Grateful for the opportunity to have a moment alone, I skirt around the sheet-draped furniture and enter the adjoining study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall and a huge bay window overlooks a jungle of a back garden. The orange fingers of dusk settle on a ridiculous, massive Victorian-style couch covered in a busy pattern of birds, leaves, flowers, and grapes.

I’m in love.

Jake steps into the room and pokes at a wall. Plaster crumbles onto the floor. “This is why I can’t rent it out and why I never even thought of offering it to you.” He scrubs his hands over his face and then turns to me. “It needs serious renovation and I don’t have the time to put in the work. No one else…”

He cuts himself off and frowns, studying me as if I were a curiosity in the zoo. His gaze flicks around the room, then back to me and his frown deepens. “You like it.”

Caught off guard, my breath catches in my throat. Am I that transparent? “I…uh…yeah, it’s an awesome place, but not for an office. I mean, you’ve been in Farnsworth & Tillman. This doesn’t really scream ‘serious professional.’”

Jake’s face softens. “But it screams ‘Amanda.’ It reminds me of your old apartment and, to some extent, your grandmother’s house. You must have inherited your quirky sense of style from her.”

I’m sure he can’t imagine how much his words mean to me. Just the thought that I am somehow still connected to her makes my throat tighten with emotion. I twist my bracelet around and around my wrist. “Yeah, we had the same taste.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

“Jake…” I hesitate. I love it. I want it. But it’s all wrong. Just like Jake and me. “I would love to, but I just can’t. I need to project a certain image and crumbling Victorian with a hint of country chic isn’t it.”

He gives me a considered look. “What if I hauled the Redemption crew in here to fix it up? I got lots of favors I can call in. Get enough guys and they can do all the hard work…stripping the walls, refinishing the floors, rewiring, putting up the drywall… Not much we can do about the structure and moldings, but you could do it up modern inside, make it just like Farnsworth & Tillman if you want.” He twists his lips to the side. “Still…it’s a lot of work…”

Oh God. Suddenly I want it so bad I can barely breathe, even though it’s totally wrong for a law firm. Now I’m worried he’ll change his mind. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. “I would help,” I say into the silence. “And Makayla… Probably Max too, if we told him it was dangerous and Makayla might get hurt.”

Damn. Now I sound desperate. Not good. I rest a hand on the worn oak desk and try to look casual, like I get kissed, brushed off, and teased with the house of my most-secret-inner-desires-that-is-so-wrong-for-a-business every day. Hmmm. Maybe too casual if I’m trying to convey a mild interest. I drop my hand to the side. Now I look like a soldier. How about behind my back? Oh God. Now I look like one of my professors. In front? Nope. He’ll think I’m penitent. I resort to the tried and true, brushing of the hair over the shoulder.

Jake’s eyes sparkle, amused. He leans back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and folds his arms. Even in his worn, ripped clothes, he makes my mouth water: jeans hanging low on narrow hips, T-shirt torn just enough to reveal a ripple of muscle on his chest, and biceps bulging from tight sleeves. I am almost launched into a torrid fantasy where I shred his clothes in a frenzy of lust.

“If the guys come over and fix it up…will you rent it?”

A shiver races down my spine, but I play it cool and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “Are you sure you want me? I mean, it’s a lot of work and I have another office lined up so don’t think I’m desperate or…”

“Yes. I want you.”

Every bit of warmth rushes to my center, but I hesitate. Do I want the place bad enough to endure the torture of having Jake for a landlord? Sure, he’s been kind and helpful, but he clearly still hasn’t forgiven me. And maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to forgive him. How many times did I try to talk to him about what happened? How many times was I rebuffed?

Simply out of curiosity, I ask, “What’s the rent?”

“Whatever you want to pay.”

My eyebrow lifts and I fiddle with my hair, twisting it in a knot. “If I was interested, I would want to pay whatever you were asking of the other people who came to see the place.”

Jake names a figure I am sure is nothing near what he could get from someone else. I tell him so. He shrugs and says it isn’t negotiable. I offer what I was going to pay for the other office. His eyes harden and he lowers his initial offer. I begrudgingly capitulate and dance a secret inner dance of joy.

“You’re a dangerous man,” I say after we haggle through a few details. “First you convince me to leave my house and venture back out into the world. Then you convince me to start a business. And now, I’m renting the least likely place I ever expected to see myself running a law firm. What’s next?”

A slow, sensual smile curves his lips. “If I told you what I had planned, you’d run for the hills.” He closes the distance between us and runs his fingers through my hair, working out the tangle my fiddling has created as if he couldn’t bear to see it anymore. His touch is gentle, his breath sweet on my cheek. Maybe he doesn’t like tangles. Or maybe he needed to get that out of his system too.