by Susan Ward
He studies my outfit and something flitters across his face—is that pain? What man keeps his dead wife’s possessions for nearly four years? What kind of man is Jackson Parker?
I touch his cheek. “I’m sorry. This must be as strange for you as it is for me.”
“Just a little.” He steps back, as if something all the sudden makes him need space between us. He settles against the counter. Abruptly, he asks, “How do you feel about wearing something of the housekeeper’s? You look about the same size as Maria.”
From dead wife to maid’s clothes. Great, Linda, you’re hitting a home run here. Less creepy but still icky.
I smile and sink into my chair at the table. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m the one who ran off wearing only a sheet.”
“Wait here.”
I cut into my eggs as Jack hurries from the room. I take a bite. They’re really good, spicy from sautéed peppers and some kind of red sauce. I take another bite and then reach for my toast.
Jack returns. “Success. Jeans and a few other things you might prefer. I put them on the bed for you.”
I watch him sink into the chair across from me and he fills his coffee cup.
We eat in silence for several minutes, and the silence feels strange after the closeness of the morning in bed together. I wonder if something is bothering him…or maybe it’s having me here.
I watch him take a bite of his eggs.
“Do you want me to go?”
Jack looks up, startled. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know. It just feels like something has changed. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Shaking his head, he reaches for his coffee. “Stay, Linda. Stay as long as you like. I mean that. I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”
“OK.” I set down my fork and lean back in my chair. “But why are you being so nice to me? Helping me out of this stupid jam I’ve put myself in. Making me breakfast. Taking me shopping. I’m nothing to you.”
Jack looks amused. “Why are you so suspicious? Why can’t we just be what we are? And why can’t we just roll with it?”
“Because I’ve never met anyone who is kind without a reason.”
“You are,” Jack counters swiftly. “Besides, I consider us friends. That makes you important to me.”
Friends? Jesus Christ, I just met the man last night and not exactly in a normal way. How can he say any of that with straight-faced sincerity? He is either the weirdest musician I’ve ever met or absolutely the best smooth-talker.
He collects his plate. “Are you finished?”
I nod and hand him my plate. He goes to the sink and starts washing everything he just dirtied to make us breakfast. I watch him, trying to figure him out.
He looks over his shoulder and those potent eyes lock on me. “There are no chance meetings, Linda. Every person who comes into your life comes into your life for a reason. You just have to be receptive to finding the reason.”
I move from the table to the sink, grab a towel, and hold out my hand for the pan he just finished rinsing.
“Where did you learn that? A commune?”
Jack laughs. “You do have a sassy mouth on you.” His gaze begins to sparkle. “Are you trying to insult me or trying to charm me?”
I blush. I bite my lip. “I’m not sure.”
He puts a light kiss on my lips. “Go change. Let me finish this and take a shower so we can get out of here for the day.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I stand in the open garage watching as Jack carefully puts down the top on the black 450 SL Mercedes.
“We’re going to drive around town with the top down?” I ask.
Jack smiles. “Of course. It’s a beautiful day. Why shouldn’t we?”
“Don’t people bother you when you go out?”
“These are my neighbors. Why would they bother me?”
“Because you’re a fucking living legend,” I say, not able to refrain from pointing out the obvious.
Jack laughs. “Oh.” And as overtly amused as he is by me, he leaves that one alone.
I go to my side of the car and attempt to help by pretending to know what I’m doing, but I’ve never been so close to a car that cost this much, let alone touched one.
He comes around and gently moves me out of the way. He starts to fix the mess I made trying to secure the top down on the passenger side.
“Why do you swear so much?”
I shrug. “Shitty upbringing, I guess.”
Jack stares at the heavens as if begging for patience. I bite back a smile.
He opens my door. “Whoever raised you did a wonderful job. Except for the tough-girl chip on your shoulder and the swearing.”
I drop into my seat. “There is that.”
He leans in to lightly kiss me on my lips. “There is a lot more than that to you, Linda.”
My insides shudder and I can feel my eyes sparkling. As I pull the lap belt over the jeans I’ve appropriated from the housekeeper, I watch Jack go around the car and sink into his seat beside me.
He reaches into the backseat and pulls out two baseball caps. He hands one to me.
“What’s this for?” I ask as I take the hat. I arch a brow in mock suspicion. “Trying to hide me from view?”
He shakes his head as reaches into the glove box for two sets of sunglasses. “Put the hat and glasses on. You’ll thank me later when your face isn’t burned and you haven’t spent hours fighting your hair.”
I nod and obey, dropping down the visor mirror so I can fix my hair into something not too awful with the hat.
He puts the car into gear and backs out of the garage.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Don’t know yet.”
At the end of the driveway, I get my first glimpse of the neighborhood and my eyes widen. Everything is beautiful, woodsy and natural. The narrow road cuts between modest estates tucked behind high stucco walls or split rail fences.
There are more trees lining the rolling hills and road than I would see in a year in LA, providing a sheltering umbrella as we whiz down the curving lane. Gates, dogs, horses, and money.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jack as I pretend to study the scenery. Why is he taking me shopping and acting like he wants me to stay? Usually, the bigger the star the faster they can’t wait to show me the door in the morning.
The sex is great between us, but I still can’t figure out why someone like Jackson Parker is letting me hang around with him. And I definitely haven’t got a plan on how I am going to bring up what I want from him, or how I’m going to get back to LA.
God, I wish I knew how far and how quickly I could push this. And I wish I knew what I could expect from Jack in return.
The second day with a man is always the hardest. It’s like walking on eggshells, trying to read the lay of the land and being careful not to overstep and get booted to the door, all while managing to remain easygoing and entertaining.
Who are you kidding, Linda? You never have an easy time with men, second day or any day.
You’d think after all of the musicians I’ve been with, I’d know how to do this better. But I don’t. My relationships with men always start with bed and end with a brush-off. I can’t seem to get it right, no matter how many men I’m with.
Jack is far from my first random-encounter-morning-after with a stranger. But oh, he is definitely my highest stakes game yet.
He is the kind of man a foolish groupie falls in love with. The total rock star package: handsome, charming, intelligent, brilliant, and nice. The most dangerous kind of encounter. The kind where you wake up one morning completely delusional and lying to yourself that there might be a way to keep him.
My eyes run the line of his jaw, down his tan neck which disappears into a loose, pale-pink cotton shirt. Everything about him—from the softly faded jeans, to the flip-flops, the lightly mussed golden hair tucked beneath an LA Lakers cap—is ordinary and extraordinary at
once.
As if he senses me studying him, his fingers do a fast squeeze of mine, and he moves my hand to rest on his thigh before he has to shift the car again.
I turn my head so I can focus on the homes.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“My entire life. I was born and raised in that house.”
My brows lift. “Really? I can’t imagine getting to live in one house my entire life. Doris and I moved almost every year until I was in high school and she bought the condo.”
“Where in LA are you from?”
I shrug and make a face. “Reseda.”
He smiles, but doesn’t remark. Reseda tells him as much about me as seeing this tells me about him.
“And your family?” he asks.
“Just my mom and me.”
“What does Doris do?” he asks.
I flush. I don’t like answering questions about myself. All of us don’t come from stucco-wall, iron-gate, picture-pretty lives.
I feel his stare. It doesn’t lessen on me. Reluctantly, I say, “She’s a waitress in Encino.”
I pick up a box of tapes from the floorboard beneath me, open the case, and pretend to focus on them. I look up just as we pass beneath a high metal arch with a bar that proudly proclaims: Hope Ranch.
Appropriately named neighborhood, I think sarcastically to myself. Our condo complex is called Meadow View, except there isn’t a meadow to view within a hundred miles of the place. That’s appropriate, as well.
I continue to run my thumb along the tops of the tapes, reading the labels.
“And your dad?” he asks, rolling to a stop at a red light.
I shrug. “I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Crap. Good one, Linda. There was my opening to ask if Jack knows my dad and I slammed it shut without thinking.
He eases into the corner where the seat meets the door, in an angle better to face me, and fixes his gaze on me intently.
“What about a boyfriend? A girl as stunning as you surely has a boyfriend.”
“I don’t want to talk about him, either.”
Jack laughs, settles back into his seat, puts the car in gear and I realize that the light has turned green.
“Guys giving you a bit of trouble, are they?”
I give a pert, saucy nod.
“Nothing but.” I change the subject. “I can’t believe you have the Sex Pistols and the Motels in here. Christ, there’s even Romeo Void.”
Jack laughs and frowns simultaneously. “Why shouldn’t I have them?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just expected something different from you.”
I lift my gaze back up to find him smiling at me.
He picks up my hand and places a light kiss on the tips of my fingers.
“I’m a pretty basic kind of guy, Linda. You remember that and we’ll get along just fine.”
We will, will we? I take my lower lip into my teeth and give it a gentle nip to hold back my smile.
“Who says I want to get along with you?” I taunt teasingly.
His gaze touches mine. “Your eyes.”
He hits the turn signal, pulls into a parking lot, and I suddenly lose awareness of my surroundings.
“You are trying very hard to make me like you. The question is why?”
He parks the car in a space, turns off the ignition and leans into me, one hand still on the steering wheel.
“You need to ask why?” I counter flippantly.
His gaze sharpens on my face.
“It feels like you want something from me and are afraid to ask. I just can’t figure out what. But I’m certain you want something.”
Fuck, how does he know that? Have I become that obvious?
I rally a mischievous expression. “Maybe I just want your hot body.”
Jack shakes his head in frustration. He climbs from the car and is around to my door before I can slow down my racing heartbeat.
He’s on to me and I don’t have a clue what I should do here. Should I throw my cards up on the table and risk him showing me the door, or be patient until he’s more into me, more willing to do me a favor?
I don’t have a good enough feel for the man to be know what his reaction will be if I ask him to help me find my father. And I definitely don’t want to blow what may be my only real chance of locating him.
Jack can do with a phone call what I could never do in a lifetime: find a high-demand studio musician who hops around the world recording drum tracks. I’ve been hunting Brian Cray for three years and I haven’t even been able to discover where he lives yet.
He opens the car door for me and that adds to the weirdness of being here with him. It’s not something I’m comfortable with or used to or expect from him.
I climb out of the car and stand beside Jack. He closes my door and plants his hands against it on either side of me. I’m suddenly surrounded by the feel, the scent, and the warmth of him. The lock of his eyes is burning and intense. My heart jumps into my throat and begins to beat there.
“It’s completely unnecessary, you know,” he whispers.
My eyes widen. “Excuse me? I don’t understand. What’s unnecessary?”
“Trying hard to make me like you.”
Before I know it, he’s got me flattened against the car door, pinning me against it with his hips and his lips are on mine. It happened so fast that I can’t stop my body from reacting. I moan into his mouth, my lips part and his tongue instantly takes advantage of my scattered senses. His hands slip between me and the metal, cupping my backside to bring me flush against what is definitely a fully engaged male.
“I already like you, so stop trying so hard, and let’s just enjoy each other,” he murmurs, and with that he releases my body and steps back.
I stare up at him. In the blink of an eye, he’s calm, smiling Jack again.
“Do you want to pick the store or should I?” he asks, taking my fingers in his and leading me across the asphalt.
I shrug, unable to speak. My heart rate is through the roof. My skin feels like it’s got a flash sunburn. I’m more than a little frightened, though I’m not sure of what. From the corner of his eyes, Jack is watching every expression flitter across my face as though he were unaffected by our outburst of passion and is playing some sort of game with me.
But what game could he want to play with me? Linda Cray from Reseda isn’t even sport for him.
CHAPTER SIX
Jack guides me through the outdoor mall, amid heavy stares. He stops at the entrance of a pricey, upscale boutique and he doesn’t even seem aware of the dozens of people gawking at him.
He smiles. “What do you think? Do you think you might find something you like in here?”
My gaze shifts to the elegantly dressed mannequins in the front windows.
“Sure. What’s not to love? But really, I don’t need anything. The housekeeper’s jeans and t-shirts are just fine with me. I can wash them and return them when I’m back in LA.”
Shaking his head, Jack pulls open the door. “You’re the kind of girl a man wants to treat well and a very difficult girl to treat well. You might want to rethink that, Linda. You need to learn to let a man be good to you.”
He says that with a heavy air of frustration, but his magnificent blue eyes are twinkling.
I arch a brow. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind if a man ever takes me shopping again.”
He brushes a thumb along my chin and kisses my lips. “Oh, they will. I’m surprised some man hasn’t snatched you up already.”
“Nope. Not even a nibble.”
“Amazing.”
With his hand on the small of my back, he guides me before him into the softly lit store. Above the cash register counter in intricate, swirling pink letters: Back Street.
Well, that’s exactly the kind of place a man like him should take a girl like me. Back street store for your back street girl. Everything in here is either black or pink. The b
lack is fine, but the pink makes me want to vomit.
“My daughter likes this store. You should be able to find something here.”
My head tilts to the side as I stare at him. His daughter? She’s couldn’t be more than ten if that picture in his bedroom is recent.
I peek at the tag of a cute black V-neck cashmere sweater. Seven-hundred dollars. The man buys seven-hundred dollar sweaters for a ten year old.
I smile. “Everything is beautiful in here, but really…”
He stops me with a finger across my lips. “Shush. Let me do this. Stop fighting everything. You don’t have to fight anything with me.”
He starts to lightly brush my lip as if in warning not to speak, and I’m instantly claimed by a flashing want to do so much more than speak. Without effort, his touch sends the feel of him all through my body.
God, he’s so hot, I think, and step back from him.
Jack starts to wander the store in easy grace as if it’s perfectly normal for him to be here and to be with me.
Fine. We’ll have it his way. I’ll shop.
At a rack, I start to jerk the hangers one by one away from me. Most of it is too Beverly Hills. I like dark colors, simple lines, and outfits that are versatile. Jeanette thinks my fashion style is morose and Doris buys me a pink sweater every birthday.
I shove a dozen outfits on hangers to whiz away, rejected. I pause. Have I finally hit pay dirt? This is kind of cute. I pull out a simple sundress in black and hold it up in front of me.
From the corner of my eye, I note the saleswoman standing in the dressing room doorway watching me. She is thirtyish, blond, pretty and tanned, impeccably turned out in designer jumpsuit and some really stunning platforms shoes I wish I owned. She looks more like a cover girl than a shop girl.
I search with my gaze to see if they carry shoes in the store. They do. Lucky me. I’ll be even luckier if they carry the ones she’s wearing. As ashamed as I am to realize it, I can swallow my pride enough to accept Jack’s generosity if it means walking out of here with a pair of shoes like those.
I glance at her and smile. “Do you sell here the shoes you’re wearing?”
She makes a slight nod. She does not return my smile. My cheeks turn icy cool, even with the blush I can feel covering them.
