The dresser was crowded with bottles, at least twenty different brands of scent and lotion. There was also a photograph of her family.
He found it difficult to concentrate on it, as she was standing by the bed, stripped to the waist She had taken off his sweater. He’d been forced to loan it to her for the remainder of the trip, as he’d destroyed her shirt. With one ear cocked toward the unit by her bed that served as radio, alarm clock and message machine, she rooted through her closet for another top.
“Hey, babe.” The voice on the machine was cajoling and very male. The moment he heard it, Jacob despised it. “It’s Pete. You’re not still steamed, are you, doll? Come on, Sunny, forgive and forget, right? Give me a call and we’ll go dancing. I miss that pretty face of yours.”
Sunny gave a quick snort and dragged out a sweatshirt.
“Who’s Pete?”
“Whoa.” She put a hand between her breasts. “You scared me.”
“Who’s Pete?” he repeated.
“Just a guy.” She tugged the sweatshirt on, “I was hoping you’d bring in one of those sodas.” She sat on the bed to pull off her boots.
“Sunny.” This time the voice on the phone was smooth and feminine. “We got a postcard from Libby and Cal. Let us know when you get back in town.”
“My mother,” Sunny explained, wriggling her toes. Grinning, she passed him the sweater. “You can have this back now.”
Not entirely sure what he was feeling, he took off his coat. Beneath it, his chest was bare. As he started to pull the sweater over his head, the machine announced the next message.
“Hey, Sunny, it’s Marco. Where the hell are you, sweet thing? I’ve been calling for a week. Give me a buzz when you get back.” There was a sound, like a big, smacking kiss before the beep.
“Who’s Marco?” Jacob asked, deadly calm.
“Another guy.” Her brows rose when he took her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“How many are there?”
“Messages?”
“Men.”
“Sunny... Bob here. I thought you might like to—”
Deliberately Sunny shut off the machine. “I haven’t kept track,” she said evenly. “Do you want to compare past lives, J.T.?”
He didn’t answer, because he found he couldn’t. Releasing her, he walked away.
Jealousy. It filled him. And how he detested it. He didn’t consider himself a reasonable man, but he was certainly an intelligent one. He knew she hadn’t begun to live the moment he had walked into her life. A woman like her, beautiful, bright, fascinating, would attract men. Many men. And if it had been possible he would have murdered each and every one of them for touching what was his.
And not his.
He swore and spun around to see her watching him from the doorway.
“Are we going to fight?”
He ached. Just looking at her, he ached, for what was, and for what could never be. “No.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want them near you,” he blurted out.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
He reached her in three strides. “I mean it.”
She tugged her arms free and glared at him. “So do I. Damn it, do you think any of them could mean anything to me after you?”