A door slammed into stone, and then rattled back and forth, causing her to squeal and jump. She covered her mouth, embarrassed at the reaction.
“Cellar?” Jonathan asked.
“Probably.”
“What are the odds the cat’s down there?”
“Depends on if this is a coincidence, or the gods just want to make me squirm.” She gave him a nervous smile. The house had an outdoor cellar that had given her the creeps for as long as she could remember. She and Jonathan followed the cement steps down to the wooden door that rattled in the wind. Beyond that lay stone walls and wooden shelves. Once upon a time, they were full of canned goods the local people gave Nana as thank-you gifts for various things. Over the last few years, she’d worked to get rid of most of the stock and empty the room.
Bailey swung the beam of the flashlight, and it caught the shelves, casting tall shadows on the far wall. “Yup. Still freaking creepy.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” Jonathan said in an artificially loud baritone. “As long as there are no spiders.” He rested a hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward. The warmth of his palm seared through her shirt and calmed her more than she wanted.
A hiss drew her attention, and she pointed the light toward the sound. Luci crouched on the top of a shelf, a few feet away, next to a bowl. “Come here, princess,” Bailey cooed.
The cat flattened her ears and bared her teeth, then leapt. Her tail caught the bowl, sending it tumbling down on top of Jonathan and soaking him with rancid water. Luci landed on Bailey’s shoulder and allowed herself to be cradled.
“Fucking hell.” Jonathan grimaced and shook away the foul-smelling liquid.
This time Bailey couldn’t hide her laugh. “I’m sorry.” She sounded anything but. “I shouldn’t.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “You should. And we should get back inside, so I can rinse this off. Ugh.”
The moment they were in the house, Lucifer hopped from Bailey’s arms and disappeared somewhere in the house. Bailey took the opportunity to survey the true damage. Jonathan’s hair held a green tinge in places and was plastered to his head. His shirt was half drenched. Mud and slime caked his slacks. But at least he’d stopped dripping between the cellar and here.
“You know what sucks the most about this?” he asked.
She shook her head, another bout of giggles threatening to burst out of her.
“My luggage is back at the hotel. If I were at home, at least I’d have a gym bag in the car.”
She was tempted to tell him he was welcome to roam the house naked, but she needed more liquor in her system for that. “Go take a shower, leave your stuff outside the bathroom, and I’ll toss whatever’s not dry-clean only in the wash. I’ll find you a bathrobe or sweats or something.”
“Nana was six inches shorter than me.”
“I’m sure one of her guests left clothing here. Or I can run back into town and grab you some shorts and a T-shirt from a gift shop.”
He twisted his mouth, as if he didn’t agree. After a few seconds hesitation, he turned toward the stairs. “We both know nothing’s open here after eight, except the diner. If you find me clothes here, I’ll be eternally grateful.”
She grabbed his clothes when he handed them through the bathroom door, tossed them in the washing machine, then went in search of something for him to wear. After a lot of digging, she found a couple of long nightgowns, a satin robe that was meant to reach mid-thigh, and a couple pairs of terrycloth shorts. She’d let him make the decision.
“Bailey?” His voice carried down the corridor. “Clothes?”
She set the stack in the hand he stretched out through the crack in the bathroom door. He closed the door, and seconds later she heard, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I couldn’t find anything else.”
“Figures. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be out.”
While she waited, she put away the milk—someone really needed to clean that fridge—set the sandwiches out on plates, and poured them each another drink. Hinges creaked behind her. She set down the bottle of Jack and turned, curious to see which option he went with and prepared to stifle a laugh.
The footsteps on the second floor moved away from her, and she frowned. Silence settled in. Should she call out? He probably wanted to see what he could scrounge for himself. Before she could decide what to do next, the stairs creaked. Seconds later, he stepped into the dining room doorway, a paisley sheet wrapped around him like a toga.
He leaned against the wall, the position elongating his frame, and wiggled his eyebrows. “You think I can start a new fashion trend?”
“If your target audience is frat boys. Speaking of—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone actually wear a sheet-toga. Where did you learn that?”
“I was a frat boy. Shall we?” He nodded at the food.
They settled at the table and ate in silence. She wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she’d love to find that pleasant balance of fun and banter they used to have. That same feeling that peeked its head up a few times this afternoon. She didn’t want to hit one of those snags, where something set either him or her off, though. “I wonder why Nana never mentioned you still wrote to her.” She hid her wince. That was anything but a neutral topic.
He met her gaze for a moment, expression flat. He’d always had a brutal poker face. “Maybe she assumed it was a given.”
“You said mail. Like handwritten letters and such?” Why was she pushing this?
“With real stamps and real ink and real paper.”
“Hmm.” Bailey couldn’t come up with anything better.
Jonathan studied her. “I’m sorry about what happened with Danny.”
The name curdled in her gut, and she set her food aside in favor of another drink. “How much do you know?” Betrayal gnawed at her. She’d asked Nana to keep the details private. The entire town knew about the divorce, but Bailey couldn’t stand the thought of the whispers she’d hear if they knew why. It was worse with Jonathan, though. He’d tried to warn her. Pleaded with her not to marry the asshole. And she told him he was jealous.
But he’d been right. The cheating would have been enough, but there was so much more to it than he guessed. The verbal abuse. The way Danny made her doubt herself. His suicide threats. The bankruptcy she was still paying for... The one thing she could thank her ex for was she knew better than to get involved now. Flings on the mainland were easy—no heartbreak, no having to see their faces the morning after. The way life should be.
“Not a lot. Just that it ended badly and you were coping,” Jonathan said.
The reality pushed at her lips, wanting to spill out, but she washed it down with another drink. This wasn’t the night for confessions. “Exactly. And thank you.” She braced herself for more questions. Or pity. Or at least an I told you so.
“She never mentioned Lucifer.” He didn’t flinch, as he slid to a new topic.
Gratitude spilled through Bailey. “Luci’s only been here about six months. Showed up on the porch one day. Maybe a tourist left her behind; we don’t know. But she pretty much invited herself in and never left. What have you been up to? Nana bragged a lot, but never gave more details than you’re a big, important executive for some technology something or other.” Bailey also knew he paid his way through college with day-trading investments. Even as a teenager, he had a scary-good knack for buying and selling at the right time. An eye for numbers, trends, and how business decisions impacted both. He refused to go into brokerage though, because he wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.
“Well”—he refilled both their glasses—“I was, until about six months ago. I’ve got a handful of partners now, and we invest in businesses that might not find funding elsewhere.”
Angel investors. That sounded almost selfless and sweet. The whiskey drilled into her head, making everything a little more sparkly. “Do you keep in touch with the rest of your family?”
“Y
ou know I don’t. But this evening isn’t about me. You said Nana was there for you when no one else was. I understand it went both ways. Thank you for that.”
She ducked her head, not sure if the heat scorching her cheeks was embarrassment for the recognition, or because of the drinking. His comment from earlier, about Nana never hinting something was wrong, rushed back. “She wasn’t sick, you know. She had the normal aches and pains that come with age, but nothing else. There was nothing you could have done for her, even if you were here.”
When he smiled, lines of tension vanished from his forehead. He really was sexy, ridiculous sheet not-withstanding. If they didn’t have the shared past—if he were a random stranger, instead of her childhood friend—she’d consider hooking up for the night. Then again, he’d be gone as soon as the roads opened. What made him any less temporary than the next guy? Lingering traces of his warm touch teased her. The comfort when he held her. The power in his grip.
They ate and drank and glossed over the details of their lives since they last saw each other. By the time they moved to the living room, the bottle of Jack was almost empty. A pleasant haze clouded her thoughts, and every other thing either of them said made her giggle.
He settled on the couch. “Is the storm clearing up enough for me to escort you home?”
“You’re not driving.” She took the spot next to him.
“I’ll walk you there, then.”
She straddled his legs and wrapped her arms around his neck. A tiny voice in the back of her head asked what she was doing, but the whiskey and the wind drowned it out. “You’re such a gentleman,” she said.
He rested a hand at the back of her neck, holding her head, and searched her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Not thinking.” She crashed her mouth down on his. When he didn’t respond, ice filled her veins, but then he tightened his grip, and kissed back hard and hungrily.
This might be the biggest mistake she’d made... On second thought, nothing could top the disaster that was her marriage, and God, he felt good beneath her.
Chapter Four
A tiny annoying voice buzzed in the back of Jonathan’s mind. This is a bad idea. It wasn’t enough to make him stop. With only a sheet between him and Bailey, her every shift ground into him, sending desire racing across his skin. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his chest. Whiskey and ginger ale flooded his senses and danced with their tongues.
She’s drunk.
I don’t do one-night stands.
I’ll never see her again after this week.
I wanted my friend back. This isn’t the way to go about it.
Fucking logic. Fortunately, he was drunk too, which made it easier to ignore everything but the warm weight pressing into his cock, tempting him.
“The Jack was a brilliant find,” she said, and tilted her head back with a sigh when he drew his lips down her throat. “Best way to remove our reservations.” Her words tugged harder at the protests in his head.
It didn’t make him pull away. He kissed along her jaw, up to her ear. “Until we wake up tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re leaving as soon as the roads open. It’s not like you’ll have to look me in the eye ever again.” The lust and teasing in her voice didn’t cover the disdain. She ducked her head. “I didn’t mean... I don’t know.”
He pulled back as far as was possible, with her still in his lap, and watched her, unsure if he was grateful or disappointed that she wouldn’t meet his gaze. The dryer buzzed, making them both jump but not shredding the blanket of tension filling the room. He moved his hands to her hips, shifted her aside, and untangled himself enough to stand. “I’m going to grab at least another layer of clothing. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’d rather not.” She flopped back on the couch like a rag doll, gaze pointed at the ceiling.
“I’ll be back in less than two minutes. Promise you won’t to do something stupid, like head out into that storm to avoid me.”
“I promise.”
Jonathan headed to the laundry room. His boxers and T-shirt weren’t much better than the sheet, especially if he couldn’t keep his dick from poking out. Bailey’s words killed his arousal though, and as long as he kept his mind on that instead of the moments leading up to it, he’d be fine. If he grabbed a throw and draped it over his lap, while sitting as far from her as possible and still staying in the same room, that would help too.
He took a little more time to wrap his thoughts in resolution, then returned to the living room. Bailey was curled up on the couch, breathing steadily, her eyes closed. He approached with hesitation. She didn’t stir. Figures.
He was grateful for the reprieve. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she batted away his hand but never opened her eyes. This was better. They could talk in the morning, with cooler heads. He tugged the crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and draped it over her, then made himself comfortable in the recliner across from her.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He stared at the clock on the far wall, watching minutes tick away. The click of the second hand drilled into his jumbled thoughts. Now he remembered why he didn’t drink. There was no order in his head when he let things get out of control. The patterns vanished, and he couldn’t find structure.
A growl tore through him. He pushed from the chair and wandered to the bookshelf, to find something to read until his mind shut up and let him sleep. He traced the bindings with his fingers, but instead of grabbing one of the novels, he plucked a photo album from the shelf.
He settled back into the chair and flipped open to a random page. He wasn’t sure when the faded photos were taken, until he turned to one of himself at five. Shaggy hair, horrible khaki shorts. He turned to another set. Nana wasn’t in any of them. She kept the photos of her in boxes in the attic. Said she already remembered herself; she wanted memories of the people around her instead. The book was filled with photos of families, houses, local stores, pets, and so much more.
It gnawed at his chest, while dust and loose flakes of dried adhesive stung his eyes until his vision blurred. Bailey said no one saw Nana’s death coming. Jonathan didn’t believe that. Someone must have known. Healthy people didn’t just pass away in the middle of the night. She took care of everyone in this fucking town, and she still died without—
He shoved the thought aside but couldn’t bury the grief anymore. It mingled with bitterness. Guilt, that he was as responsible as anyone. An empty pit that threatened to devour him from the inside out.
JONATHAN’S FACE WAS hot, and his eyes ached. He pried them open, and then clenched them shut again when the sunlight jammed into his vision. The rest of his senses prickled his consciousness. A jab in his neck, from falling asleep in the chair. A rancid taste coating his tongue. The alluring scent of fresh coffee. The clock said it was almost nine. He hadn’t slept that late in... he didn’t know how long.
As he forced himself to sit and stretch, he realized the couch was empty. He strained his ears, but didn’t hear movement anywhere in the house. Last night’s wind had died down, so it didn’t interfere. The awkward scene with Bailey rushed back, as well as his looking through pictures after. He rubbed his eyes, to drive away more of the discomfort, stood, and put the album back its place on the shelf.
“Bailey?” he called out. No answer. Maybe she was in the attic, but he’d hear her overhead in that case.
He wandered into the kitchen and found note on the table, scrawled in familiar block-letter handwriting.
I’m sorry about last night. I have to check off some to-dos this morning. Be back at noon. Hope you’ll stick around. We can have that talk. - Bailey
PS - coffee’s fresh.
The conversation still needed to happen, but a little time to recover from his hangover and change into something that covered him a little more was a good thing. Coffee first. He opened the fridge, to grab the milk, and the stench threatened to evict the contents of his stomach.
Coffee second. He
grabbed a couple of trash bags and proceeded to throw away everything but the milk, then deposited the garbage in the can by the side of the house.
By the time he finished his work and had a little caffeine running through his system, it was almost ten. Still plenty of time to get back to the hotel, change, and return before Bailey. He left her a note in return, saying he went to get fresh clothes and would be back, then pulled on his slacks, cringing at the dirt that flaked off and the stiff legs. When he reached the front door, Lucifer tried to dart between his legs, but this time Jonathan was ready. He kept her at bay, and managed to maneuver her inside and still step outside. “Stay,” he said.
She yawned and sauntered toward the stairs. As he locked up, he made a mental note to ask Bailey who he could hand the cat over to. Then he was on his way back to the mainland.
BAILEY WOKE UP TO JONATHAN in the chair and a cat sleeping on her hip. The asinine things she said the night before slammed into her skull like a mallet. What the freak was wrong with her? She was surprised Jonathan stuck around, after what she did. Not that he had a lot of choice.
She owed him so many apologies. And her gratitude for him being sensible when she wasn’t. He was the friend she remembered, and she almost destroyed that because... Why? What had she been thinking? That was the one answer not coming to her.
Her morning tasks—things she couldn’t put off—needed attention, but she itched to stay here and make things right. Screw it. She hoped he’d still be here when she got back, but wouldn’t blame him for walking away as soon as the roads let him. She set up the coffee, left him a note, and then walked the half mile or so down the beach, to her own cottage. An hour later, showered and dressed, she drove into town.
Main Street on the small island was lined with wood-faced shops painted in bright colors. In the summer, they got tourists who skipped the more popular Keys in favor of that small-town feeling, but in early October, mostly locals strolled on the brick walkways. Bailey made a quick stop at the bank, for a cashier’s check. Most of the clients she acted as an agent for were fine with digital transactions, but her next stop only dealt in paper. Said the money didn’t feel real when it was numbers flowing from one screen to another.
The Second Chance and The Auctioneer (The Love Equation, #3) Page 3
