoe lodge design mixed with sleek, modern décor. Ivory couches were set before a streamlined gray slate fireplace. The natural gold and caramel colors of the wood floors and beamed pine ceilings made a warm contrast to the distant bed and the crisp, luxurious ivory and gray bed dressing. The bed itself was beneath an alcove of windows that Harper realized during the day would offer views of Lake Tahoe’s cerulean waters from three directions.
“What a lovely room,” she murmured, turning toward him. Excitement and trepidation bubbled in her at the vision of him standing so still, soberly regarding her. He was so desirable to her. She might as well face it. Nevertheless, anxiety flickered into her awareness. “All those security people you have working here,” she began slowly, “they can’t . . . see in here, can they?”
“No. These quarters are completely private,” he said, walking toward her with that panther-like grace she admired. He reached and took both her hands in his, never breaking their stare. “I wouldn’t expose you. What happens in this bedroom is between us, and us alone. Do you believe me?”
She nodded, completely entranced by his eyes and deep, fluid voice.
“I’d like the same assurance from you,” he said.
A puff of air popped out of her throat. She wondered if she should be offended by his request, but then realized it was only fair.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” she murmured, amusement tilting her mouth.
“I’d like your assurance that everything that happens to you while you’re with me, everything you observe or experience, is kept in absolute confidence.”
“I’ve promised you that before,” she said, her brow crinkling in consternation. “I told you I would never write anything about you, or offer information to anyone at my paper—or any news source—unless we agreed upon it beforehand. I won’t even mention it to a friend, if that’s the reassurance you need.” She glanced sideways in the direction of the great, luxurious bed. “And I’d hardly be gabbing about anything that happens here. I’m a very private person, too, you know.”
He squeezed her hands gently in his.
“I know.”
“Do you?” she asked, arching her brows. “I don’t understand how you could.”
“I know that you had an affair with Louis Richton, the owner of the San Francisco Chronicle’s largest rival newspaper.” Harper gasped, but he continued, ignoring her stunned reaction. “I know you carried out that affair in complete secrecy. To this day, your boss at the Chronicle and your coworkers have no idea you were sleeping in the enemy’s bed.”
“How did you find—”
“Knowledge is my key weapon in everyday business. I can’t afford ignorance.”
She broke his hold on her hands, turning toward the circular bank of windows.
“I’ve offended you again,” he said.