Her So-Called Fiancé. Abby Gaines

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      “My smile is my best feature,” Jake said. “Seventy percent of voters think so.” Again, that ironic tone.

      “A hundred percent of this voter doesn’t agree.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “I count on you being nasty.”

      They lapsed into a moment’s silence as he passed a moving truck. “I’m not nasty.”

      “Mean, then,” she amended. “I rely on you not to handle me with kid gloves. So don’t go screwing up my world any more than it already is.” She folded her arms and looked out her window at the light industrial area they were passing through.

      “So you don’t need your dad, you don’t need Tyler. Do they know you’re flying solo?” He sounded curious rather than sarcastic.

      “They’ll figure it out when they see the changes I’m making.” She twisted to face Jake. “Being Miss Georgia has been an empowering experience.”

      Another snort—she should have known better than to trust his interest.

      “That’s what you said on TV,” he said, “in Las Vegas.”

      She pounced. “So you were watching.”

      The color that rose above the collar of his striped shirt was some compensation.

      “I figured it was a line to impress the judges,” he said.

      Sabrina contemplated how, if that had been her strategy, it had been a dismal failure. “Your defense of me at the airport was very touching,” she said, the memory of her humiliation stinging afresh.

      “Don’t take it personally, I just told the truth. You do have great legs.” He turned on the radio, tuned in to a current-affairs show. He’d had enough of this conversation, so apparently it was over.

      Sabrina hit the off button; Jake’s head jerked in her direction. “I meant,” she said, “the bit where you said I’m beautiful inside and out.”

      His lips clamped together, then parted just enough for him to mutter, “I got carried away with my own rhetoric.”

      “A common pitfall for politicians.”

      No reply. Just the jump of a muscle in his cheek as he returned his focus to the road.

      The buzz of her cell phone had Sabrina rummaging through her purse. One glance at the display and she stuffed the phone back into the jumble of makeup and tissues.

      “Reporter?” Jake asked.

      “My father.”

      “Don’t you want to remind him how you don’t need him anymore?”

      “He’ll soon see that.” Her dad’s impeccable sources would have reached him in Dallas where he was playing golf this weekend. He would know she was back and would be intent on shielding her, comforting her. Yet he would deny with his last breath that he had no respect for his youngest daughter—plenty of love, but no faith in her capabilities. Why had she let him, and everyone else, get away with that attitude for so long?

      Sabrina realized Jake had taken a turn away from the direction of Buckhead, the exclusive area of Atlanta where they’d both grown up. “Hey, where are you going?”

      “My place.”

      Her heart jolted, the way it had the first time he’d said those words to her, years ago. “Excuse me?” That came out high, panicky. Because no way could he be planning on doing what they’d done back then. Could he?

      “I want to talk to you.”

      Talk. Sabrina’s pulse slowed. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her mind.

      “Without the risk of one of your sisters barging in,” Jake added.

      Sabrina swallowed, licked her lips. “You and I don’t talk.”

      Technically, they talked often. Their families were close friends, they met at so many social occasions, it would be impossible to maintain the level of hostility that had consumed them five years ago.

      To ease those social connections, they’d fallen into a kind of barbed banter that let them express their dislike in a way that didn’t discomfit other people. Everyone knew their history, no one expected them to be pals. Except Tyler, who, for an intelligent man, had a naive view of their potential for reconciliation.

      But they didn’t have private, personal conversations—Sabrina couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone with Jake. Correction, she wished she couldn’t remember.

      “Don’t you think it’s time to forgive and forget?” Jake said. “Time we started talking again?”

      Jake Warrington, the man who never did anything that didn’t serve his ambition, wanted to be friends? She didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope, I’m good for a few more years.”

      His mouth twitched. She looked away. “I want to go home now.” Home. Sabrina had moved back in with her dad when she won the Miss Georgia title. For her security, her father had insisted. He would argue when she told him she was moving out, but this time she would stand firm.

      Jake kept driving in the wrong direction.

      “This is kidnapping,” she pointed out.

      “Only if I ask for a ransom and threaten to cut off your fingers.” He accelerated to get through a light before it turned red. “I’ll deliver you back to Daddy after we talk.”

      “Talk about what?”

      “I need your help.” He made a face, as if the words tasted of arsenic.

      What help could Jake possibly need from her? Fashion advice? She slid a glance at him. She couldn’t fault his style. He looked fantastic whatever he wore.

      He wasn’t about to divulge more. Short of wrenching the steering wheel out of his hands—and she would never, ever knowingly do something that might cause another accident—Sabrina had no choice but to go with him. She tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

      When it became obvious Sabrina wasn’t about to argue, Jake relaxed his grip on the wheel. He caught himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. That flower in her hair, the orchid, made him think about his father and that in turn made him think about all his problems. He dropped his gaze to the graceful curve of Sabrina’s neck, then lower. Don’t go there. He forced his attention back to the road. Any guy would find her a distraction. From a beautiful, slightly skinny twenty-one-year-old, she’d grown into a stunning woman with curves that made his hands itch. An itch he planned to ignore.

      SABRINA SPENT THE remainder of the journey to Virginia Highlands shoring up her resolution. Whatever Jake needed, she wasn’t the one to help him. The distance between them might be all about hostility on his side, but on hers it was self-preservation. Jake had broken her heart five years ago. Just looking at him reminded her of a pain she didn’t want to revisit, a vulnerability she never wanted to succumb to again.

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