Jaz could feel her anger straining at the leash of her control like a feral dog tied up with a piece of cotton. Her fingers around the mug of chocolate twitched. How she would love to spray it over Jake’s arrogant face. ‘You enjoy humiliating me, don’t you? It gives you such a big, fat hard-on, doesn’t it?’
His jaw worked as if her words had hit a raw nerve. ‘While we’re playing Ten Things I Hate About You, here’s another one for my list. You need to get over yourself. You’ve held onto this ridiculous grudge for far too long.’
Jaz saw the hot chocolate fly through the air before she fully registered she’d thrown it. It splashed over the front of his T-shirt like brown paint thrown at a wall.
Jake barely moved a muscle. He was as still as a statue on a plinth. Too still.
The silence was breathing, heaving with menace.
But then he calmly reached over the back of his head, hauled the T-shirt off, bunched it up into a rough ball and handed it to her. ‘Wash it.’
Jaz swallowed as she looked at the T-shirt. She had lost control. A thing she had sworn she would never do. Crazy people like her mother lost control. They shouted and screamed and threw things. Not her. She never let anyone do that to her. A tight knot of self-disgust began to choke her. Tears welled up behind her eyes, escaping from a place she had thought she had locked and bolted for good. Tears she hadn’t cried since that night when she had finally made it back to her bedroom with shame clinging to her like filth. No amount of showering had removed it. If she thought about that night she would feel it clogging every pore of her skin like engine grease. She took the T-shirt from him with an unsteady hand. ‘I’m sorry...’
‘Forget about it.’
I only wish I could, Jaz thought. But when she finally worked up the courage to look up he had already turned on his heel and gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAKE WAS VAINLY trying to sleep when he heard the sound of the plumbing going in the other wing of the house where Jasmine’s room was situated next to Miranda’s. He lay there for a while, listening as the pipes pumped water. Had Jasmine left on a tap? He glanced at the bedside clock. It was late to be having a shower, although he had to admit for him a cold one wouldn’t have gone astray. He rarely lost his temper. He preferred to laugh his way out of trouble but something about Jasmine’s mood had got to him tonight. He was sick of dragging their history around like a dead carcass. It was time to put it behind them. He didn’t want Julius and Holly’s or Miranda and Leandro’s wedding ruined by a ridiculous feud that had gone on way too long.
He shoved off the bed covers and reached for a bathrobe. He seemed to remember Jasmine had a tendency for long showers but he still thought he’d better check to make sure nothing was amiss. He made his way to the bathroom closest to her room and rapped his knuckles on the door. ‘You okay in there?’ he said. No answer. He tapped again, louder this time, and called out but the water continued. He tried the door but it was locked. He frowned. Why did she think she had to lock the door? They were alone in the house. Didn’t she trust him? The thought sat uncomfortably on him. He might be casual about sex but not that casual. He always ensured he had consent first.
Not that he was going to sleep with Jasmine. That would be crazy. Crazy but tempting. Way too tempting, if he was honest with himself. He had spent many an erotic daydream with her body pinned under his or over his, or with her mouth on him, sucking him until he blew like a bomb. She had that effect on men. She didn’t do it on purpose; her natural sensuality made men fall over like ninepins. Her beauty, her regal manner, her haughty ‘I’m too good for the likes of you’ air made men go weak at the knees, himself included. Just thinking about her naked body under that spray of water in the shower was enough to make him rock-hard.
He waited outside her door until the water finally stopped. ‘Jasmine?’
It was a while before she opened the door. She was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was wrapped turban-like with a towel. Her skin was rosy from the hot water and completely make-up free, giving her a youthful appearance that took him back a decade. ‘What?’ She frowned at him irritably. ‘Is something wrong with your bathroom?’
He frowned when he saw her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose. ‘Have you been crying?’
Her hand clutching the front of her bathrobe clenched a little tighter but her tone was full of derision. ‘Why would I be crying? Oh, yes, I remember now. My fiancé wanted a month’s break. Pardon me for being a little upset.’
Jake felt a stab of remorse for not having factored in her feelings. He had such an easy come, easy go attitude to his relationships he sometimes forgot other people invested much more emotionally. But did she really love the guy or was she in love with the idea of love and marriage? Three engagements in three years. That must be some sort of record, surely? Had she been in love each time? ‘You want to talk about it?’