Clear as Glass Page 11

  The light from the monitor painted his solemn expression in blues and greens. Mitch cursed softly. “You told me you researched Blake Glassware online. Is there something I should know?”

  “The Buffalo News reported someone was interested in buying Blake Glassware.” A prick of guilt needled her for not telling him this sooner. “The article was printed in August.”

  Mitch leaned back in the chair with a gruff laugh. “Let me guess. Jack Burke.”

  “How did you know?”

  He slid one hand over his short pelt of blond hair. “Jack’s offered to buy our factory for years. Every so often, he proposes to Dad like some lovesick suitor.”

  “Nick said he thought about taking Jack up on his offer this time around.”

  Mitch’s mouth formed a tight line. “Instead of looking for easy ways out, Dad should be paying the bills to keep us in business.”

  “You can fix this,” she offered, believing every word.

  He looked at her, his expression grave. “Tell me what we owe you so I can set aside enough money to pay you at the end of your contract.”

  She thought of the arrangement and shook her head. “Your father asked me to keep the terms of our contract confidential.”

  He gestured at the mound of paperwork in front of him. “Your contract is somewhere in this mess. I’ll find it.”

  “Do what you have to do. I can’t break my promise to your father.”

  Mitch glowered from under lowered brows. “I’m not sure he deserves such loyalty.”

  “Maybe not, but you do.” She took a long breath, unable to keep the truth inside any longer. “You’re the soul of Blake Glassware, which is why every one of your employees is glad to be here…including me.”

  “I’ve let you all down.” He scowled at the unopened letters scattered across the desk. “I knew my father hated paying the bills, yet I refused to shoulder that responsibility.” He reached for a sealed envelope.

  Jaye put her hand on top of his, struck by the solid width of his hand. “You make this factory run, Mitch. You’re the first one here and the last one to leave, doing everything from fixing the copying machine to keeping the studio’s two thousand degree furnace running. Asking more from you would be incredibly unfair.” She squeezed the broad row of his knuckles. “Your father wants to do his part, and he’s determined to increase your profit margin. I’m sure he never meant to fall behind with the bills.”

  Mitch curled his fingers around hers. “No matter how much you try to smooth the wrinkles out between us, you can’t fix things between me and my father.”

  “I know.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re the only one who can forgive him for whatever he did to make you so angry.”

  He pulled out of her grip. “Hell, Jaye. You’re asking a lot.”

  “Because I think you’re capable of a lot.”

  The corner of his mouth tightened. He picked up an envelope and frowned at the address. “Don’t worry about cooking dinner for me tonight. I won’t be home till late.”

  She paused at the door. “You’ll do anything to get out of eating liver, won’t you?”

  His gaze blazed across the distance between them. “Doesn’t matter what you put on my plate, Jaye. The food isn’t why I rush home at night.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mitch spotted a familiar redhead leaning against one of the brick columns flanking Blake Glassware’s main door. Damn, not her. Not now.

  She lifted her hand and waved, red-tipped fingers wiggling like five little snakes.

  Tara Donahue sniffed around the factory whenever she was broke or single. Mitch wondered which it was this time. He gritted his teeth and trudged out of the building.

  “Looks like you had a hard day, Mitch.” Red lips parted into a smile.

  Those cold green eyes gave him the once-over. No doubt, she was calculating how much his bank account grew since the last time she tried to sink her claws into him. He ignored the syrupy sympathy in her voice and jammed his key in the door’s lock.

  “Want to go out for a drink?” She nudged his shoulder. “I hear there’s a new bar in Coudersport.”

  “No.” After spending twelve straight hours deciphering the mess on his father’s desk, he just wanted to go home. He twisted his key and heard the reassuring thud of the deadbolt slide into place.

  Tara lifted a cigarette to her painted mouth, inhaled, and blew a gray tendril of smoke into the cold air. “Knowing you, it’s been months since you’ve had a cold beer. Or anything else pleasurable.”

  “Work gratifies me more than anything else.”

  “How strange.” Tara flicked the cigarette to the pavement and crushed the smoldering tip under the spiked heel of her black boot. “I don’t know if you heard, but my husband left me.”

  “I know.” According to the gossip circulating around town, Tara’s husband paid her a hefty sum so he could run off with his secretary. Tara blew through the amount in four months. Now she was on the prowl again. Unwilling to be her next target, Mitch walked through the foul cloud of smoke toward his truck.

  She caught up with him, shooting a critical glance his way. “You look like hell.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Never been there.”

  “Ha. Very funny.” She draped herself against the driver’s side of his truck. With a quick jerk of her hand, she opened her coat and propped one hand on an outthrust hip.

  Big breasts threatened to pop out of the low neckline of her blouse. Her jeans looked like someone had painted the dark denim onto her legs, but Mitch wasn’t impressed. Nothing looked better than Jaye Davis in a skirt—except Jaye Davis in running tights.

  Tara coiled a strand of long red hair around a finger. “Are you still living like a monk? There’s something I can do to change that, you know.”

  She was the consummate predator, one who could sense the weakness in her prey, almost as though she could smell his loneliness. Mitch had no desire to accept her offer. With any luck, he’d see Jaye in a few minutes. Her warm gaze would ease his hollow isolation. “Get out of the way, Tara. I’m dead tired and I want to go home.”

  “Can I come?” She snaked her arm around his neck and kissed his jaw. “I can think of a few ways to wake you up.”

  “No.” He moved her away with a deliberate nudge.

  “Why do you always say no? I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you with a woman. How long has it been? Two years?” A plucked eyebrow rose toward her hairline. “Why aren’t you with anybody?”

  Guilt shimmered through him. “Too busy.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. Did someone break your heart?” She scanned his face and her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You broke someone’s heart. That’s why you’re punishing yourself.”

  His gut twisted. Two years ago, he severed two relationships that should’ve lasted a lifetime—but he’d be damned if he would admit that fact to Tara. He swiped away the memory, yanking open his truck door with more force than necessary.

  She grabbed his coat sleeve. “We’d be good together, Mitch. Remember the night before you left for college? The bunch of us drove up to Cherry Springs Park. I drank too much beer and pulled you into the car for a kiss. It was a good kiss.”

  “I’m not a high school kid anymore.” He was a grown man now, poisoned by the things he’d done. For too long, he felt like a monster—but he was finally feeling human again. His rebirth had everything to do with the woman living in his extra bedroom. Every time he received one of Jaye’s smiles, he felt like the sum of his character made up for his sins. “Go home, Tara. Don’t come back.”

  She buttoned her coat. “Fine. I’ll go to the bar by myself. Someone else will buy me a drink. You’ll regret saying no.”

  The last thing he needed was another regret. He climbed into his truck and started the engine. For the first time in years, he couldn’t wait to get home.

  His spirits crashed when he walked into his kitchen. The house was quiet, save for the faint tick of th
e clock hanging above the stove. By the sound of things, Jaye was already tucked away in her bedroom. She wouldn’t emerge until he left for work tomorrow morning. Damn. If Tara hadn’t delayed him, he might’ve made it home in time to see Jaye.

  Loss sank into his gut, hollow as an empty glass. He paused by the kitchen table, fighting the crazy urge to bellow Jaye’s name. He had to see her. If her bedroom light glowed from under her door, he’d knock. Hell, he’d pound on her door no matter what. He threw his coat on a hook, took off his work boots, and strode into the dim living room.

  A woman lay face down on the couch, most of her body hidden under the plentiful folds of a gray sweatshirt. Her head was burrowed under a pillow. He took a step closer and spotted a swirl of chestnut hair.

  Jaye.

  His heart thumped, pushing a dizzying surge of elation through his bloodstream. She slept with a knee pulled up, providing an extraordinary view of the sexy curve of her butt. Mitch drank in the beautiful sight and decided whoever invented clingy yoga pants should be sainted.

  About time he stumbled upon her with her guard down. The fact she’d fallen asleep in his living room was a sure sign she felt at home, which is exactly how he wanted her to feel. With her short hair mussed and the graceful lines of her body limp with fatigue, she looked like an exhausted Tinkerbell. No wonder she was tired—working her magic on a bear like him wasn’t easy. Mitch studied the spry pixie draped on his couch and grinned.

  The bare foot hanging off the edge of the cushion was too tempting to ignore. He trailed one finger along the delicate arch.

  The foot jerked away.

  The results of his experiment were clear—Jaye Davis was ticklish. He felt some measure of peace knowing they shared the same trait. Unable to resist, he inched a forefinger down the center of her foot.

  She woke with a soft gasp, flipping the pillow onto the floor.

  Happiness filled his empty gut. “Hi, pixie.”

  “Oh, hi. You’re home.” She scrambled to sit upright, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes.

  With her face flushed with sleep and her gaze warm with welcome, she looked magical. He half expected to see stardust scattered across the cushions where she’d been laying. Surprised not to see any glitter, he tugged on the gray fleece pooled around her waist. “This sweatshirt looks a lot like mine.”

  She winced. “I was cold and your sweatshirt was hanging on one of the kitchen hooks, so I borrowed it. I didn’t pack any sweaters.”

  “I don’t mind. Wear my stuff any time you want.” He settled beside her, glad his couch was the only piece of furniture in the room. He could sit close to Jaye without raising suspicions. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he gazed at the carpet. His eyes ached from staring at the computer monitor.

  “You’ve had a hard day.” Her quiet observation held none of the barbed innuendo Tara’s did.

  “Things got better after I checked the furnace. By the time I got back to Dad’s office, there was a plate of food on the desk.” He looked at her and smiled. “You didn’t have to bring me dinner.”

  “I was supposed to cook for you. Besides, you didn’t have lunch. I figured you were starving.”

  He nudged her leg with his, glad when she didn’t pull away. “I noticed you didn’t make liver.”

  “After surviving a day like today, you deserved a steak sandwich.”

  Her thoughtfulness lifted the heavy dismay inside him. He shook his head, humbled she’d gone to such trouble. “A huge slice of chocolate cake was delivered, too.”

  “I hoped dessert might make up for slapping you in the belly.”

  “The score is settled.” He rested his shoulder against hers, wanting to touch her. Needing to touch her, even if it was just arm-to-arm. “Thanks, Jaye. I needed the food. Everything tasted great.”

  “You’re welcome.” She patted his back and gave him a sleepy smirk. “I’ll save the liver for tomorrow.”

  Mitch laughed and closed his eyes, savoring the gentle weight of her hand on his shoulder blade. That she willingly touched him made him feel slightly dizzy, extremely happy.

  “Were you able to fix everything?” she murmured.

  “Things are under control, for now.” Contentment coursed through him now that she was near.

  “I knew you’d make things right again.”

  There it was again, the sweet support that buoyed him earlier in the day. He gripped his hands together so he wouldn’t give into the temptation to reach for her. The pressure of his grip shot a painful twinge across his knuckles, a reminder that she was an employee. Off-limits.

  She brushed a caress across his upper back. “My gosh, you’re tied up in knots. Shift a little bit.” Two hands landed on his shoulders, pointing him left. “There. Now I can reach everything.”

  Healing hands traveled across his upper back, down his side, and up his spine the way someone might soothe a troubled friend. Comforting him without asking for anything in return. He flinched in agonized pleasure when the cool pads of her fingertips rubbed the band of tension along his neck. “That muscle has been killing me for the past three hours.”

  “Considering how tight you are, I’m surprised your head hasn’t popped off.” She probed the sore area. “Does this hurt?”

  “Yeah, but don’t stop. I can take the pain.”

  “Tell me if I’m pressing too hard. Don’t want to make things worse than they already are.” She massaged his upper back. “Problem is, I can’t tell whether these muscles are tight with tension or if they normally feel like bands of steel.”

  “Tension. I was heading outside to the hot tub, but if you’re willing to take a crack at these knots, be my guest.” He tilted his head so her fingers could soothe the barbs of pain shooting between his neck and shoulder.

  “Let me get some leverage.” She got up on one knee and worked on the tense muscle for a few moments. “Looks like stress gathers in your shoulders.”

  “Working out loosens the kinks, but I couldn’t get to the gym today.”

  “I know what you mean. The days I need a long run, I never have the time. Drives me crazy.” She felt around his back. “Okay, I think we got out most of the most painful knots. Loosen your fists. I’m not going to dig anymore. You can relax.”

  “Wish I could,” he muttered, wondering what crisis he’d face tomorrow.

  She settled beside him and rubbed her palm across his back.

  The smooth edges of her fingernails skimmed across his T-shirt, scattering shivers across his skin. He swallowed a moan. “God, that feels great.”

  She pointed to the goose bumps pebbling his forearm. “You don’t fool me, Mitchell Blake. You like to be tickled.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  This was the perfect opportunity to point out a consultant was making him happy, but she didn’t. Instead, she swept another caress across his back. Mitch let out a tired sigh and bent his head.

  A companionable silence blanketed the living room. The rhythmic stroke of her hand along his back quieted the frantic hum of his thoughts. After a while, his hands hung limp between his knees. Tension leaked out of his shoulders, down his arms, and out of his legs. Under the tender sweep of her hand, he relaxed. For a few narcotic moments, he drifted in the gray area between wakefulness and sleep.

  “It’s late. I should probably go to bed.” Her hand lifted.

  He captured her wrist and pressed a grateful kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you,” he murmured against her soft skin. “I feel a lot better.”

  “You’re welcome.” She gave his hand a brief squeeze.

  Curious to see how her scrape was healing, he examined the heel of her thumb. The injury was no longer red and oozing, but a faint pink color. Relief diffused through him. She wouldn’t carry a scar from her fall.

  On impulse, he kissed the center of her palm. Her fingertips trembled, fluttering against his jaw like tiny butterflies drawn to the heat of his skin. He closed his hand around her wrist and the rapid flick of her pulse agai
nst his fingers made him wonder if his hold rattled her. Hell, he’d kissed her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world—but it wasn’t. Kissing her was the beginning of the end, but he had no idea if the impulsive act would end their friendship or end his suffocating loneliness. Now that she was in his grasp, he couldn’t stop. “I was in trouble the instant you stepped into my house eleven days ago.”

  “Trouble?” A crease formed between her eyebrows.

  She stared at him like she didn’t understand, but he knew she did. Knew it the instant her dark eyes dipped to his mouth.

  Mitch’s sexual fuse ignited. Holy hell, did she want the same thing he did? Willing to take the risk, he ventured onto the precipice he’d been edging close to ever since she arrived. “The night we met, you looked at me like I was the one man who could crash through your defenses. I felt the same way about you. Still do.” His fatigue evaporated, replaced by the throbbing urge to kiss her mouth, lose himself in those soft, smiling lips. “The only thing that got me through this rotten day was the chance I might see you tonight.”

  A blush painted her face in shades of pink…shades of surprise and maybe even happiness.

  He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to see that blush rise to her skin every time he whispered the thoughts bouncing off the walls of his brain. “Ever since you got here, I’ve been trying to find something about you not to like. I can’t come up with a blasted thing.”

  She let out a sad laugh. “Once the online store goes live, you’ll have hundreds of new reasons to dislike me while you’re filling orders for stemware. When will you find the time to create new products?”

  He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, grateful she broached the uncomfortable topic. “I can hire more glassblowers. If I get tired of making stemware, I can go into business for myself.”

  “What? Nick would be devastated.” Both her hands clasped his. “You can’t leave.”

  “There’s only one thing I can’t do.” He was ready to step off the jagged cliff. For this girl, he’d cross any chasm. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to get close to you.”