“But you aren’t always here in Amesport—”
“I’ll be here for a while,” he cut her off abruptly. Leaving wasn’t an option right now. He had Dante’s wedding coming up, and he had no desire to leave Mara in the middle of her business setup. He hesitated before asking gravely, “Why haven’t you asked me about what I said earlier?” She hadn’t asked him a single question. Even now, when she could easily grill him from a safe distance on the phone, she hadn’t mentioned his history or the secrets he’d revealed. Obviously, he could avoid the subject, pretend like he’d never mentioned it. She was going to allow it. But he needed to know.
Mara sighed. “Jared, what happened in your past isn’t my business. I’m sorry for your pain, and I don’t want to push you to talk about anything that causes you more hurt. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He scowled. “I killed two people. That doesn’t concern you just a little?”
“No. Whatever happened, I know you didn’t murder them.”
“How in the hell do you know what happened?”
“I don’t know what happened, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen,” she answered gently.
Jared felt like she’d gutted him. “You trust me?” The certainty in her voice when she’d said she knew he hadn’t murdered anybody made his heart clench and pissed him off at the same time. What in the hell was she thinking? He could be a serial killer, for all she knew. Still, knowing that she trusted him enough not to need any explanation of his earlier confession completely blew him away.
“Yes. I trust you,” she answered simply.
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“I trust my instincts.”
“I’m a jackass.” He heard it from his siblings almost on a daily basis.
“Agreed. Sometimes I think you act that way to hide your pain. But that isn’t all that you are, Jared. You’re so much more,” she said hesitantly.
“If you’re trying to look deeper into my soul or something, forget it. There isn’t much there. The asshole is pretty much all you’ll get.”
Of all the reactions Jared could have gotten from his comment, the last thing he expected Mara to do was . . . laugh.
But she did.
Continually.
She howled with amusement for a long time, and it really annoyed him that even though she was laughing at him, he loved the sound of her laughter.
“Murderers aren’t usually into self-deprecation,” she said, still half chuckling.
“They could be,” he grumbled into the phone.
She snorted. “Are you trying to make me afraid of you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
“No,” he finally decided. “I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. I am an asshole, and I’m not about to start looking into my goddamn soul.” Jared shuddered at the thought. It was empty, just like the rest of him. There was no point in even looking.
“I think I can handle it,” she answered a little more soberly. “I can work for a surly boss. And I still don’t think you’re a jerk all the time. I think you’re protecting yourself.”
Jared was uneasy with her observations, so he tried to ignore them. “I don’t want to be your boss anywhere except in the bedroom.” Looking down at his raging erection, Jared had to admit that he wanted her under his control just about anywhere: outside, up against a wall, on the floor, in the shower . . . the list could go on and on. However, it had nothing to do with her business. That he had no doubt she could handle on her own. She’d been holding up a struggling shop for years. Working on a business that could actually thrive should be a piece of cake for her.
“Jared, I can’t—” Her voice cut off in a horrified gasp.
“What happened?” His heart thundering, Jared catapulted out of bed.
“Smoke. A lot of smoke. Oh God, the house must be on fire.” Mara sounded panicked and anxious. “I have to call 911.”
To Jared’s complete horror, Mara hung up the phone.
“Shit. Mara? Mara? Dammit, talk to me.” Racing to the window, he could actually see the fire burning in the distance, a faint glow in the dark sky. He disconnected the phone and tried to call her back again.
No answer. Was she on the phone with the fire department, or was she not answering for far different and more dire reasons?
“Fuck. No.” He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from his drawer and had them on in less than a minute. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he sprinted through the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
It’s raining. The flames will get put out quickly. She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.
After cramming his bare feet into a pair of leather shoes, he stepped outside and realized the rain had all but subsided. His heart plummeted to the ground and sped up in total and utter terror.