One flight and around, I went faster. Two stories. Three flights to go.

“Tess,” I heard his voice call and I went faster.

Another flight and around.

“Goddammit, Tess,” he clipped, and I kept going.

Another flight and around.

His boots were getting closer.

Another flight, the last one. I raced down them and had a hand to the door, opening it when my wrist was seized in an iron grip, yanked away, my body with it. I was pulled from the door and pushed against the wall, Jake’s tall, lean frame fencing me in.

I looked to the side.

“Let me go,” I whispered.

“You promised we’d talk,” he growled.

I shook my head and kept my eyes averted. “Let me go,” I demanded.

His voice dipped gentle and his other hand curled around the side of my neck. “Tess, baby, you pro—”

My eyes shot to his and whatever he read in them made him stop talking and flinch.

“Let… me… go,” I hissed.

He let me go and stepped back.

I walked instantly to the door and pulled it open.

Standing in it, I turned to him to see his eyes on me; his face unreadable, except his strong jaw was set in granite.

“Is your name even Jake?” I asked quietly.

His silvery-gray eyes, not melted, not quicksilver, not affectionate but glittering and hard, held mine.

I held my breath until he finally shook his head.

Then, without another word or a glance back, I walked through the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Kentucky

Three months later…

I WAS IN my kitchen when I heard the knock at the door.

My eyes went to the clock on the microwave.

Holy crap.

Martha was early. Martha was never early. In fact, I told her to be there at three because I actually needed her to be there at three thirty. Martha kept a steady schedule of being at least fifteen minutes late but had an average of being half an hour late (I’d known Martha a long time, long enough for it to happen so often I could actually calculate that average, which I did) and, therefore, it wasn’t unheard of for her to rush in, winded and filled with excuses forty-five minutes or an hour late.

It was ten to three and I didn’t even have the cake ready.

Damn.

This meant one of two things.

Man trouble or wardrobe malfunction.

Both of these did not bode good things, for both of these meant Martha would be in a more than the usual Martha tizzy. And the usual Martha tizzy, which was the result of the crazy, out-of-control life Martha lived, was bad enough.

Fuck.