by Amy DeLuca
It still haunted him that he’d been so immature and so desperate to escape the situation at home, he’d selfishly run away to college, leaving his younger brother alone with their rapidly deteriorating father.
Jack had only learned a few years ago the extent of what Hunter had dealt with, that he’d had to take over all responsibility for the house, the finances, even the grocery shopping after Jack bailed on him and stayed away with barely a phone call and the minimal number of visits. Hunter had been in tenth grade. Fifteen years old.
“Yeah, that’d make a juicy addition to your story, wouldn’t it?” Jack snapped. “Famous author Jack Bestia spilling his guts in a support group meeting—all the family skeletons out dancing on the lawn.”
“Jack… I would never…”
The pressure building behind his eyes made him feel like an overfull water balloon at the end of a high-pressure power washer. He had to get out of there.
Whirling away, he left the kitchen and ran up the stairs toward his office, unable to shake the shocked, unhappy look on Bonnie’s face or the ugly residue his unprovoked attack had left in his soul.
Why did I say that? Why did being around her feel so threatening? The truth was being around her felt good. Too good. It made Jack want to feel more things.
He could tell it was different for his staff. They liked Bonnie. They enjoyed her company. Jack had begun to crave it, hunger for it the way he’d hungered for his mom’s Sunday dinner lasagna the first couple of years after her death.
Craving the company of a woman was dangerous. Beyond stupid. Especially when the woman in question had been sent to unearth all his secrets and expose him to the world. Confiding in her was the worst thing he could do.
Of course, Bonnie hadn’t seemed like she was pumping him for information just then. It seemed like she was genuinely sympathetic and concerned—which made no sense considering how he’d treated her.
Frankly, he couldn’t imagine what was going on in that head of hers, and it was foolish of him to waste even a few minutes thinking about it. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction. If there was any chance of finishing this book on time, he had to keep a clear mind and laser-like focus.
But with every step Jack took away from her, his thoughts only grew more confused. His old fears crept back in, and the writing inspiration drained from his body.
It was going to be a long night.
Sixteen
You Were Right
The next morning
Jack’s verbal barb had stung. But Bonnie knew it had come from a troubled heart. He was afraid. It was obvious, and her own heart went out to him.
He was afraid of disappointing his loyal readers, afraid of what the critics would say, and most of all, afraid he wouldn’t be able to deliver the book on time. Deeper than that, he seemed to fear admitting any sort of weakness or allowing any softness in himself. And he obviously felt like he had to keep his past a secret.
Bonnie might not be able to relate to his exact situation, but she understood the underlying feelings. Insecurity and fear had stymied her own creative spirit in the past. She wasn’t angry with Jack. She felt sorry for him. It was a wonder he’d been able to write a single word with such inner turmoil going on.
In spite of his best efforts to keep her at arm’s length, she had gotten to know him. And in spite of her best efforts… she cared. If only he could write for the simple joy of it again. If only he’d open up and let someone in. If only he’d let her help him.
But he wouldn’t, the poor lonely wretch. Bonnie had a feeling that after last night he’d be even more of a ghost than he’d been during the past week.
She wrote for a while in the morning then after lunch went back to the library to read. The chair in front of the fireplace had become her go-to spot, and today she sat in it sideways, her legs draped comfortably over the thickly padded leather arm.
In her peripheral vision she spotted a figure moving slowly past the open library door. Glancing up, she caught Jack’s eye for one brief second before he picked up his pace and moved out of sight.
It happened several times a day over the next few days, becoming a sort of bizarre ritual. Jack would stroll by unusually slowly. She’d look up and catch him, and he’d rush away.
What was he doing? Did he want to come in? It wasn’t like he had to wait for an invitation. It was his library, after all.
On the third day when he walked by, Bonnie said as much, calling out to him, “You know you’re welcome to come in if you need to use the library. There’s plenty of room. Or I can leave if that makes you more comfortable. I can make some great recommendations from your collection, if you like.”
He’d already hurried past the opening, but she heard his shouted response from the hall. “I don’t have time. I’m busy writing.”
She laughed to herself. Sure you are, Jack. Sure you are.
Another daily ritual had developed. Eating dinner in the kitchen with the staff.
With his volatile temper, it was amazing Jack had managed to surround himself with so many truly likable people. That said more about the kind of guy he used to be than Mrs. Potts’ glowing anecdotes could ever convey.
Tonight, as always, Bonnie was looking forward to dinnertime, not just for the amazing food, but for the conversation. The more she got to know them, the more she understood these people weren’t just co-workers. They were a family. Jack’s chosen family.
And any member of this family couldn’t be all bad. It was unfortunate the prodigal son never joined them.
When she entered the kitchen, Bonnie was stunned to find it empty and dark. Well, mostly dark. There were two candles in the center of the table. And two place settings.
Which was weird. Where was Monsieur Laplume? Where were the rest of the household staff?
“I gave them the night off.” Jack’s smooth, deep voice came from the pantry, answering her silent question and giving her a little jump-scare.
He stepped into the circle of light from the candles and placed a platter on the table, flashing her a brilliant smile that stopped her in her tracks and caused her brain to go on the fritz for a few seconds.
“I asked Monsieur Laplume to make us something before he left,” Jack explained. “He said to wish you bon appetite.”
Freshly showered and dressed in a button down and a pair of expensive-looking slacks, he appeared ready for a night out on the town. Bonnie’s pulse skipped, and she wobbled a bit in her new shoes. He might be a foul-tempered beast, but there was no denying it—Jack Bestia was one spectacular exhibit of masculinity.
The sleeves of his tailored dress shirt were rolled up, exposing the tanned skin and sinewy muscle of his forearms. Her eyes were drawn farther down to his hands, which were large and powerful-looking, the backs of them accented with prominent veins. A man’s hands.
Those fascinating hands gripped the back of a chair and pulled it out from the table. Jack looked at her, clearly waiting for her to accept his gentlemanly gesture and take a seat.
She did. And she waited for some kind of explanation as he took his own seat. He offered none, just lifted the lid from the platter to reveal a sumptuous display of seafood dishes.
“Smells delicious,” Bonnie said, working hard to tamp down the current of exhilarating alertness now surging through her. What was the matter with her? “I’m so glad it’s all cooked. I can’t stand sushi.”
“I know,” Jack said, meeting her gaze and holding it.
“You know? How?”
“You mentioned it once—the second day you were here.”
Shock prevented her from responding to his casual reply. He remembered a remark she’d made in passing when they’d only just met?
“Wine?” he asked, lifting the open bottle and letting it hover over the mouth of her waiting wineglass.
“Yes. Thank you. Just a little,” she murmured. Meanwhile her brain was spinning off its axis trying to figure out what was happening. Dinner. Candle l
ight. Wine.
Jack poured some for her and some for himself, then lifted his fork.
“Jack.”
“Hmmm?” He chewed a bite of food, not looking at her.
“What’s going on? What is this?”
The arresting blue eyes swung around to connect with hers. Jack swallowed. “It’s an apology. For being so rude the other night. I was a jerk.”
“Oh.” Bonnie was dumbstruck.
“And I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Sitting in front of a blank laptop screen for hours on end leaves a lot of opportunity for that. You were right—about a lot of things. If what I’m doing isn’t working, it’s time to try something else. A couple nights ago after you’d gone to your room, I got one of those notebooks from the library desk and tried writing longhand.”
“And?”
“It helped. It’s like it stimulated another part of my brain.”
Jack had listened to her, taken her advice. Despite her shock, she managed to reply, “I know, isn’t it incredible?”
He nodded. “It got me over the hump, and now I’m back on my laptop and writing like the wind. I still don’t have an ending, but I’ve got most of a new outline, and I really like it. I think it’ll work—maybe even better than what I had before. And I have you to thank.”
Warmth melted through her. “Oh Jack, I’m so happy.” Bonnie hadn’t meant to gush, but it came out sounding that way.
His reply was just as effusive. “Me too. It feels great to know where I’m going again, you know? I was just writing blind before, but now… now I feel like I might be able to make the deadline.”
He laughed. “Who knows? It might still be impossible, but at least I’m enjoying the writing for a change.”
“That’s everything,” Bonnie said.
She couldn’t really think of anything else to say because she was feeling a bit dazzled. Smiling as he was and letting himself be free and open, Jack was like a different man. He was actually charming. And he was more handsome than she’d ever seen him before.
Though he looked a little tired, there was a gleam in his eyes, and his teeth flashed brightly in the candlelit room.
“Well, it’s something, which is a vast improvement on nothing,” he said and lifted his glass. “A toast—to inspiration.”
Bonnie lifted hers as well, clinking the delicate rim against his. “To inspiration. And speed.” She laughed. “So, I guess you’ll be holed up in your office twenty-four-seven finishing the book?”
Jack nodded and swallowed. “Mostly. But it’s not healthy to sit all day long. I’d like to get back to my morning beach walks.”
“I love walking on the beach in the morning,” she exclaimed.
He raised one eyebrow. “I know. I’ve seen you from my window. Mind if I join you tomorrow morning? We can let Harrison sit one out, though he might be jealous. I think he enjoys his exclusive ‘Bonnie time.’”
She laughed. “I don’t think he’ll mind. I have a feeling he might be a bit out of practice when it comes to exercise. He’s usually huffing and puffing when we get back to the house.”
Jack grinned. “I think he’s lost a few pounds. You’re good for him. You’re good for…” he paused before finishing the thought. “… all of us.”
Bonnie drowned her smile with another sip of wine. It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. “Thank you. I’m… having a good time… believe it or not.”
It was late when they finished dinner. They walked upstairs together and stopped just outside the door to the guest suite.
“You going to write?” Bonnie asked, already knowing the answer.
Jack nodded, standing close and speaking softly. “Yeah. You going to bed now?”
“In a little while. I want to take a bath first.”
That seemed to pique his interest. “You like baths?”
“Love them,” she confessed. “And your bathtub is the best. I mean—not that I took a bath in it—I didn’t. I just saw it the day I was in there changing out of my wet clothes. It’s big. And it’s got that fireplace right there beside it. Wow, I sound really weird, don’t I? Lusting after your bathtub.”
“Lucky bathtub.” Jack’s voice was a low purr, like that of a reclining tiger. It knocked Bonnie off-kilter, causing her to lean back against the closed wooden door.
“I never use it,” he added, diffusing the tension a bit.
Still, her head was so light and dizzy she barely managed a reply. “You don’t?”
“No. I prefer the shower. Maybe we should trade rooms.”
He was probably kidding, but she shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t put you out of your room. I’m already imposing enough.”
“You’re not imposing, Bonnie. You’re a joy to have around—as if you didn’t already know my staff has fallen in love with you. I’m afraid there’s going to be a mutiny.”
“No. They love you, too. You should hear how they talk about you. They think you hung the moon.”
Jack grinned, edging even closer and placing one hand on the wall over Bonnie’s head. “And what do you think?”
The sound of his voice, so low and rough, stole her breath. His head was bent down toward hers, their faces aligned. They weren’t touching, but there were mere inches between them. Jack’s chest rose and fell, his rapid breathing audible. For a moment neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other, their breaths mingling in the dark hallway.
“I think…” Bonnie’s thoughts scattered, and her pulse did a little fluttery thing as Jack’s gaze dropped to her lips. Was he going to kiss her? The fluttering became a frantic flapping.
His body was so close she could feel his heat, smell the fresh laundry scent of his shirt and the yummy guy-shampoo scent of his hair. It would take only a slight shift to bring them into contact.
“I think you’re not quite as beastly as I first thought,” she whispered.
And then Jack took a step back, snipping the emotional thread stretched taut between them. “I should get started,” he said, sounding a bit out of breath himself.
“Yes.” Bonnie exhaled, feeling a crashing sensation inside, tension collapsing into the vacuum of space left by his sudden absence. “Good luck tonight. I hope you get what you need.”
His smile gleamed in the dark as he backed away. “That will have to wait a bit, I’m afraid. But for now, I’ll settle for a high word count. Good night, Bonnie.”
“Good night, Jack.”
When he’d moved out of sight, she sagged, feeling like she might faint. Or float. That was… wow. That was interesting.
Bonnie had a hard time sleeping that night, reliving the moment in the doorway again and again. She still wasn’t sure if Jack had been thinking about kissing her. But she was sure of one thing.
She wanted him to.
Seventeen
Beach Day
The shared morning walks became their habit over the next week, as did a family-style dinner in the kitchen with the whole staff. And Jack.
Bonnie laughed more—and ate more—than she had in years. It was a good thing she only had another week here or her figure would be in serious trouble.
She knew her heart would be. The thought of leaving this place seven days from now left her with a stone in her gut, and no amount of self-talk seemed to help.
You can go back to your old life! her inner cheerleader pointed out. You love your job.
I can do my job from here, Bonnie argued. I’ve been doing it just fine for the past three weeks. Or I could get another job… here in Rhode Island. The cost of living is lower. Dad and I could get a bigger place.
You love New York, the cheerleader countered. The lights, the restaurants, the stores, the people.
The ocean, the library, Monsieur Laplume’s cooking, the staff… Jack.
Oh, she was in deep with that last one. Now that Jack had stopped treating her like she was dipped in Malaria virus, she’d been getting to know the real him. And she liked him. Really liked him. Bonni
e got the feeling he liked her, too.
Every night after dinner, he walked her up to her room. And every night he looked into her eyes with what felt like an I’m-going-to-kiss-you expression. But he hadn’t closed the final inch between them. If he didn’t soon, she might.
Bonnie didn’t think she could leave there without knowing what it was like to kiss those beautiful lips of his.
Maybe tonight, her mind kept repeating as they walked together along the shoreline. It was an exceptionally warm and beautiful Indian summer day. Jack had come to her door that morning dangling a swimsuit he’d ordered for her and suggested turning their morning walk into a morning swim.
“You can’t stay almost a month by the ocean and never go in,” he’d persuaded. “I know the perfect beach not that far away. No rocks, beautiful white sand.”
Now, as they traversed the rocky margin between his property and the water, Bonnie looked around for this alleged perfect spot. “What if the water’s too cold?”
The air temperature was warm, but she’d never known the Atlantic to be particularly balmy. And there was no white sand in sight.
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Jack gave her a mischievous look and grasped her fingers, tugging at them to keep her moving around a curve in the landscape.
As they rounded it, Bonnie stopped short. There in front of them, on a flat paved lot hidden from the road, sat a helicopter. Its blades whipped through the air over their heads as if it were ready and waiting to take off. And then she realized it was waiting—for them.
“What is this Jack?”
“Our ride to the beach,” he said, beaming and raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the chopper. Tightening his hold on Bonnie’s hand, he ducked and pulled her with him toward the aircraft. “Come on.”
Having never been on a helicopter in her life, Bonnie dug in her heels for a second, but her refusal was half-hearted. This unexpected opportunity fit with Mrs. Potts’ advice, enjoy what she had while she had it. Her father had been right. She used to long for adventure, and the past two years had been disappointingly devoid of it. But here was adventure in full living color. There was only one thing to do.
