“Something else we have in common.”
“Problem is, you’ve had a chance to heal. I haven’t.” Splaying her hand across her chest, she felt the wet spot at the tip of her breast where Mitch’s mouth had been. A thrum vibrated through her body. What wonderful things would he do if she let him? Her gaze lowered to the impressive bulge behind his fly, but the rip above his knee reminded her that he was from a different world. “I don’t want to jerk you around while I figure things out.”
“I’m willing to go through the rough patches. To be brutally honest, staying away from you hurts like hell.” He looked down at his feet and cleared his throat. “You mentioned wanting to take pictures while I worked in the studio. How about tomorrow?”
Her mind spun, struggling to catch up with the conversation. “I thought you didn’t want me to distract your glassblowers.”
“I’ve reconsidered. A little while ago, someone said she felt sorry for the consultants who ventured into my building. She accused me of not making their jobs easier, and she was right.” The tendons along his jaw tightened as his gaze met hers. “Come into the studio tomorrow to take pictures for the website. Like I told you before, I want to be the man you run to when you need help.”
Mitch’s words made her heart burst. All these years, she assumed a man in a three-piece suit would cut through her defenses. She never expected a man in torn blue jeans to make her soul sing.
She ran toward him, flinging herself against his chest.
Big arms tightened around her. A low, rich chuckle tickled her ear.
Something deep in her bones vibrated—a quake of pure elation, quite similar to the joy she felt each time she depressed the shutter on her camera to capture the perfect shot. Framing his jaw in her hands, she kissed his grin with one of her own. Breaking away, she padded to her bedroom.
“Will you sleep in another black slip, pixie?”
The husky way he said pixie made the nickname sound heart-wrenchingly intimate. His baritone contained the same heat generated by one of the factory’s furnaces, warming her insides. “I’m not sure what I’ll wear to bed. Seems a little warm tonight.” Struck by a surge of mischief, she peered around her doorframe at him. “Maybe I’ll just sleep in panties and a bra.”
“Aw, hell. Wish you hadn’t said that.” He turned toward the kitchen. “If you get cold, come find me. My bedroom door will be open. Wide open.”
She tightened her hand around the doorframe to resist the urge to follow him. “Mitch?”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“Thanks for inviting me into the studio.” She smiled.
“You’re welcome. Wear jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, okay? Sparks fly when we’re shaping the glass. I don’t want any to land on your skin.” His mouth broke into a slow grin. “Bras and panties are optional.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I’d rather not talk while I’m taking photographs.” Jaye broke into a sweat, but standing near a 2,400 degree furnace had little to do with the perspiration dripping down her back.
“We’ve got a little time to kill before I shape the glass.” Mitch moved a few tools to a nearby workbench. “You used to work for Cruz Technologies, right? I went online and looked at their website. They still list your biography.”
Damn. What else did he find? She untucked her black T-shirt to get more air to her skin. “Cruz Tech will remove me from their website soon.” They’d better.
“Your bio said you played lacrosse for Dartmouth and graduated Phi Beta Kappa.” He dipped his chin. “Impressive.”
A shiver of dread skidded down her spine. He’d begun to dig for answers. She didn’t know what she feared most—whether he’d uncover the shameful extent of David’s betrayal, or if Mitch would track down her father.
She peered through the viewer of her Canon 5D camera, watching Freddie poke a steel pipe into the furnace’s fiery belly. He gathered a glowing mass on the pipe and blew into the opposite end to inflate the molten glass into the size of a grapefruit. The viscous orb glowed a warm orange color.
With an efficient turn, Mitch took the pipe and placed it across the two metal arms on either side of his bench. Rolling the pipe back and forth with his left hand, Mitch dragged a metal tool across the malleable glass.
“Cruz sent you out on a number of consulting jobs over the years,” he said, not looking up from his work.
Perhaps providing some information would defuse Mitch’s curiosity. She watched him through her camera. “While I consulted for them, I wrote code for a number of big companies. Learned a lot.”
He fell silent, using a pair of oversized tweezers to smooth the surface of the glass.
She snapped photographs, trying to capture the quiet concentration on his face. The glow from the furnace painted the blunt plane of his cheek in firelight.
He nodded at Freddie and poured his piercing gaze into her lens. “A couple of years ago, you took a consulting job in Richmond. You started working with David Butler.”
She dropped her camera. The strap around her neck swung the Canon into her gut, knocking a whoosh of breath out of her. Jaye pretended to adjust the camera settings, struggling to look unconcerned.
“Is he the one?” Mitch shot her a probing look. “He posted pictures on his website. They’re all of you.”
Typical. David would use every megabyte of social media to link them together. At least one thing was certain—none of those pictures contained any evidence they dated. David was always careful not to touch her in public, in case someone better came along. She pointed her camera at Freddie, who gathered more molten glass on his pipe.
Mitch guided the fresh lump of molten glass onto the base of his project
