by Nicola Marsh
So I turned around and headed back.
The rain hadn’t eased. It poured down in diagonal sheets, soaking everything in its path. I dragged my feet through the mud, clueless as to what I’d say when I reached the shack. The spontaneity thing hadn’t worked so well for me with Jack up to this point.
As the shack came into sight, the rain eased and the sun poked out from behind a cloud, making the grungy corrugated iron almost gleam.
The place looked welcoming, despite its forlorn exterior. And even now, I’d give anything to stay.
That’s what I’d tell him.
The truth.
It was as easy as that. No use trying to make excuses for my behavior. I’d tell him exactly how I felt. I’d already behaved like an idiot. What did I have to lose?
I skipped up the steps, knocked twice, before turning the doorknob and flinging the door open.
Jack, in the process of scrolling through his iPod, gaped at me.
“I had to come back. I’m sorry for before. For behaving like a spoilt brat these last few weeks.” I pressed my hands to my chest. Yeah, like that would stop my heart from leaping out. “The truth is I’ve fallen in love with you. And I’d give up everything to stay with you if you asked me.”
I blurted it all out in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. I had to say it fast because if I didn’t, I’d second-guess the wisdom of handing him my heart on a platter with one hand and a knife in the other.
Jack stared at me, his eyes like steely lasers, boring into me, cutting deep.
He didn’t make a move toward me. He didn’t smile. He didn’t hold out his arms.
And I knew the devastating truth before he opened his mouth to speak.
“Jess, you’re a teenager. You’ll fall in love many times before you find the right guy.” He squared his shoulders and shook his head. “You have a crush and it’s naive to build it up into anything more than that.”
I began to shake as shock set in and rather than rush over to comfort me, Jack thrust his hands into his pockets. He faltered, his stoic expression crumpling a little as he half pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He stared at it for a few, interminable seconds before finally dragging his gaze away to look me in the eye.
“Bye, Jess. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Then he strode past me, out the door, and out of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JACK
To Mrs. Gee’s credit, she stayed clear of me as I moved through the kitchen like a madman. Pummeling dough. Hammering steaks. Kneading bread until every joint in my hands ached.
But it was nothing on the ache in my chest.
Jess loved me.
Loved me so much she’d give up her entire life to stay if I asked her.
When she’d told me, my heart had stopped. I hadn’t been able to breathe. I couldn’t comprehend someone could care for me that much let alone want to give up everything to be with me.
I was a drifter bum with no ties to anyone or any place.
Jess was in her first year at uni with so many options.
I was blue collar. She was cashmere and pearls.
But none of that mattered to her and that’s what humbled me the most: that she saw past my tough outer shell and believed in the real me. The guy with hopes and dreams of making it big in the culinary world. The guy who secretly liked chick flicks. The guy who would give anything to have a girl like her by my side.
Yeah, I loved her too. Loved her so much I had to let her go.
No way would I be responsible for her giving up her dreams to follow mine on a whim. I had no idea what awaited me in Sydney. How long my savings would last with the exorbitant rental prices. What kind of hovel I’d need to live in while I worked manic hours at the restaurant.
Jess deserved better than that. Way better. The thought of her leaving her life, her family, behind for me, was unbearable.
Simply, I had nothing to offer her.
The best thing I could do for her was to let her explore the world on her own. Develop into her own person. And try my damndest to forget I’d passed up the opportunity of a lifetime, to have her with me.
“The Harpers are leaving.” Mrs. Gee took the meat knife out of my hand. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“Already have,” I grunted, willing my voice not to betray the utter devastation making me almost shake at not seeing Jess again.
Mrs. Gee tut-tutted. “Well, I’m going outside to see them off.” She sent me a pointed glare. “It’s only polite.”
I waited until she shuffled out of the kitchen before I pulled the letter out of my pocket.
I couldn’t go outside to farewell Jess without doing something first.
A pot of chicken chasseur simmered on the stove and I stuck an edge of the letter into the burner, waited for it to catch, before heading for the sink.
As the letter flamed, I’m sure my heart cracked wide open, the pain was that bad.
When my fingers were in danger of being scorched, I dropped the remnants into the sink and watched it turn to ashes.
Ironic. The first and only time I’d ever been honest with a woman, I’d watched it go up in smoke.
If deliberately pushing Jess away had been the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, burning that letter had come a close second. And now I faced a third.
Saying goodbye in public to the woman I loved.
And pretending I didn’t love her at all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
JESS
I said my goodbyes like an automaton. Mechanical. Stilted. Overly formal.
If anyone noticed, they didn’t say. Then again, they could attribute it to my love of the outback and my reluctance to farewell this breathtaking country. Yeah, right.
“Ready to go, Sis?” Reid draped his arm across my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I managed to keep my voice steady, glad the numbness that had set in around the time Jack had flung my declaration back in my face had filtered through to my vocal cords.
Even my voice sounded mechanical, almost tinny. It was better than the alternative. A wailing, blubbery mess.
Not that I’d cry again. I’d wasted enough tears on Jack McVeigh. No more.
Never again.
Of course, that’s the moment he chose to saunter around the veranda corner, swiping his hands down the front of his apron.
My heart gave a traitorous jolt and when he looked at me, the familiar heat spread through me. Looked like my body hadn’t got the memo my head dictated: FIRST CLASS PRICK. DELETE FROM MEMORY.
“Hey, there’s Jack.” Unfortunately, Reid didn’t remove his arm from my shoulder when he all but dragged me across the short distance separating us. “Next time I see you, Jack, I’m expecting the best cordon bleu in Sydney.”
“You’re on, mate.” Jack responded to Reid but it seemed he only had eyes for me. Eyes that I wanted to gouge out.
Reid shook Jack’s hand, finally giving me the opportunity to slip out from under his other arm.
“Safe trip, guys.” Jack managed a tight smile. “I have to get back to the kitchen.”
“Sure thing.” Reid did some dorky salute while I managed a mute nod.
I thought I’d got off easily, until Reid said, “Nothing to say, Jess? That’s gotta be a first.”
What could I say? That I’d fallen in love for the first time in my life…with a complete jackass?
That I’d laid my heart on the line and had it trampled by a bad boy who believed his own badass press?
That I’d been a total fool and even now, couldn’t stop from locking gazes with Jack one last time in the hope…what? He’d actually admit to wanting me enough to ask me to stay? He’d apologize for breaking my heart? For belittling what we’d had by implying I was a naive teenager who’d mistaken a vacation crush for something more?
I searched his eyes for some sign, for some indication that I was right and he was wrong. What I saw was sadness and re
gret.
I knew the feeling.
I swallowed the emotion welling in my throat. “Bye, Cookie. Have a good life.”
“Ditto,” Jack said, some of the tension around his mouth dissipating when I used my nickname for him.
“Wrong chick flick,” I said, wondering if he’d get my reference to that night we spent dancing and watching a corny DVD and being totally in the moment.
“I’d take Ghost over Dirty Dancing any day,” he said, some of the usual spark returning to his eyes.
“Not bad, considering they both star Patrick Swayze, but you know you’ve just admitted to watching two chick flicks?”
“Nothing wrong with being a metrosexual, right, Reid?”
I blinked, surprised to find my brother right next to me, his head swiveling between us as if watching a particularly interesting debate.
Reid laughed. “I’m an action guy so you’ve lost me.” He nudged me. “Time to leave. You can watch all the chick flicks you like on the long flight home.”
Hopefully it would take my mind off Jack and how, even now, after all we’d been through, after how much he’d hurt me, it didn’t take much for us to revert to our lighthearted, teasing best.
“See you later.” With one last, loaded stare in my direction that I had no hope of interpreting, Jack raised his hand in a wave and walked away.
My vow to not cry over him again? Sorely tested, as I said another hurried round of goodbyes to Doreen, Mrs. Gee and Gladys, before sliding into the four-wheel-drive’s back seat.
As the car drove away, bumping along the potholed drive, I glanced back.
In time to see Jack pause at the kitchen door and raise his hand.
He couldn’t see me at this distance but I did the same, feeling like some lovesick heroine out of a chick flick we both seemed to like, even if one of us—him—wouldn’t admit.
Only when the car exited the main gate in a cloud of red dust did I lose sight of Jack and I finally lowered my hand.
As we drove away from Cooweer and I struggled not to bawl, one question plagued me.
What if I’d stayed anyway?
Want to check out Jess and Jack’s sizzling reunion?
Read BRASH, out now from all e-retailers.
Chapter One
Jess Harper was the first to admit, sex made her uncomfortable.
Not the act itself, despite the lackluster efforts by her ex, but the paraphernalia that surrounded her every time she stepped into Burlesque Bombshell, her cousin’s Vegas dance venue.
The nipple tassels and diamante thongs and shiny poles made her feel inadequate. Like all that overt sexiness screamed she was a failure in the boudoir. She wasn’t. It was the dorks she allowed in there that needed lessons: Getting It On 101.
She pushed through a phalanx of fuchsia feather fans and slipped into the main dressing room, only to be confronted by nudity.
“Jeez, put some clothes on,” she said, unable to resist brushing against the vermillion velvet walls as she entered. The plushness of this room never failed to bring out her inner vixen.
“Don’t like the view? You know where the door is.” Zazz, Burlesque Bombshell’s premier dancer, leaned closer to the gilt edged, beveled mirror and puckered up, before slicking vivid crimson across her lips.
“Not a problem. But then who’d plan your gargantuan wedding, huh?” Jess picked up an armful of feather boas and draped them over a mannequin before slouching on a plush peacock blue suede daybed. “Wedding of the century, babe. Your quote, not mine.”
“Whatever.” Zazz batted her eyelash extensions and pouted. “Table arrangements finalized?”
“Yep. Ruby linen tablecloths. Matching chairs tied with black bows. Elongated glass vases filled with ebony crystals and long feathers. Silverware. Black candles. And bling name holders—”
“Whoa. Detail overload.” Zazz held up her hands. “As long as it matches the pics of that swank London Goth wedding you showed me in a bridal mag, I’m happy.”
“Easy to please.” Jess used her hand as a fake notebook and jotted with an imaginary pen. “Not.”
“You’re snooty because I haven’t told you the venue yet.” Zazz sniggered. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
Jess didn’t have to love it. In fact, she couldn’t give a flying fig if the venue had rope swings hanging from the roof and chains from the chandeliers. The faster she was done doing this favor for her mom, who’d coerced her into planning this wedding from her sickbed, the faster she could figure out what she’d do with the rest of her life.
One thing Jess knew for sure; it wouldn’t be helping Pam, her flamboyant mom, plan any more crazy weddings.
“And wait ‘til you hear about the food.” Zazz shrugged into an emerald satin kimono embroidered with topaz crystals. “Michelin starred. Exotic. To die for.”
“Good. Faster I know about the cake, faster I can get onto the cake table decorations.”
Zazz cinched the sash at her waist, accentuating her knockout hourglass figure. “The chef should be here shortly so you can sit down together and go over boring deets like which canapés go with which wines.”
“Goody.” Jess clapped her hands in fake excitement. Last thing she felt like doing today was collaborating with some temperamental, egotistical chef. Visiting her mom first thing had been bad enough. “Getting back to the venue. You know I can’t finalize everything ‘til I see the room, get a feel for the layout—”
“Relax. We’re flying you and the chef out to the island end of the week.”
“Island?” Jess’s jaded soul couldn’t help but perk up at the idea of a free trip to some exotic island. “Where?”
“Prince Island.”
“Never heard of it.” Not that Jess cared. Any place with island in the title? She was there with flip-flops on.
Zazz smirked. “That’s because my darling fiancé owns the island. Six star resort and private villas. Totally exclusive. Invitation only.”
Jess clutched her heart in mock shock. “Serious?”
Zazz laughed. “Yeah, who would’ve thought Dorian would be a romantic?”
Nothing the doting groom did would surprise Jess. Dorian Gibbs owned most of Nevada and ruled Vegas but held his coveted bachelorhood as the biggest prize. Until he’d attended a Bombshell soiree, taken one glimpse at Zazz and fallen head over heels.
Jess didn’t believe in clichés but there was something undeniably electric when Dorian and Zazz were in the same room. Pity the odd lightning bolt or two couldn’t strike her. She could do with a good jumpstart. Her love life was on par with her career—down the toilet.
“Dorian would gift you the world on a silver platter if he could.”
“I’m worth it.” Zazz wriggled her fingers into a white satin glove and rolled it up to her elbow, smoothing it before repeating the elegant action on the other arm. “You are too, hun, and you’d know it if you’d ever let me fix you up with one of his friends.”
“I prefer my guy to be in the same decade.”
“Bitch.” Zazz laughed. “Trust me, there’s something to be said for an older man.” She shimmied her hips, complete with a few crude pelvic thrusts. “They have the moves and know how to use them.”
Jess winced. “If that’s an indication of Dorian’s moves, you can keep them.”
“And relish them twice a day.” Zazz propped on the end of her dresser and folded her arms. “Seriously, when’s the last time you had a date?”
Jess opened her mouth to respond and Zazz rushed on, “One that didn’t involve battery operated apparatus.”
“I get out.”
Zazz harrumphed. “Taking your mom to rehab doesn’t count.”
“She needs my help.”
“She’s had a stroke and is taking full advantage of the fact to have you at her beck and call.” Zazz shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you stepping in to take over as my wedding planner. But Pam’s milking this for all she’s worth.”
; Didn’t Jess know it. Sure, she felt sorry for her vibrant mom suffering a stroke that rendered her left side immobilized. And she didn’t begrudge helping her. What she couldn’t stand was the constant interference in her life when she’d escaped Pam’s smothering years earlier.
They may live in Craye Canyon, an hour out of Vegas, but that’s where the similarities between her life and her mom’s ended.
Pam went through boyfriends like coffee filters. She pranced around town in mini skirts and tube tops, had her hair blow-waved daily and cleaned out the town’s cosmetic supply on a regular basis. She planned weddings with panache and style, at odds with her loud, brash self.
Little wonder Jess had chosen an occupation far removed from her mom’s flamboyance. Town librarian was staid, unassuming and quiet. It suited Jess just fine. Until she’d heard rumors the local council considered Craye Canyon Library a dead loss and would downsize soon, so she saved them the trouble and quit, leaving her jobless and directionless.
In a way, planning Zazz’s wedding had given her breathing space to decide where she went from here. One thing Jess knew, she was tired of her boring life. Sick to death of it. Zazz was right. She needed to shake things up a little.
“You need an island fling.” Zazz snapped her fingers, her grin positively evil. “Hot stud. Sun, surf, sex.”
Sounded pretty damn perfect. “And here I was, thinking you were flying me to some island to plan your wedding.”
Zazz waved away her concern. “It’ll happen, I have full confidence in you.”
“The wedding or the sex?”
“Both.” Zazz’s eyes narrowed as she smirked. “How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
“Huh?”
“The chef?” Zazz fanned her face. “Unbe-freaking-lievable. Sex on legs.”
“Yeah, right.” Jess rolled her eyes. “Those black and white checkered pants do it for me every time.”
Zazz laughed. “Trust me, once you get a look at this guy, those ugly pants won’t be staying on for long.”
“Chefs aren’t my type.”
The moment the lie tumbled from Jess’s lips, memories long suppressed flashed before her eyes.
An outback holiday in Australia. A cattle station cook. A kiss that defied belief. And a refusal that burned, real bad.
