She curled her hands into fists and pressed her lips together. She marched past him, aiming for the door. To leave? Bail again? She was as skittish as a leopard gecko.
“Clementine.”
She stopped and slumped forward. She shook her head slightly, then turned, defiance in her cinnamon eyes. “There are things I haven’t told you, things I haven’t been honest about.”
“What things?”
“Scary things. Bad things. Things you won’t like.”
He’d assumed as much, based on her behavior. Her lie about her name and avoidance of work topics were troubling, her difficult childhood hinting at trauma. Maybe she’d been treated as poorly as his reptiles, taunted, ignored, abused.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“I can’t.”
“Then tell me this—do you like me?”
Her face crumpled. “So much.”
His heart gave a painful thump. That admission was all he needed. “It’s settled, then.”
She sputtered, probably about to toss out more excuses, but he closed the distance between them and pressed a finger to her lips. “I like you so much, too. So we’re going to take this slow. One day at time. Just focus on right now.”
“Right now?” Those two words seemed to relax her.
“I won’t push you to open up before you’re ready, or worry about the day you leave, under one condition.”
Her confidence returned, the lift of her shoulders accentuating the soft curves of her breasts, free to roam beneath that light cotton T-shirt. “Only one.”
“Stop judging me for how I spend my money.”
She rocked on her feet, then nodded. “Seems like a fair trade.”
He was on the losing end of it, that much he knew. Clementine’s secrets were big enough to have her running from him since they’d met. But she’d opened up to him at the bar, nothing but bitter truth in her family history. She’d trusted him then. She would trust him more, if he worked at it. And their connection made the work effortless.
Plus, striking the bargain meant he could buy her gifts and she couldn’t complain. He would have some fun with that.
“Are you free tonight?” he asked.
She twirled a wet strand of hair around her finger. “I am.”
“Then you’ll stay for dinner.”
She gawked. “Excuse me?”
He cornered her against the baroque couch. “You said you’d agree to a date.”
“That must have been the other girl you tricked into thinking you’re a nice guy.”
“Back to being annoying, are we?”
“What did I tell you about seducing women by calling them names?”
“That it’s an excellent way to declare my adoration?”
She snorted. “You’re trouble, Elvis. No way am I meeting your entire family on our first date.”
He clasped her hips and pinned her in place. “I’ve already told my mother. Saying no now would be rude.”
She clutched his shoulders. “I think I liked you better when you were awkward and shy.”
“Oh, Clementine.” He leaned down, brushed his lips against her ear. “You’ll like me confident just fine.”
Her breath hitched, and he moved to capture her mouth with his.
“Jack? Is that you?”
He groaned. His little sister really needed to work on her timing.
Clementine pushed Jack away, hard enough that she rolled over the couch arm and landed with an ungraceful oof. Perfect. Not only had she been caught getting cozy with Jack, she’d gone and rubbed her wet hair all over their gazillion-dollar sofa. She pushed herself to sitting and crossed her legs, like she wasn’t braless and makeup-less and a general mess.
“Hi.” She waved at the tough-looking girl hanging off the door frame.
“This is Clementine,” Jack said, completing the introduction. “A friend of mine who’s staying for dinner.”
“I’m Chloe,” the fierce girl replied. Her gaze darted between her brother and his date.
Clementine still wasn’t sure how that had happened. An actual date, with this wonderful man (and his family!), who’d confided his deepest secrets because he couldn’t handle lying to her. A freaking con-woman. If her guilt were any thicker, she’d drown in it.
He walked over to his sister and smoothed her hair. “How you holding up? Nap okay?”
“Not bad.” She fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. Her outfit was hardcore. Ripped jeans. Game of Thrones T-shirt. Boots too warm for the weather. Her wavy brown hair was long and loose, lighter than Jack’s, her nose petite and feminine, but she had his aquamarine eyes.
Jack nudged Chloe’s shoulder. “Rain’s stopped. What do you say we explore the woods?”
She rolled her eyes. A barely-there effort as her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “I’m too old for that.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Twelve is ancient. Maybe Clementine and I will go on our own. Check out the new jump I built last week.”
Chloe scratched her cheek, the skin already inflamed with teenage acne. She fidgeted with her hands—made him wait for it—then she grinned. “Race you to the treehouse? Loser has to eat Mom’s overcooked carrots.”
Jack shivered. “Those aren’t touching my tongue.” He glanced at Clementine, eyebrow raised. “A walk in the woods sound good to you?”
It sounded fine, but he was oblivious to her uncomfortable attire. She jerked her chin downward, toward her braless breasts. A state of undress she’d rather not share with his sister.
The clueless man mouthed, What?
She mouthed, Bra.
Him: What?
Her: BRA, but shouting in silence didn’t work.
She finally pointed at her boobs.
He cringed and patted Chloe’s shoulder. “We’ll meet you at the forest edge, Ladybug.”
Chloe side-eyed the two of them, a move that looked beyond her years, then she punched her big brother’s arm. “Be prepared to lose.”
Chloe darted from the room and Clementine slumped. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.” His eyelids fell heavy, clearly enamored with her sparse wardrobe.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m in your mother’s clothes.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wear. You’re always sexy.”
Her heart gave a flutter. She still had no intention of traipsing around, boobs willy-nilly, all afternoon. “I’ll see if my sports bra’s dry. And I have a change of clothes in my car.” Because her getaway bag was always close. “Then we’ll go for a nice walk in the woods and check out this jump you built.” It would give her time to adjust to these new “dating” circumstances.
She moved to pass him, but he grabbed her upper arm. “You don’t mind spending the day with us?”
She was in his estate, could easily use the time to tour its expanse, find the Van Gogh. Nothing could be further from her mind. Especially when she’d been so close to telling him exactly what had brought her to Whichway. Instead bone-deep fear had seized her lungs. If this went much further, she’d have no choice. She’d have to risk him calling the cops and tossing her out of his house. But he’d offered her right now, and right now sounded pretty darn good. “I’d love to spend the day with you.”