Make Me Forget Read Online Free PDF Page B

fire.”
    No one contradicted him. Harper had the impression no one would dare. She followed him up the stairs, highly aware of two things: the stares on her exposed back, and Jacob Latimer’s hand on the sensitive skin on the underside of her elbow.
    “There. Is that better?” he asked a moment later when he led her to a deep sofa situated before one of the stone fireplaces. She nodded and set down her wineglass on a coffee table before she sat. Realizing she still clutched her purse, she quickly tucked it in the corner of the sofa. He came down on the cushion next to her. His long, strong thigh was only an inch away from hers. His stark masculinity—his potent attractiveness—crowded her brain and rushed her body.
    “It got chilly so fast. It was really warm when I left my townhome,” she said, her voice steady despite her ruffled state. Her halter dress left her arms and a good portion of her back exposed. The warmth from the fire felt good on her chilled skin.
    “Tahoe is a place of extremes. The temperatures at night can plunge thirty, even forty degrees from the daytime highs. It’s alpine desert, but it’s still the desert. In the winter, I can ski on a foot of new powder and come down the mountains to the lake and broil a bit in the sun.”
    She smiled. “That sounds nice. Thank you,” she murmured to the waiter when he approached and placed two steaming cups on the table in front of them. Latimer leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, and grabbed the drinks. She accepted the mug gratefully, cradling the drink with both hands.
    “Cider,” he said, inhaling the steam from his cup.
    Harper took a drink. “And . . . whiskey?” she added, stifling a gasp. The beverage was tasty and warming, but strong.
    He smiled and set down his cup. “Blended bourbon, actually. Would you prefer something else?”
    She shook her head and took another sip. “It’s delicious. I just wasn’t expecting the up-front punch.”
    “Just like you weren’t expecting all that talk about the film.”
    “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said frankly, turning toward him.
    His expression sobered.
    She hadn’t meant to say her impulsive thought out loud. She cleared her throat and clutched the intoxicating beverage tighter in her hand. “I mean . . . I hadn’t put Jacob Latimer the icon and you together, when we met down there on the beach.”
    “Icon,” he repeated slowly, that X-ray stare narrowing on her. “An icon is representative of something. What do you think I symbolize?”
    She laughed but squirmed a little in her seat. “I don’t know. The American Dream, rags to riches, glamor and wealth, mystery and speculation, and—”
    “Ill-gotten gains?” he murmured, his silky tone at odds with the sudden glacial quality of his eyes.
    Jesus. The rumors about him being paranoid are true.
    “I wasn’t going to say that,” she replied.
    “I’m not a symbol of anything.”
    He closed his eyes briefly, as if to calm a sudden rough chop of emotion. When he opened his eyelids, he once again seemed completely under control, if a little weary.
    “I’m sorry if I seem suspicious,” he said slowly. “It’s a constant battle to keep my private life private. Cyril is interested in your story for the film, and I want to help him if I can. But I don’t usually allow the press into my home. The invitation was for you. Harper McFadden. Not a member of the press. I want to make that clear from the outset. From what I’ve learned about you, I assume you’d have the decency to tell me right now if you planned to print anything you learned here tonight.”
    “I didn’t come here for that,” she said stiffly. “And you’re right. I’d tell you if I was planning on publishing anything about tonight. Or about you.”
    He merely regarded her steadily for a moment by way of response, and then transferred his gaze to the fire. Her brief flash of annoyance in reaction to his suspicion seemed to drain away under the