Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1)

by Maggie Wells

  He’d been seated in the front pew at the ceremony beside his ex-wife and her husband. Jo wondered what he’d done to earn ex status. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine any woman willingly giving this man up for the paunchy redhead who’d taken his place.

  He nodded toward the array of bottles behind the bar. “Champagne?”

  “God, no.” The response was automatic. She hated champagne. Pure desperation forced her to resort to the glass poured for the toasts because the dinner wine was long gone. Now he was offering her more. The sparkling wine seemed an apt choice for him. He looked like Cary Grant, what with the wings of silver in his dark hair, the crinkly brown eyes sparkling with mischief, and the tuxedo. Maybe he was offering her champagne because Cary Grant would offer her champagne. Cary would call her “darling.” Would Gregory Stark call her “darling?”

  Something tugged at her fingers. She stared in rapt fascination as he removed the forgotten flute from her hand and placed it on the bar. “Oh. No. No more champagne.” She managed a weak twitch of her lips. “Thank you.”

  A proprietary hand landed in the small of her back. Jo surrendered to the gentle pressure, closing her eyes and imagining the pads of his fingers to be electrodes. Sparks sizzled along her spine. He spread his fingers wide as he drew alongside her at the bar. Arousal swept through her like a hot flash. Unlike those endless minutes of core meltdown, this heat wasn’t something to be endured. His touch was a treat to be savored. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her, his lips parted and his eyes shining bright.

  “What’ll it be, then?”

  “Tequila. Three shots.”

  The answer popped out before her brain engaged. It was a ghost from her past. A remnant of the reckless youth she’d left buried under a pile of soul-crushing responsibility.

  “Whoa. Three?” He craned his neck and scanned the room. “Maybe I should get one of the younger guys back.”

  Once upon a time, three was her magic number. The key to managing everything life had thrown at her. Good and bad. The magic of three stopped being effective not long after she’d turned thirty—a bitter disappointment she’d never managed to reconcile with herself. Turns out, fate had her number in another way.

  Well, screw fate. She’d played the good girl long enough. Emboldened by the wine and the heat of his hand scorching her back, she looked him square in the eye. “I have no use for boys, thankyouverymuch. Don’t worry. It’s okay if you can’t keep up. I won’t think less of you.”

  He laughed. Not a chuckle or a chortle, but a deep, rumbling, full-throated guffaw that wrapped itself around her and drew her closer still. Or maybe he pulled her in with his hand. Either way, she was within sniffing distance, so she took a hit. Pure man. No flowery cologne masked the warm and musky mix of soap, shaving cream, and some kind of whiskey. Thank God.

  “Set ’em up,” he told the bartender.

  The girl lined six tiny glasses along the side rail. Pale amber liquid dribbled onto the bar when she moved from glass to glass. She piled wedges of lime on a napkin and plunked a saltcellar beside it. The furrow of concentration between the bartender’s over-tweezed eyebrows smoothed when Greg shoved another bill into the tip jar.

  His hand fell away from Jo’s back as they moved to the side of the bar. She kept her gaze purposefully averted, trying not to pout over the loss. She raised one of the shot glasses in silent salute then downed the tequila without benefit of salt and lime.

  The alcohol blazed a trail of fire in her throat. Jo gave her head a toss to soothe the burn. The frank admiration in her companion’s gaze made her pussy tingle with arousal. Her body’s response to this gorgeous stranger startled her. Deep in her heart, she feared she was past all desire.

  He leaned in closer. “What’s your name?”

  The answer leapt to her tongue, but she bit it back. For one night, this night with this man, she didn’t want to be sad old Aunt Jo. She wanted to be the woman she’d been back in the days before she had to be seated with one of her cousins to round out a table. She wanted to be the girl who thought she had all the time in the world.

  Fixing Kaylin’s new father-in-law with a bold stare, she raised a challenging eyebrow. “Jose.”

  “As in Cuervo?”

  “Exactly.” When he opened his mouth again, she held up one hand and dredged up the name she used in those wild days of time and tequila. “But you can call me Josie.”

  He blinked once then cocked his head, studying her for one long moment. He reached for a glass. The wry twist of his lips told her he was certain she’d given him a fake name, but he didn’t seem to care too terribly much. He eyed her over the rim of the tiny glass. “Nice to meet you, Josie. I’m Greg.”

  Silver cufflinks flashed as he tossed the shot back. He chased the booze with a low growl. A golden drop clung to his upper lip. Jo wiped it away with the pad of her thumb but froze as she pulled away. They stared at one another, arrested by her sheer audacity. Mortification set the tips of her ears on fire. She tried to finish her retreat, but he captured her wrist.

  “Thank you.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Tell me, Josie, are you a pussycat?”

  Jo laughed. And, damn, it felt good. She was flirting with a handsome man, and he was flirting back with enthusiasm. Quite a rush for a woman long out of practice. She swallowed the lump in her throat and lowered her gaze along with her wayward hand, wondering if her rusty skills were obvious.

  “Uh-uh. Don’t try to play shy with me now,” he admonished. When she didn’t respond, he leaned close. His breath stirred her hair and tickled her ear. “You’re the most intriguing woman here, and you damn well know it.”

  Pleasure ran warm and thick in her veins. Jo closed her eyes, giving herself over to the vague pain of her nipples tightening and the quickening of her pulse. “Do I?”

  “I noticed you in the church.”

  A shiver tripped along her spine. She tipped her head, surrendering to the moist caress of his breath. “You did?”

  “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

  Though she’d noticed, the bold confession still stunned her. In the way of women too used to being invisible, she’d denied the tingle of knowledge. Hard to believe a man so handsome might find her attractive. For too long she’d played the part of plain old Aunt Jo.

  “I can’t stop looking at you now.” The husky admission pried her eyes open. “I had to find you.”

  The urgency in his tone gave her the boost she needed. Oh, how she wanted to be Josie with the tequila shots once more. With him. For him. Flashing a sly glance, she reached for a second tiny glass. “And now you have.”

  He snatched a glass from the bar and touched the rim to hers. His gaze bore into her, unwavering and intense. “And now I have.”

  The tequila left a trail of fire hot enough to make her shiver. Her hand trembled. She curled her fingers snug around the empty glass and placed it carefully on the bar. The burning sensation eased as the warmth of the alcohol sped through her bloodstream. Floating on a silvery cloud of agave-induced happiness, she glanced up just in time to get hit square between the eyes by a blast from the past.

  “Will.”

  The name came to her on a whisper, a random factoid dug from the minutiae of an overburdened life. She glanced at Greg to determine whether he’d heard her. His easy posture told her he hadn’t. She tugged nervously at the seam of her dress and chanced another peek. Her breath caught when she confirmed the man standing at the other side of the bar wasn’t a memory.

  The dim light of the hotel ballroom was no match for Will Tarrant’s pirate grin. He tipped his head back to sip his drink and she caught sight of the strands of silver lacing his dark hair. Lines that were once mere hints of the life he’d led now etched bold statements into his handsome face. But the faint white scar bisecting his upper lip was still the same.

  Years ago, she’d traced that scar with her fingertip. And her tongue. Funny how a single slash marred a man’s beauty just eno
ugh to make him look rakish and incorrigible rather than ruined. Coupled with the self-effacing wit he wielded like a cutlass, Will Tarrant was both a dream and a nightmare come true.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  She looked up to find Greg smiling at her, his eyebrows raised in hopeful anticipation. His warm palm cupped her elbow, saving her from the devilish amusement in Will’s gaze. She looked at Greg, scrambling to process his request. Warm brown eyes telegraphed the answer they wanted her to give. The rampant thudding of her heart slowed to a sultry strum. Will Tarrant was a ghost from her past. Tonight she wanted a chance at a future. The same future that seemed too open, too daunting, and too damn empty a few hours ago.

  “Yes, please.”

  Before he could take her hand, a fluttering bird of a woman with an earpiece affixed to her ear sank blood-red talons into the arms of his tuxedo jacket. “I’ve got him.” Lifting a discreet microphone to glossed lips, she murmured into it. “F.O.G. secured.” The woman gave Jo an assessing glance then dismissed her with a brisk shake of her head. “I only need the father of the groom, please.” Giving Greg’s arm a tug, she pulled him away. “The bride and groom want the parents to stand behind them as they cut the cake.”

  “But—”

  “It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  Greg’s mouth pulled into a fierce scowl as the wedding coordinator tugged him away. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move!” he called as the crowd on the dance floor swallowed him whole.

  The lights from the DJ’s set-up flashed and swirled. Driving bass thrummed beneath her feet. Disappointment roiled in the pit of her stomach. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end when someone spoke low and close to her ear.

  “I’d like to see your moves again.”

  She blinked when she was met with her former lover’s crooked grin. That rakish flash of shiny white teeth made her crazy for him oh-so many moons ago. Time and experience had barely dimmed its wattage. “Hello, Will.”

  “Josie.”

  He spoke her name in the same deep voice. His tongue still rolled lazily over the vowels and drew out the sibilance, but it no longer made her shiver with need. Much.

  Will reached past her to snag Greg’s glass and downed the last shot in a blink. “That’s three. Let’s go.”

  He claimed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor as hip-hop gave way to something slow and sexy. Will played the mischievous twinkle and presumptuous attitude as masterfully as ever. With a rueful shake of her head, she allowed him to fold her into his arms.

  “You look fantastic, Jo.”

  She didn’t fight the blush his compliment spawned. It was one thing to have a stranger tell her she looked well, but quite another to hear it from someone who knew her in better days. One hand braced on his broad shoulder, she steeled her resolve. The last thing she needed was to get pulled under by a wave of nostalgia. “Thank you. You look just the same.”

  Will chuckled. It was the same rough and ready rumble he used to use to talk a woman out of her clothes. She’d bet that sexy laugh still worked like a charm. She gazed up into blue eyes as dark as the midnight sky and stepped closer. Her body molded to his. They moved together with the ease of two people unforgettably intimate.

  He tightened his hold on her. “Getting old.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Not you.”

  He whispered the words into her ear. Jo tried to suppress the shiver running through her, but failed miserably. Will danced her in a slow, smooth circle. His sheepish smile wreaked havoc on her booze-addled senses. His thighs brushed the fabric of her dress. The silky material slid over heated skin. Suddenly she didn’t miss her trusty control-tops one bit.

  Snug against the solid length of him, she craned her neck to meet his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

  “Eating the medium-cold stuffed chicken, drinking free booze, trying to make time with the prettiest lady in the room.”

  The glib answer tripped off his tongue, a short, simple reminder of who her partner was. Will Tarrant was more than a flirt. He was a man disarming enough to be dangerous.

  “I meant, how do you know Ben and Kaylin?”

  “I’ve known the groom since his mommy and daddy said, ‘Oops!’”

  “Oops?”

  “Oops. That’s how a good guy like Greg ends up wasting twenty years of his life with a woman like stick-up-her-ass Emily. Oops.”

  His derisive tone made her eyebrows jump. At least, she thought they jumped. The buzzing in her blood made every movement seem super-sized. “Are you mocking him because he stepped up and did the right thing?”

  “He did the expected thing. Their marriage didn’t last past Ben’s twenty-first birthday, so it wasn’t the right thing, after all, huh?”

  “I forgot how jaded you are.”

  “Realistic.”

  “I bet you’ve never married.”

  “Never found the right girl.” A wicked glint lit his eyes as his fingertips bumped along the line of her spine. The heel of his hand came to rest above the curve of her ass. “How are you? Only good things happening for you?”

  She almost choked on the question’s casual assumption. Will was the kind of man who never did anything he didn’t want to do. How could she possibly tell him she’d given up having choices mere hours after he left her bed all those years ago?

  “Yes, my life has been a dream come true.”

  His snicker told her the sarcasm hit its mark. “Good, I’m glad.”

  The gentle pressure of his fingertips in the small of her back held her snug against him. He led with the easy confidence of an expert. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Will had been waltzing his way through women since he mastered the art of the sustainable hard-on.

  “So, Josie.” He drawled the nickname directly into her ear. “Anyone waiting at home for you these days?”

  She stiffened and pulled away, prying her reluctant body away from the heat of his as her mind raced. The smug smirk on his face should have made him look like a complete dick, but it didn’t. He was a man made to observe humanity with a hefty dose of amused contempt. And she was a woman determined to reshape her destiny.

  Jo didn’t want to flirt. She had no patience for being coy. The days of playing the unattainable woman of mystery were long behind her. She had the cards she’d been dealt. Damned if she’d give in and fold just because life was playing with a marked deck.

  “No, but I do have a giant hole in my porch and a thousand termites. So, I’ve got that going for me.” She attempted to tug her hand from his, but Will held fast. “I don’t want to play this game. I don’t want to dance with you. I want—”

  “Easy. Not a game, just a dance.”

  She squinted up at him, trying to decipher the hidden agenda lurking behind his devil-may-care exterior. At last, full lips settled into a grim line of defeat. He heaved a put-upon sigh.

  “I was flirting, Josie.” He took her pause as permission to pull her against him again. The carefully cultivated scruff on his cheeks and jaw snagged her hair. His lips grazed the burning tip of her ear. “You used to be much better at this.”

  The whispered chastisement cooled her ire. “Yeah, well, I used to be better at a lot of things.” She pressed her cheek to his lapel, and settled into the smooth pattern of his lead. “You’re not exactly out of practice.”

  “Oh, don’t be so quick. Now I’ve seen you again, and I’m thinking my number might be up.”

  The blatant insincerity of the statement struck the right chord to put her at ease. Melting into his embrace, Jo shook her head. “You’re just as full of it as ever.”

  “Love at second sight. Never thought it would happen to a nice guy like me.”

  Surrender curved her lips. “You were never a nice guy.”

  “Aw, come on.” He ducked his head to whisper into her ear. “You used to think I was nice.”

  She peeled herself from his chest, grasping his broad shoulders to steady herself as
she looked him straight in the eye—as straight as possible after a couple glasses of wine, a flute of the bubbly crap, and two shots of tequila. Or was it three? No, two. She didn’t get to glass number three. Something she needed to remember to remedy. Fate was a first-rate bitch when a girl forgot to play the game.

  “No, not nice,” she reiterated. He laughed his hellraiser laugh and every nerve ending in her body quivered. She tried to play it cool, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a careless flick, but being cool when her insides danced a samba proved to be beyond her. Her heart beat in time to the sway of his hips. She teetered on the edge, nearly drawn in by the lure of him. “Not one bit nice, but you were so bad it was good.”

  Will pulled her close again. “We were good.”

  His smooth insistence made Jo miss a step. The toe of her shiny new skyscraper pumps nipped his scuffed wingtips. The solid strength of his arm wrapped snug around her kept her upright, but the seductive haze of tequila and nostalgia began to dissipate. He spoke the truth. For a blink of an eye, a long time ago, they had been good together. But not good enough for either of them to make the extra effort to keep things going once life interfered.

  “For a while,” she whispered. “We were good for a little while.”

  He inclined his head, a gesture of acknowledgment. Their affair was never meant to be permanent.

  Still, she couldn’t resist a little dig. “Then again, I knew that about you going in. Didn’t I? You’re the kind of guy who can only be good for a while.”

  At least the man had the good grace to blush, but the sheepish look was too practiced to be sincere. “I’m older and wiser now.”

  “Older, yes.” She curled his lapel in her fingers then smoothed the fabric under her palm. Wetting her lips, Jo met his gaze directly. “Wiser? I may even buy that,” she conceded. “But you’re still you, Will. Through and through.”