by Lauren Layne
“Talk about animal mating rituals when you get nervous.”
“I’m not nervous! Why would I be nervous?”
He was studying her. “You tell me.”
“Don’t be weird,” she muttered. “I’m just saying, you’ve hardly got one foot in the grave.”
“I don’t particularly care for cabbage either. And I don’t have any pets.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He held her gaze for several moments. “Move in with me.”
Mollie choked on her champagne. “Sorry?”
He gave a rueful smile as he watched her dab at the champagne on her chin. “I figured I wasn’t the best company, but it’s that bad, huh?”
“Jackson, you can’t just go around asking strange women to move in with you.”
“Why not? You need a place to live. I have three extra bedrooms. And you’re hardly strange.”
“That’s true. We’re practically family,” she muttered.
“Practically. But not.”
Something in his tone had Mollie’s head snapping up. Something low and a little bit sexy.
They weren’t family. They weren’t related.
Jackson leaned forward, his gaze strangely intent. “Come on, Mollie. What do you have to lose?”
As she stared at the man she’d once harbored an unhealthy crush on—a crush she was no longer at all sure had dissipated—she realized that the answer to his question was everything.
She had everything to lose.
Chapter 4
She’d said no.
Jackson hooked a finger into the knot of his tie, tugging at it until the damn thing loosened, before flicking open the top button of his shirt.
Mollie had said no to living with him.
Jackson wandered to the bar in his living room and poured a finger of Scotch before going to stare out at the New York skyline.
Of course she’d said no. He’d been insane to ask. What did he think, that a woman he’d been avoiding for months—a woman who was related to his ex—was going to jump at the chance to be roommates?
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. It was better this way anyway. If he ended up getting the coaching gig, he’d be gone in a couple of months. Plus he didn’t want company. Didn’t want to share his space.
But damn, he was lonely.
Jackson took a sip of his Scotch and was relishing the burn in his throat when his cell phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Caller ID showed it was the doorman of his building.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Mr. Burke. I have a Ms. Mollie Carrington here to see you.”
Jackson frowned. Mollie? As in the same Mollie he’d just parted ways with fifteen minutes ago? The same Mollie who’d looked ready to puke when he’d casually asked her to be his roommate, practically shouted no, and then spent the rest of dinner rambling about infectious diseases? How did she even know where he lived?
“Sure, send her up,” he said.
“Very good, sir.”
Jackson rolled his eyes as he hung up, wondering just what sort of Christmas bonus would be required to get the guys downstairs to stop addressing him as sir.
There was a sharp knock at the door. The second he opened the door to his apartment, Mollie brushed past him and spun around with a glare. “You’re unbelievable.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. Whoa. This was a version of Mollie Carrington that he’d never seen before. He’d seen goofy Mollie, brainy Mollie, chatty Mollie, and thinking Mollie. And tonight he’d seen sexy Mollie. But this . . . this was angry Mollie, her blue eyes flashing heat. It was as sexy as it was confusing.
“Hold on. You’re the one barging in on me, and I’m unbelievable? Did you follow me here?”
She ignored his question as she crossed her arms. “You do not get to spend the past few months avoiding me, ignoring my calls and my emails, and then ask me to move in.”
He groaned and went back for his whisky. “We’re back to that? Look, it was a spontaneous gesture. I thought I was being nice. But you said no, and that’s that.” He held up the whisky to her, but she shook her head.
“I had to say no,” she said. “Obviously.”
He shrugged. “I get it. You don’t want to move in with a thirty-five-year-old bachelor. You said no. I said fine. We moved on. We’re cool.”
Mollie snorted. “Why do I find that hard to believe? Oh yeah, maybe because you quit responding to my emails once your perfect life got a little bit messy.”
His features registered pain followed by a quick flash of guilt before he resumed his glower. “Forgive me if I didn’t feel like spilling my guts to the woman whose sister was divorcing me.”
“Well, why the hell not? You always spilled your guts before.”
“And maybe I shouldn’t have,” he shot back. “Maybe if I’d made a little more effort to talk to my wife instead of her kid sister, my marriage would’ve had a chance.” Mollie’s head snapped back as if he’d struck her, and he felt an instant rush of regret. “Mollie . . . I’m sorry. That was beyond uncalled-for.”
“Yes. But is it true?” she whispered. “You know that I never—”
“My divorce isn’t your fault,” he said gruffly. “I’ve never thought that.”
She touched her fingertips lightly to her eyelids. “See, this is exactly why I had to say no. This whole thing with Madison makes it too complicated.”
“Madison’s in Texas,” he said.
Mollie dropped her hands and looked at him. “Doesn’t make this any less complicated.”
She was dead right. Jackson shrugged. “So keep on with your tarantula roommate and his cabbage.”
Mollie put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“When you suggested I move in, how long were you thinking?”
He closed his eyes. “Holy shit, Mollie, if I wanted to talk in circles with a woman, I’d have stayed married.”
When he opened his eyes, she was chewing her lip, looking adorably confused, although about what, he had no idea. He did not get women. He was more sure of that these days than ever.
“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “Until you find a new place? Look, swear to God, I was trying to do a friend a favor. I’ve got the space, you’ve got the need . . .” Yeah, stick with that, old man. Your motives are pure as snow, all right.
His eyes narrowed slightly as a thought struck him. “Mollie, is that why you went all Rain Man on me during dinner? Because you wanted to say yes but thought you shouldn’t?”
“Rain Man?”
He winced. “God, tell me you’ve seen it. I know I’m old, but it’s a classic.”
“I’ve seen Rain Man. I just don’t think I am Rain Man.”
“Molls, you rattled off like the fifty most common diseases I was likely to die from. You paused only when the server brought over our food, and then you proceeded to tell him the diseases he was likely to die from.”
She waved this away. “I tend to talk diseases when I’m nervous. That and animal mating habits, apparently.”
He gave her a little smile. “I know.”
And that right there was every reason she should move in, and every reason she shouldn’t. He knew her inside and out—knew what made her laugh, what made her babble. What he didn’t know was what made her moan. What made those bright blue eyes go hazy with desire. Having her within arm’s reach . . .
Jackson jerked his eyes away from her as he realized he’d been staring at her legs.
Mollie wandered away, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil. And definitely unaware of his hardening cock.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “This place is amazing.”
He shrugged. Objectively he knew a penthouse on Park Avenue was “amazing.” But he rarely paid enough attention to care. “Yeah. It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Mollie muttered as she moved toward the floor-to-c
eiling windows that faced the twinkling lights of midtown Manhattan. “Who’s your decorator?” she asked.
His decorator? Jesus. “No clue. I had someone make sure all this shit was here when I moved in.”
“Ah,” she said.
“You managed to dump an awful lot of meaning into that one syllable.”
She tilted her head and considered him. “Why did you really ask me to move in?”
He groaned. “Mollie, you’re killing me. Drop it.”
“I will,” she said quickly, coming toward him. “I just . . . you were really just being a nice guy? No agenda?”
“You mean am I planning to install a camera in the guest bathroom and watch you shower? No.”
He meant it sarcastically, but the thought of Mollie naked in the shower, suds running over her lithe body . . .
“Madison’s my sister.”
Just like that, his arousal went from simmering to nonexistent. Mention of his ex-wife had a tendency to do that.
“Yeah,” he snapped. “I’m aware.” I’ve been more aware than you know.
Her eyes searched his face. “Don’t you miss her at all?”
Jackson poured himself more whisky he didn’t need and refused to answer.
Mollie let out a long sigh. “I figured.”
“Figured what?”
“That you asking me to move in was some misplaced attempt at getting back at Madison for leaving you.”
Whoa, what? Jackson moved toward her, his fingers wrapping around her arm. Hard. “That’s bullshit.”
Her blue eyes locked on his. “Is it? You’ve been avoiding me for months, and yet the second I’m within arm’s reach you want to be roommates? You can’t tell me that Madison wasn’t all tied up in your motives on that one.”
“The hell she was,” he said, his grip tightening. “I’m not the sort of asshole who sits across the table from one woman while thinking about another. I was thinking about you.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and belatedly he realized how that sounded. He released her arm and stepped back. “I just meant that you’re my friend. I’ve got the extra space. Either take the offer or don’t, doesn’t matter to me, but for the love of God, can we stop fucking talking about it?”
Mollie blew out a breath and ran a hand through her tousled hair. The lighter color looked good on her. So did the shorter cut and the sexy waves. He always remembered her as having long brown hair that she wore in a boring braid, but the blond . . .
It was hot. Mollie was hot.
Jesus, man, get a grip. No wonder she’d shot down his offer to move in. She probably saw him as a stodgy big brother, and meanwhile all he could think about was pulling her toward him, peeling that dress off her, and—
“How long were you thinking?” she asked again.
He blinked as his thoughts scattered. Was she actually considering it? And why the hell did he feel so giddy?
“For as long as you need,” he said simply.
Mollie scratched her nose. “I don’t like clutter.”
He gestured. “Do you see clutter?”
Her eyes scanned the room. “And I have a lot of clothes now. And shoes. Shoes are my thing. I have a shoe thing.”
He gave a slight smile at her babbling. “The guest room at the far end has a walk-in closet.”
Mollie put a hand over her chest and stepped backward. “Stop. That’s my weakness, and you know it.”
Jackson lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “You want to see?”
Mollie chewed her lip, and he felt a strange satisfaction at seeing her caught in turmoil. Mollie had seemed so confident, so sure of herself and everyone around her. He liked that he could put her off balance, just a little bit. Because God knew she’d been knocking him off balance all night.
“Madison would kill me,” she said quietly.
He met her eyes. Held them. “Do you care?”
It was a big question—a bold one. And from the way she looked at the floor, he could tell that she knew he wasn’t just asking about Madison’s feelings on the roommate situation. He wanted to know how much his ex-wife still had her claws into Mollie.
“She’s my sister,” Mollie said in a small voice that Jackson wasn’t used to hearing from her.
She’s also a bitch, Jackson added silently. Aloud he said, “Come on, Molls. You’re always rambling about how Madison looked out for you in those early days. How she practically raised you, blah blah blah.”
“Because she did,” Mollie said, just a bit testily.
Jackson wondered if Mollie had noticed her own use of the past tense. Wondered if, despite her knee-jerk defense of her sister, she knew on some level that Madison had long stopped being the selfless older sister that Mollie remembered from her childhood.
“If Madison wants what’s best for you, don’t you think she’d want this for you over a pet tarantula and cabbage?” he asked, using his whisky to gesture toward the gleaming kitchen.
Mollie chewed the inside of her lip. “I shouldn’t. I can’t.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself. So I shouldn’t bother mentioning that the closet has two built-in shoe racks? And a separate dressing area?”
Mollie groaned, and Jackson resisted the urge to give a fist pump in victory. He had her. He knew he had her.
She blew out a breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ll move in. Temporarily, and on one condition.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“I pay rent.” She jabbed a finger at him.
“Ah, jeez, Mollie—”
She lifted her finger even higher, a vaguely threatening look on her face that reminded him of a puppy looking for a fight with a much bigger dog.
“Fine,” he muttered. “You can pay rent.”
Mollie made a happy squealing noise before launching herself at him, throwing both arms around his neck, and giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek before all but running down the hall toward her new room.
Jackson gave a grim smile as he glanced down at his whisky. On one hand, he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. On the other hand . . .
He tossed back his drink, relishing the burn as it made its way down his esophagus.
Why did he want it?
“Jackson! Get your ass in here!” she called.
He opened his eyes and made his way toward his new roommate, wondering if she was struck by déjà vu as much as he was, remembering a much younger Mollie who’d shown all the same enthusiasm when she’d moved into his and Madison’s guest room for a summer.
But not exactly the same, huh, old man?
He stepped into the bedroom just as Mollie came out of the closet.
No, this time it wasn’t the same. Because this time Jackson wasn’t married. And when Mollie Carrington met his eyes and smiled, Jackson had never been quite so aware of his single status.
Or quite so grateful.
Chapter 5
When Jackson had first seen Madison Carrington, he’d thought her the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
He’d been a senior in college, and as starting quarterback, he’d been the big man on the Texas State campus. He’d dated whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he wanted to—often.
Madison had been a senior too, but not part of the football groupie crowd. A quiet English major with a perfect GPA, Madison was about as far from the usual girls he dated as it was possible to get.
In fact, the first time he’d worked up the courage to talk to her, the pretty brunette had confessed she’d never even been to a football game. And then she turned down his invitation to dinner. Multiple times. No matter how nicely he asked, no matter how extravagant the floral arrangement, she’d politely refused to go out with him.
And Jackson had fallen. Hard.
His friends had tried to tell him that it was a classic case of wanting what he couldn’t have—had warned him not to fall for the girl who played hard to get.
But Jackson had been determined, and halfway in love. Or
at least lust.
Madison with her dark ponytail, wide blue eyes, and shy smile had reeled him in one rejection at a time. And by the time the rejection had finally—finally—turned into a yes, Jackson had been so relieved, his heart maybe a little bit weary, that he didn’t think to look for any warning signs. Didn’t think to look for anything other than another date and then another, until suddenly college was over.
Jackson had gotten the girl.
And Madison had gotten herself a number one draft pick.
It would be years later before Jackson realized maybe that’s what she’d been all along, and she’d played him brilliantly. Years before he finally acknowledged that the girl he’d fallen in love with had been a mirage—a perfectly crafted shell designed to be everything he wanted on the outside.
And completely rotten on the inside.
Interestingly, it hadn’t been Madison’s treatment of him that had awakened him to the woman beneath the sweet smiles. It had been the way she’d treated her sister.
For whatever reasons—sibling dynamics, perhaps—it had been Mollie who’d brought out Madison’s true colors. Sure, on the outside she’d been all doting sister and tolerant saint to Mollie’s sometimes quirky “outsider” ways, but by the time he and Maddie had gotten engaged, the veneer had started to chip. He’d gotten glimpses of how Madison really felt about the younger sister she’d had to help raise.
Resentment.
Resentment that she’d had to move home her junior year of college to care for Mollie rather than live near campus with her friends. Resentment that Mollie wasn’t a “normal” kid who was content to hang out at the mall on Saturday afternoons, and instead wanted to go to museums and music performances and bookstores.
Their mother had died just a year before Jackson met Maddie—a lethal drug and alcohol overdose that Madison had claimed surprised no one except Mollie, who’d been thirteen when she’d come home from school and found her mother dead at the kitchen table.
Jackson would give his ex-wife credit: she’d stepped up to the plate. Madison had moved home and played the role of mom as best she could at the age of twenty.
But the more time he’d spent with the two sisters, the more Madison’s resentment seeped through, and the more he’d realized that Madison’s love for her sister was obligatory. Hell, sometimes he wondered if the word “love” even applied at all.
