Make Me Say It by Beth Kery Page B

apologize. She makes you feel vulnerable.” He shook his head, a smile breaking free. “Will wonders never cease? I’ve never seen you worked up over a girl, except for Regina upon occasion, of course, but that’s entirely—”
    Cyril put up his hands in a surrender gesture when he finally took in Jacob’s furious expression.
    “Don’t kill the messenger for stating the truth. It’s just common sense, to apologize to her,” Cyril insisted. “Embarrassment isn’t good cause to insult a person. Neither is liking them more than you think you should.”
    Jacob refused to rise to the bait, taking another sip of his soup. Inside, he was boiling.
    “She’s smart. Compassionate. Very pretty—even if not your typical taste,” Cyril mused maddeningly.
    “How do you know what my taste is?”
    Cyril gave him a disgusted glance. “I see it regularly, why wouldn’t I know? Long legs, a stunning face, a heart as cold and conniving as your own can be. The women you sleep with are lionesses, while the women you save are sad. Vulnerable.”
    Jacob looked up sharply at that, an unpleasant, freezing sensation shooting through his veins.
    “What are you talking about?
Saving
people?”
    Cyril shrugged, as if he couldn’t believe Jacob was asking for clarification on such an obvious topic.
    “Let’s see,” Cyril began, ticking off his fingers. “There’s Regina, then that housekeeper of yours at Sea Cliff. Marianne, isn’t it? There’s Elizabeth, of course, whom you rescued from that battered women’s shelter and turned into a titan of business. And that’s not even mentioning all the unknown people and animals you save through your charities. You can keep most of your philanthropy from being commonly known, Jacob, but you aren’t fooling me on that score.”
    “You’re babbling,” Jacob said coldly.
    “But Harper McFadden . . . she’s not a classic victim
or
a heartless lioness. And yet, against all odds . . . you like her. Ah—I’ve got it! The
scar
,” Cyril said, pointing to the corner of his mouth, indicating the location of Harper’s scar. “She’s the gorgeous, brave reporter with a soul sensitive enough to write stories like Ellie’s. She’s the
vulnerable
lioness.”
    Jacob hissed a curse, his spoon plinking loudly against his bowl. Cyril’s observations struck too close to home about many things, one of them being that he encapsulated his internal conflict about sexually dominating Harper with shocking precision.
    “She’s a
reporter
,” Jacob bit out, as if that explained everything. “I should be avoiding her like the plague. And I don’t
like
her. What is this, the fifth grade?”
    Cyril twirled his iced tea glass. “You like the way she makes you feel, then. Anyone could have seen that the other night.”
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Cyril just arched his brows in a sardonic challenge.
    “Because in point of fact, I
don’t
like the way Harper McFadden makes me feel,” Jacob declared loudly. He snapped his mouth closed when he heard the glass door slide open behind him.
    He blinked. He couldn’t believe he’d let Cyril get a rise out of him. It hardly ever happened. Lisa appeared with their second course. He stewed in his irritation while she served. What he’d told Cyril was true. Harper McFadden made him feel torn and restless. She made him feel like
this
: uncomfortably bewildered and prickly. She made him feel like he wasn’t himself . . . like he was Jake instead of Jacob.
    So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, then? He couldn’t seem to rid himself of this craving to possess her sexually, yet . . . he felt remorse over that. His guilt wasn’t dampening the need, though. There was a charge to his lust that was undeniable.
    It was because it was
Harper
. He was like a stupid kid all over again, unable to control either mind or body . . .
    And what if Cyril was right, and she
was
vulnerable in addition to being strong?
    It