For a heartbeat that stretched into an eternity, neither of us moved.
Then, the unmistakable crunch of tires on the gravel driveway shattered the spell.
Mom.
"Ruby—" he rasped, his voice rough and strained. His large hands shifted, clamping down on my waist to haul me off him before I could even blink.
We had barely scrambled to our feet, my knees still knocking together, when the front door banged open.
"Forgot my wallet!" Mom’s voice echoed down the hallway, her heels clicking in a frantic staccato toward the kitchen.
Jacob immediately turned his back to the house, reaching up to make a show of adjusting the wire on the trellis. The muscles in his back were bunched tight, his deep, ragged breaths forcing his chest to expand as he fought to compose himself. I hastily smoothed down my shorts, my face burning and my pulse hammering a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
The sliding glass door rattled open. "I swear, if my head wasn't screwed on, I'd leave it at the bakery," Mom groaned, stepping onto the patio and massaging her temples. Totally blind to my flushed face and Jacob’s unnatural rigidity, she continued, "I can feel a splitting migraine coming on. I'm going upstairs to lie down for twenty minutes before I head back out."
Jacob cleared his throat, his voice infuriatingly steady when he glanced over his shoulder. "Take your time, dear. We've got it covered out here."
"You're a lifesaver," she sighed, looking up at the warm amber glow of the Edison bulbs we had just strung. "Oh, the lights look gorgeous. Why don't you two take a breather? There's a bottle of the anniversary champagne chilling in the outdoor mini-fridge. Pour yourselves a glass. Just don't let Ruby overdo it, Jacob."
With a tired wave, she retreated inside, sliding the glass door shut in her wake.
A moment later, the light in the second-floor master bedroom flicked on. The window was cracked open, directly overlooking the patio, and we were in the deep shadows beneath the awning.
Jacob stared at the glowing window for a long moment before blowing out a heavy breath. He walked over to the patio lounge chair, the leather groaning under his weight as he sank into it. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he scrubbed a hand over his face.
I stood awkwardly by the trellis, my skin still humming where he had touched me. "I can... I can grab the champagne," I offered, my voice barely a whisper.
Only then did he turn to look at me, his dark eyes searching my face.
I retrieved the bottle and two glasses, my hands shaking slightly as I popped the cork with a muted hiss. Walking over to the lounge chair, some reckless, magnetic pull drew me to drop down right next to him on the cushions.
The leather dipped heavily under his weight, causing my bare thigh to slide flush against the rough denim of his jeans. He didn't pull away.
I poured the bubbling liquid and handed him a glass. As our fingers brushed, a sharp, electric jolt shot between us. I quickly took a sip of my own, the ice-cold champagne a shocking contrast to the suffocating heat radiating off his massive frame. My hands were trembling so badly that a single, freezing drop spilled from the rim, trailing a slow, agonizing path down the bare skin of my thigh.
Jacob’s darkened eyes snapped down, tracking the solitary drop all the way down.
"Champagne is fine, but it’s a little… predictable," I murmured. Standing up, I sauntered over to the outdoor bar cart tucked into the far corner of the patio. Mom kept her prized liquor stash out here for her summer hosting, tucked safely away from the everyday chaos of the kitchen.
Bypassing the standard mixers, I reached straight for the heavy crystal decanter of her bourbon, pairing it with a bottle of imported dark cherry liqueur and artisan bitters.
"What are you doing, Ruby?" Jacob's voice was a low, warning rumble. I could feel his gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades. "Your mom will have my ass if you touch that."
"She's asleep," I dismissed breezily, grabbing a sleek stainless-steel shaker. "Besides, I picked up a few tricks at Maya's party last weekend. You've been busting your ass all day. Let me make you a real drink."
I moved with a breezy confidence I definitely hadn't had an hour ago. Pouring the rich amber liquid over a single, large sphere of ice, I added the liqueur with a dramatic flick of my wrist. I shook it vigorously, the ice rattling a sharp cadence against the metal as the intoxicating aroma of oak, dark cherry, and spice quickly permeated the humid air.
I turned back to the lounger, stepping squarely into the narrow V between his parted knees to hand him the glass.
He didn't take the drink immediately. His eyes did a slow, deliberate crawl up my bare legs, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed by my cropped tank top, before finally locking onto mine. When his large, calloused fingers wrapped around the chilled glass, they grazed my knuckles. The friction sent a violent spark shooting straight up my arm.
He took a slow sip, his throat working visibly as he swallowed. I didn't bother making a second glass; I simply lifted the shaker to my lips and downed the leftover mixture straight from the rim. The high-proof alcohol hit my bloodstream like a lit match. It didn't make me dizzy—it made me hyper-aware, reckless, and fiercely bold.
"Smooth," Jacob admitted, his voice dropping into a dangerously raspy register.
I smiled, leaning down just a fraction closer, running entirely on the liquid courage burning through my veins. "Told you. I'm not a little kid anymore, Jacob."
The cocky words had barely left my lips when the sharp, metallic screech of the second-floor balcony door sliding open shattered the quiet night.
"Jacob?" Mom’s voice drifted down, raspy and thick with sleep.
My stomach dropped to my toes. She wasn't just at the window—she had stepped out onto the upper deck, directly above the edge of the awning.
Blind panic seized me.
The bourbon. The two-thousand-dollar crystal decanter and the liqueur were sitting dead center on the glass patio table, practically glowing under the amber Edison bulbs. If Mom so much as glanced over the railing, she’d see her prized anniversary bottles cracked open by her teenage daughter.
"Oh, shit," I hissed.
My brain short-circuited. I lunged across the space, snatching up the heavy decanter and the bottle in one frantic, sweeping motion. But Mom's footsteps were already nearing the wooden railing above us, and there was absolutely nowhere to hide them on the bare glass table.
Running purely on adrenaline, I spun on my heel and threw myself right at Jacob.
I shoved the bottles blindly under the thick fleece throw draped across his lap. But the sudden momentum carried me entirely off balance. My knees slammed into the edge of the leather cushion, and I spilled right into his lap.
We were tucked right into the dead center of the overhang's deep shadow—a perfect, pitch-black blind spot directly beneath Mom.
"Ruby?" Mom’s voice drifted down, so agonizingly close it felt as if she were standing right next to us. The wooden planks groaned softly under her slippers.
Jacob’s massive hands clamped onto my bare waist, his fingers digging into my soft skin with bruising force, bracing to keep us from tipping over. The heavy crystal decanter was wedged awkwardly beneath the blanket, trapped right between my legs and the edge of the leather cushion. If I wobbled or shifted even a fraction of an inch, two thousand dollars' worth of glass would go shattering across the patio stones.
And I was straddling him perfectly.
I lifted my hand, pressing a single, trembling finger firmly against his lips to demand absolute silence.
Above us, a heavy sigh drifted down through the humid air. "Probably snuck back inside to watch TV," Mom muttered to herself, her voice laced with fond exasperation. "Those two... so predictable."
The wooden deck groaned as she turned away, followed immediately by the definitive thud of the second-floor balcony door rolling shut.
We were completely alone again.
In the sudden, heavy quiet of the yard, the thick tension didn't snap—it dialed up. Jacob didn’t scramble to push me off, nor did his iron grip on my waist loosen to free me. He simply let out a long, slow exhale that fanned hotly over my collarbone, his broad chest rising and falling smoothly beneath my own.
Through the pitch-black shadows, his dark eyes locked calmly onto mine. The protective urgency from moments ago had completely vanished, replaced by a deep, unreadable heat. He didn't say a word. With agonizing slowness, he simply arched a single, dark eyebrow—a silent signal that I was free to get off him now.
If I actually wanted to.
Instead, I held his burning gaze and smiled.
Moving at an agonizing crawl, I let my upper body melt completely against his solid chest, erasing the last fraction of space between us. My hands slid from his lips, tracing the sharp, tense line of his jaw before tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
His breath hitched, then stopped completely.
Under the heavy cover of the darkness, I shifted my weight. I sank my hips down, pressing intimately, heavily, right into the rigid, undeniable tension straining furiously against the fly of his jeans.
A sharp, guttural sound—halfway between a choked gasp and a groan—was brutally swallowed in the back of his throat. His heavy hands, still locked on my waist, trembled violently.
I lowered my mouth right next to his ear, my breath brushing the hot, pulse-beating skin of his neck.
"You feel so incredibly good under me, Daddy," I whispered, before dragging my teeth lightly over his earlobe.