"You're taken now, remember? How about giving me a shot at him?" Reny mused.
Jamie frowned. "I'm not taken." Jamie hadn't told anyone about Conrad's proposal, but Reny always seemed to know everyone's business.
"Conrad Malcolm is the most eligible bachelor this side of the Mississippi," Reny exclaimed in her fake southern drawl. "You would be a fool not to jump at the chance to marry him."
"He's been my date to a few parties. I hardly know him," she said lightly.
"So? With his family name and money, he's destined to be a Senator and maybe even President one day."
Heaven help the country. She stared at the newspaper photo of the rugged Aidan Brice. The contrast to the meticulous, spoiled Conrad was stark. Tan and muscular, with dazzling grey eyes hidden behind a fringe of golden hair, Aidan was all man. A curious thought formed in her mind.
"Maybe I need a fling. A fun, fall fling while I remodel my beach cottage," Jamie joked. It would be just the thing to erase Conrad from her memory.
Reny smiled fiendishly and handed the paper back to Jamie. "Tread carefully, my dear. A man like Aidan Brice could become dangerously addictive."
"Dani Architecture," a gruff voice vibrated abruptly in the tiny phone.
Jamie waved her friend away.
Reny gave her a wink. "Tell me all later," she said, and sashayed back to the party, putting forth her brightest smile for her next rich and powerful victim.
"You sure like to keep a woman waiting."
"I apologize, Miss. Connolly. How can I help you?"
The question, spoken from a deep, baritone voice, hung in the silent air. She sucked in a quick breath as chills ran down her spine.
"I understand you are an expert at historical renovations."
"Yes, I am." His voice was low and rough, and unmistakably male. It was a far cry from the prim, stuffy voices of the fastidious society men.
"I purchased one of the old beach cottages in Pirate's Cove, and I'd like you to take a look at it," she said.
Silence.
"Hello?"
"I'm checking my calendar. I can't see you till next week. Friday noon. What's the address?" he asked.
"Seventeen Bay Drive," she said, and paused to let him write it down.
Clearly, he didn't remember her. She must have been one of many girls he'd forgotten from his Sabina Beach kissing sessions. She would rouse his memory. The thought of melting that icy, all-business attitude was intriguing.
"You can't see me sooner?" she asked.
"No." His tone was blunt.
"You're a busy man."
"So, they tell me," he remarked.
"You must be very good at what you do."
His voice turned cool. "I can't say I've had any complaints."
She pursed her lips into a smile. Here was an enticing game of challenge; a perfect diversion from deranged ex-boyfriends, and superficial society parties.
"Friday it is then," she said, and hung up before he replied.
It was going to be a long week.
~
Aidan hung up the receiver. What was Jamie Connolly up to? And what had happened to the shy, quiet girl he'd shared kisses with one sultry night in high school? This Jamie bore no resemblance to the sweet girl who had stolen his teenage heart.
He shut the lights off in his office, locked up and headed down to the garage. The throaty purr of the truck's engine barely filled the silence as he turned the key in the ignition. He turned the radio on and turned up the volume, trying to drown out his thoughts with the harsh sounds of an electric guitar. Heck, he didn't even think she remembered him.
Aidan hadn't seen Jamie in nearly fifteen years. He had woken up one day and she was gone, vanished from the halls of Seabrook high without a trace. Now she'd returned. All it took was the sound of her voice, and he felt the stirrings of a feeling he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
And he didn't like it one bit.
Chapter Two
Thursday night Jamie arrived home late, and exhausted. She still had to pack for her stay in Seabrook, but incredible news had given her mood a lift. In a twist of fate, her dream house had come on the market days after she closed on the beach cottage. Villa Milagros, her beloved childhood home would finally be hers again. She would make sure to have the winning bid. She'd willingly pay twice its value, so there was no problem there.
She'd cried the day they'd sold it. But the cancer that claimed her mother's life had also taken their home and any sense of security Jamie had ever known. Hospital bills needed to be paid and the house was sold, leaving Jamie homeless, bereft and orphaned at the age of fifteen. It had broken her heart to leave Seabrook behind, but once she'd gone, she had never looked back. Returning was bittersweet.
Conrad Malcolm had changed her plans. Now her beach bungalow wasn't just for escaping the stress of Palm Beach, it was for escaping a powerful, disturbed Malcolm who wouldn't take no for an answer.
She stepped into the elevator, barely managing to push the button to her floor. Her hands were full of boxes and files from work she planned on taking with her to Seabrook. She walked down the deserted corridor to her tenth-floor condo, and stopped abruptly when she got to her apartment. She dropped the files and boxes in a pile at her feet as she stared at the door left ajar in the dim light of the hallway. A chill of despair washed over her.
The living room was pitch-black, but she smelled the cloying scent seeping faintly through the opening of the doorway.
"Conrad," she whispered, "You're crazy."
"So, you didn't go in?" the police officer asked when he met her outside her the doorway of her condo forty-five minutes later.
"No, I was afraid whoever broke in might still be there."
"It was smart of you not to go in," he said, scribbling some notes on a pad of paper.
He was an older cop, seasoned and smart. The type of cop who made you feel safe, although she was finding it difficult to feel safe these days.
"Maybe it was someone you know."
She contemplated her open doorway. It was easy for Conrad to get in her condo. He had an intimidating manner with those he referred to as service people. And he could always resort to a bribe. She was a sitting duck for his twisted games.
"Do you have anyone you think might want to scare you or hurt you? An ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, or someone else?"
Jamie regarded the officer ruefully. Conrad came from very old, very rich, very well-respected Palm Beach stock. If she named him in a police report or tried to place a restraining order against him, she would suffer. She would lose clients and support for her charity fundraisers. No one would believe her against a Malcolm. She had no proof.
"No," she said. "I can't imagine who would do this."
He helped her gather the files she'd dropped earlier. The door was cracked a few inches. The officer pushed it open slowly. The overpowering scent of roses hit her like a wave.
She stepped behind him and followed soundlessly. The drapes were drawn leaving the room in complete darkness. She took a breath as she reached for the lamp switch.
She gasped as light flooded the room. Every table, every chair, every inch of floor space was covered with roses. Long stemmed, black roses wrapped with ebony colored velvet bows. It looked like the funeral of the grim reaper.
The officer turned to her. "No angry exes, huh? Why don't you tell me the truth?"
She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. "Because no one would believe me if I did."
~
The dimly lit bathroom of her Seabrook cottage did little to hide the exhaustion Jamie felt over last night's ordeal. She patted a second coat of powder over the dark circles under her eyes, resigned to the fact she looked as weary as she felt.
The night had been long and sleepless. The police had drilled her for a name, but she'd declined. They'd continued dusting for fingerprints and searching her condo until well past midnight. They'd photographed and packed the flowers away as evidence, but the sickenin
g scent of roses still lingered in her apartment like the unwanted attention of their sender. By six o'clock this morning she had packed and was ready to escape. Now she was safe in Seabrook.
After the harrowing night, her plan for a romantic diversion had lost some of its appeal. Of course, Aidan Brice was no fleeting interest but a man whose face still haunted her dreams, long past an acceptable time. High school crushes weren't supposed to last this long, were they? There was no reason to complicate her life any further.
Until, she'd opened the door and saw Aidan standing on her front porch, still able to make her speechless after all these years.
She had dressed for the occasion, sweating inelegantly in snug black jeans and a white embroidered top with a scoop neck. South Florida heat was intense. Despite being October, it'd felt like a sauna in the house until she'd opened the windows, and cranked up the old-fashioned ceiling fans. Now the heat Jamie felt was from watching Aidan Brice in well-worn blue jeans walk through her door. She had to force herself not to fan her face.
Whoa. Over the years he had changed and all for the better. The tall, lean teenager she remembered was now broad-shouldered and sleekly muscled. His face was fuller, his jaw line more defined, and the dimple on his chin was more pronounced. She met his blue-grey eyes, and there was a second of awkward silence before he spoke.
"So, what are you planning to do?" he asked, looking around the empty living room.
"Do?"
A subtle smiled played on his lips. "With the house?"
Now, focus girl. "A complete remodel. As you can see, the house has never been renovated. I would like to keep some of the thirties charm but upgrade the kitchen and baths. And add central air conditioning."
He scribbled something down on a note board he carried. "Okay. Let me do a quick inspection to see what kind of shape the building is in and we'll go from there."
She enjoyed her own private inspection while he worked. He was at least six feet tall with golden tousled hair, bronze skin and a full mouth. A mouth she'd once had the joy of kissing. He moved gracefully through the house, opening closets, scraping loose plaster from the walls, checking plugs and plumbing with ardent thoroughness, and she wondered briefly if he was so caring in other aspects of his life.
"Miss. Connolly?"
She met his gaze and flushed. He smiled at her, a knowing smile. Obviously, he was accustomed to women's attention. There was a certain unmistakable arrogance about him, which should have offended her but didn't in the slightest bit. She was a successful, confident woman, not the shy fifteen-year-old she had been the last time she'd seen him.
"Please call me Jamie." Didn't he remember her?
He nodded. "The house has good bones," he said, running his large hand across a rough, plastered wall. "Structure's intact. Foundation is solid. But the roof needs to be replaced, and you will need a complete electrical overhaul."
His grey eyes roamed discreetly over her face, and she fought the urge to flinch. He still unnerved her while simultaneously igniting a feeling she'd never felt for anyone else.
"They don't make them like this anymore," he said, patting the graceful archway over his head.
She remembered the smooth feel of his hands. Remembered clinging to them as they'd walked along the moonlit beach in oddly contented silence, two teenagers lost in the first flush of love. Now his hands were rough and calloused, revealing a man of physical action, not someone who pushed papers all day in a designer suit. This was a man who took charge, a man who got things done.
"No, they certainly don't make them like this anymore," she agreed, a smile skittering across her face.
He raised an eyebrow, guardedly.
"That is why I bought the house," she added.
Aidan Brice had grown up nicely. He was even more ruggedly handsome than he'd looked in the newspaper photo. The years melted away as he stood towering in the midst of her tiny, forlorn cottage, and an old, familiar feeling awakened within her. She inhaled a deep, slow breath, and last night's horror vanished for the moment.
If she wanted a fling with a man of temptation, Aidan Brice was definitely the man. Magnetism and allure still oozed from him. With one glimpse of him she knew all the waiting, all the loneliness, all the passionless years of living had to end. At least for a short time. Maybe then she would be free of this lingering adolescent crush.
Afterwards she would return to her conservative, predictable life. She wanted no emotional dependence, no attachments to anyone. Especially to a man whose very presence unnerved her. Despite his cool arrogance, she sensed another side to him, a warm, gentle and carefree one. The part she'd had the barest glimpse of years ago.
She looked up into Aidan's grey eyes. "So, when can we start?"
And Jamie Connolly, sensible, prudent career woman began to envision a plan to date the unsuspecting Aidan Brice.
~
Aidan Brice eyed the vixen with all the prudence of a fox in a hen house. He wasn't sure if he was the fox.
The magazine photo of Jamie had not done her justice. Glossy, dark curls fell loosely around her face, emphasizing its delicate heart shape. Her shiny pink lips were parted in a cross between a smirk and a smile, but her face was pale, and the makeup she was wearing didn't completely hide the dark circles under her eyes. Clearly, she had a restless night or maybe a few too many martinis at some Palm Beach soirée.
She wasn't his concern. Besides, her night hadn't been rough enough to keep her from using her feminine charms on him. She was executing her plan. He had heard her on the phone last week before she realized he had picked up. She was looking for "a Fall fling," and he'd had all week to think about her little comment.
Maybe she wanted to sample more of those kisses they shared on that balmy night so long ago. More than likely, she was trying to seduce Villa Milagros out from under him. Yeah, he'd found out about her secret, but he wasn't going to fall into her trap. He would never let her win.
He'd been trying for years to buy the abandoned home. Now, it was finally in his grasp. Now, he could destroy the symbol of the worst experience of his life. He had to purge the memories that still haunted him and threatened to poison his son's future. He had to stop the hushed gossip and the pitying glances of neighbors. The terrible crime that took place within those walls was something Seabrook couldn't forget, not with a constant reminder.
Jamie Connolly couldn't have Villa Milagros for whatever reason she wanted it. He looked at her tired, deceptively angelic face and something in him stirred to life. Those vaguely familiar blue eyes were tinged with red. He wondered briefly if she had been crying, but her warm smile told him otherwise. Besides, she didn't seem like the type to cry. Why should he be concerned about her crying anyway?
He should refuse the remodeling job. He certainly didn't need the money, and he definitely didn't need female complications in his life. He had a distinct talent for attracting women who were complicated, troubled or too innocent for their own good. A single father didn't have time for steamy flings anymore. He had Ross to think of, and nothing was more important than his son.
But Jamie made him pause; perhaps it was nostalgia for a time in his life when the possibilities seemed endless. He hadn't failed to notice what she had tried so hard to hide with heavy make-up and a glittering smile. Weariness, a faint edge, something vulnerable in her eyes made his resolve wane, and his will soften a little.
"I'll work up an estimate and drop it off Monday," he said.
He knew he was treading on dangerous grounds, opening up a Pandora's box of troubles if he wasn't careful. She stood at the front door looking so pleasant and harmless, but her innocent face was an illusion. He couldn't forget about her connection to Conrad Malcolm. Who knew how deep the relationship went? The very possibilities of such a thought disturbed him. Deeply disturbed him.
He thrust his body into his truck and slid his sunglasses over his eyes. He pulled out of Jamie's driveway and watched her wave a friendly goodbye in his rearview mirr
or. Her soft, plump mouth parted into a warm smile.
And Aidan knew without a doubt his trouble had only begun.
~
Conrad Malcolm sat in his office, crushed the printed-paper in his hand and slammed his fist against the rich, cherry top of his desk. He felt the heat build in his face, and his sight blurred as he looked down at the crinkled paper.
He'd searched every inch of Jamie's apartment and every file in her computer before dropping off his specially made gift, looking for something, anything to force her to his will. He didn't like being denied what he wanted, no matter how irrational the desire.
But she was too clean, too pure, the idealistic wench. All the fundraising files and her charity's bank logs were clean. No siphoning money, no misuse of funds, no misappropriation. The very thing he abhorred about her was the very reason he needed her. It was unlikely any other woman he'd considered in his social circle had such a clean record.
He'd seen her cell phone bill lying open on the coffee table, a beguiling little treasure. He'd tucked it in his jacket, along with one of her silky nightgowns and left with the scent of his custom dyed roses swirling around him.
He had almost forgotten about the bill he'd stolen last night. By chance the envelope had fallen from his coat's pocket as he was about to ring the maid to have it dry cleaned.
The rage he felt when he saw the name Seabrook printed next to several phone numbers made him furious. It was the one place in the world he absolutely detested. The last place he ever wanted to step foot in again.
Almost the last place. He'd never step foot on his parent's estate again, not after what they'd done. But Seabrook was worse than the boarding school he'd been shipped off to at age seven and forgotten about in the hands of a sadistic school warden.
He didn't ever want to think about Lauren Brice or Seabrook or what he'd done there. Terrible things. He'd managed to get away unscathed, due of course to his cleverness and quick thinking. And fat bank account. The horrid night had been so buried in his mind he had started to believe it hadn't happened at all. The nightmares had stopped, and he was himself again.
Never Date Your Ex Page 2
