When I was done telling my tale of grocery store woe, he didn’t look happy, he didn’t look angry.

He just looked concerned.

“We gotta keep our eye on that,” he told me.

“Agreed,” I replied. Then to take his mind off this, I asked, “What’s in that bowl?”

His eyes came to me. “Onion dip.”

I pressed my lips together.

He grinned before saying, “You’re gonna love it, babe.”

“Is there anything you serve your children that isn’t mixed from an envelope, unearthed from a box or heated from a jar?”

“Yeah. When you cook.”

I rolled my eyes.

By the time I rolled them back, Jake had his fingers wrapped around the side of my neck and the bowl in his other hand.

“Ethan’s bitchin’, need to feed my boy,” he told me.

“Then let’s not delay in going to the family room so you can continue your quest to preserve your children’s bodies through chemicals.”

Jake burst out laughing.

I allowed myself a moment to watch, my lips curved up, then I grabbed the bowl of chips.

* * * * *

Jake’s arm around my belly gave me a squeeze as he nuzzled his face into the back of my hair.

I closed my eyes, stretching my arms out in front of me even as I pressed my hips back. In return, Jake shifted his hips upward, gliding his cock deeper inside me.

We’d both just come, Jake making love to me spooning. This was after Monday morning mayhem at his house, Jake going to the gym to open up, me taking Ethan to school, both of us returning in order to enjoy a mid-morning session in Jake’s bed.

His hand slid up and cupped my breast, his thumb stroking the side as he asked, “You gonna take a nap?”

“You aren’t?” I asked back.

“Got a guy comin’ in for training. Unfortunately, gotta hit it.”

“Mm,” I mumbled, settling further back into him.

“Jesus,” he growled, pressing deeper into me as his hand tightened at my breast. “You make leavin’ hard.”

“I suppose there are things to do,” I gave in.

“Yeah. And for me, one of them was my woman. Did that. Gotta get my ass in gear.”

I grinned at his words as Jake lifted up, kissed my shoulder and pulled gently out. Then he shifted in a way I knew what he wanted. So as he rolled back, I rolled toward him, lifted my head and looked into his eyes.

Now a deep blue.

Phenomenal.

I loved his eyes.

I loved his hair.

I loved the scar on his cheek.

I loved the power of his body.

I loved his warmth.

I loved the feel of him still between my legs.

I just loved him.

“Fuck,” he whispered and my thoughts moved from loving Jake Spear to the actual Jake lying in bed with me.

“What?” I whispered back.

His hand came up to cup my jaw and he answered, “You make leaving hard.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, Jake.”

“You were lookin’ at me thinkin’ somethin’, Slick, and whatever it was you were thinking makes leaving you hard.”

I drew in breath.

He lifted up, touched his mouth to mine and left it there, his eyes peering into mine when he said, “Lucky I know I get to come back.”

“Yes,” I said softly. “That makes me lucky too.”

His eyes smiled and it was warmer and deeper than his usual smile, which meant I enjoyed it more than I usually did before he brushed his nose against mine and moved away.

I watched him exit the bed and stroll to the bathroom, pulling up the sheet and informing his back, “I’m going to laze for a bit.”

“Have at it,” he called.

I had at it and was still where he left me when he came back, dressed in workout clothes. He put his hands in the bed, leaned deep and kissed me.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said when he pulled away.

“You certainly will,” I replied.

Another smile in his eyes before he lifted up, kissed my temple and I watched him walk out of the room.

It was then I smiled to myself and curled my arms around his pillow.

Five minutes after that, I remembered I had a lunch date with Alyssa and I needed to get back to Lavender House to repack my bag as all the clothes I’d brought were dirty. There was also laundry to do. And I needed to make certain we had what we needed for dinner that night.

Which meant I needed to get a move on.

I pulled myself out of bed, gathered my clothes from the floor and went about getting ready to take on the day (again).

But when I was done and as I was walking to the stairs, something caught my eye.

I turned to look into Jake’s office and stopped dead.

On his desk was a framed photo of me.

I shook my head, staring at it.

I knew that photo. Henry had taken it several years ago. We were on the beach in Cannes. The photo shoot had been completed the day before. Henry had decided we were going to stay an extra couple of days to unwind. We’d been walking on the beach and Henry had been making me laugh.

It was a good memory, now a bittersweet one.

Why on earth did Jake have that photo?

I moved into the room, thoughts and questions overtaking my brain.

As Henry gave that photo to Gran, Gran must have given it to Jake.

But why?

And I had not been in Jake’s office frequently, but I’d been in it more than once and never saw that picture displayed. In fact, the top right drawer of his desk, which was never open, was now open.

Had the picture come from there?

And if it had, why did he keep it in a drawer?

I was thinking that maybe he forgot he had it for whatever reason Gran gave it to him. One of the many things she did regarding Jake the last seven years that I was unclear about but stopped concerning myself with for the end results could not be argued.

On that thought, I stopped dead as my throat closed when I saw the pile of envelopes bound by a blue ribbon sitting in the drawer.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, the words sounding strangled as I stared at those envelopes.

I knew what they were. I’d seen them on Gran’s desk often enough over the last twenty years.

And Jake had them in a drawer in his desk with a photo of me.

Why?

Why did he have them?

Gran had to have given them to him but why would she do that?

And why wouldn’t he tell me he had them?

Why?

I reached out a hand slowly and curled my fingers around the pile. Something vastly unpleasant washed through me as I encountered the paper and lifted them out of the drawer, thus proving they were real. They were there.

My whole history. My whole life.

In letters.

In Jake’s desk.

Gran hadn’t told Jake about me and Gran hadn’t given me to him in her will.

She’d already given me to him. Completely.

But she didn’t tell me.

And neither did he.

“Babe, forgot my wallet,” Jake called from close and I turned woodenly to face the door.

I saw him make the landing and I also saw him turn his head, see me, see what I held in my hand, and stop dead.

And I knew by the look on his face that the picture, those letters, they had not been something he’d forgotten he had and therefore forgot to tell me he had them.

No, they were something he was hiding.

Honest, real, lay-it-out Jake Spear who gave me everything had a secret he’d been keeping.

From me.

He started into the room, his eyes locked to mine, and began, “Slick—”

I lifted the letters slightly and cut him off to ask, “Did Gran give these to you?”

He stopped an unusual distance away, which was to say any distance at all, and responded very unsuitably.

“What were you doin’ in my desk, baby?”

“Did Gran give these to you?” I repeated.

He didn’t answer. He reiterated his question.

“What were you doin’ in that desk, Josie?”

“It was open. The picture out.” I moved to the side to expose the picture. “It caught my eye, as it would, seeing as it’s of me and it’s Gran’s and I didn’t know you had it.”

Jake looked from the picture to me. “The picture was out?”

“Jake,” I said steadily, although I didn’t know how I managed it since everything else about me was trembling. “The picture being out is not the issue. Did Gran give you that photo? These letters?” I lifted the letters up again.

His eyes again locked on mine and he finally answered, “Yes.”

My heart squeezed.

“Did you read them?” I asked.

“Baby—”

My voice was sharper when I asked, “Did you read them, Jake?”

“Yes.”

I looked down to the letters then up to him. “How many times?”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” I returned. “How many times?”

“You know Lydie told me about you,” he pointed out.

I kept hold of the letters but dropped my hand, agreeing, “I know she told you about me. Told you, Jake. I had no idea she shared my private letters with you. Why would she do that? And why would you read them?”

“Because she gave them to me.”

“But they were”—I leaned toward him—“private.”

He stared into my eyes but said nothing.

So I asked, “When did she give them to you?”

“A while ago.”

“How long of a while ago?”

He took a step toward me, saying, “Josie—”

But I stepped back.

He stopped and I snapped, “How long of a while ago?”

I saw his jaw clench before he answered, “Five, six years.”

I stared at him, my heart squeezing harder.

“Five or six years?” I whispered.

“Yeah, baby. Now—”

I lifted up the bundle again. “You’ve known this much about me, everything, laid bare to you by my own hand, through my grandmother’s betrayal for five or six years?”

His entire body got still as he said, “Lydie didn’t betray you.”

That was when it happened.

It broke.

Or I broke.

And I did this by throwing the bundle violently against the wall and shouting, “She fucking did!” He moved again to me but I retreated then skirted him and when he didn’t stop, I warned, “Jake, you get fucking near me, I swear to God, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

Instantly, he stopped.

In any other frame of mind, I would have found that unbearably sweet.

In my current frame of mind, I found it the same but not in a good way.

“Why didn’t Gran introduce you to me?” I asked.

“Josie, we went through this,” he told me.

“We did and it didn’t make sense. And you know what, Jake? None of it does. None of it ever did. She was tight with you, the kids. She loved you. She spent a lot of time with you. She opened her home to you. She opened her heart to you. She told you about her and she told you about me. She gave you everything. So how in God’s name have I not met you?”

“We can’t know why she did it now, honey. She’s gone.”

“No,” I agreed quickly. “We can’t. Just as we can’t know why she would meet a man and share not only all of her deepest darkest secrets but also mine.”

“Slick, just take a breath and—”

“I’m not going to take a fucking breath, Jake,” I bit out. “Do you not find that strange? Utterly bizarre? Why would anyone do that?”

“We can’t know—”

“I bet we can,” I hissed, leaning back and crossing my arms on my chest. “So, tell me, she gave you those letters, what did she say, Jake? ‘Here, take these. Some bedtime reading to put you to sleep.’ Is that what she said?”

Jake didn’t reply.

He didn’t reply.

Jake, who laid it all out about everything, didn’t reply.

Oh God, he was absolutely hiding something.

“She gave me to you before she gave me to you,” I told him something he well knew. “You had me in your house.” I motioned to the picture and then to the letters. “All of me. Every thought. Every secret. All of me that should be mine to give.”

“Would you have given it?” he asked gently.

“I would have liked to have had the option,” I shot back.

“Would you have given it, Josie?” he pressed, still going gently.

“Maybe not,” I conceded sharply. “But even so, if she had some grand scheme, as she had to have had seeing as the evidence is clear.” I swiped the room with my arm. “Perhaps you could have shared it with me as she obviously shared it with you. Doing this, I don’t know, maybe one of the times I wondered out loud why on earth she did the things she did. Telling me, I don’t know, just how much you actually knew about me and that you had everything.”