Primrose Lane

by Debbie Mason

  She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” he asked, cocking a brow.

  “Taking care of me. This isn’t just like old times. Take your food, and yourself, out of here. I’m not the same girl I was back then.”

  He reached out and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m not the same boy, either. This time around, I know what I want—and I plan on getting it.”

  She sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. “Good for you. Should I clap?”

  “Why are you so angry with me?”

  “I’m not angry,” she shot back. “I’m busy.”

  He cast a quick glance around the inn, which was in shambles and empty except for the two of them. “Clearly.”

  She pointed to the door.

  “All right, all right. I’m going.” Laughing, he turned around, opening the door and stepping outside, leaving the food on the table. The second he was on her porch, she started to swing the door shut, but his deep voice made her stop what she was doing. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Chelsea.”

  “Don’t count on it,” she shot back, her voice clipped. “I’ll be too busy here.”

  “Curious,” he said, his tone soft.

  She scoffed at him. “Haven’t you heard what happened to the cat?”

  He cocked a brow. “No.”

  “Curiosity killed it.”

  And with that, she slammed the door in his face, locking it immediately.

  But underneath the anger in her voice, he heard it. The fear that caused the slight tremor in her words. Chelsea wasn’t the type to be frightened, so if she was scared of something, or someone? He was going to get to the bottom of this.

  Even if it did kill him.

  Which it very well might.

  Chapter 7

  The next day, I slept late in an attempt to ward off the hangover pounding inside my temples, but it didn’t get the memo and lingered like a bitch. Should’ve stuck with whiskey instead of moving to the wine Jeremy had brought over. Now I trudged up the cracked cement walkway that led to the front porch, juggling supplies from the hardware store. Pamela Mayberry ran the place now, since her father retired down to Boca Raton. Pamela peppered with me questions, trailing me around the store as I made my selections. It was only through the grace of God that I managed to carry on a polite conversation without snapping. You can take the girl out of a small town, but that small town will never forget her.

  It was time to start ripping the inn apart, room by room. I’d begin with the ugly wood paneling in the living room, which would be used by guests as a common space. There would be coffee, croissants, and tea, and soft music playing as the fire roared cheerfully…

  That was about as far as I’d gotten.

  But it painted a pretty picture.

  Smiling, I unlocked the door, almost dropping the bags in my left hand. After heaving them inside, I turned around, breathing heavily, and headed to my car for the next batch. By the time that was inside, my back ached and my palms were abraded. I started to shut the door and froze, fear shooting through my chest. There was something else on my porch, obscured by the dead potted plant to the left of the door.

  Roses.

  Not just any roses.

  Red roses.

  I glanced around the yard, looking for signs of anyone watching—waiting. Nothing moved except a few birds in the nearby apple tree. They chirped happily, flapping their wings, completely unaware that I was about to lose my shit. When no one jumped out to attack, I took a deep breath and bent down, grabbing the brass vase before going inside.

  Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it, heart racing. I longed to throw them out without reading the note tucked among the petals, but that would be a foolish move. If there was a threat, I needed to face it head-on, not cower behind false ignorance like a scared child. That wasn’t my style. I preferred using my fists for cover instead.

  I glanced down at the card—and fear immediately turned to anger when I realized it was a different ghost from the past haunting me. I’d recognize that cursive J anywhere. That son of a bitch didn’t know when to quit. Without thinking my anger through, or identifying the true cause of it, I was in my car heading for town. For him.

  Even though I knew rationally that I shouldn’t be doing this, and that I was playing right into his hands by seeking him out, it didn’t stop me. When it came to Jeremy, I wasn’t rational.

  Which was why he was such a danger to me.

  I couldn’t afford to mess up right now.

  Angrily, I aimed for the run-down motel off Main Street, which was the only lodging in town. I saw Jeremy’s late model truck parked in front of the motel and I screeched into the parking lot. It was like it was meant to be—I’d found him so easily—but I refused to look too deeply into that. I wanted to give him the damn flowers back, and make sure he understood that I meant it when I said to stay away, since he seemed to think this was some kind of game.

  He should know better.

  I’d never been the playful type.

  Pulling up next to his truck, I picked up the flowers and marched up to his door. Lifting my fist, I knocked hard enough to wake the dead. The door swung open, and there he was, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats, which clung to certain parts of his body I tried very hard to forget about, thank you very much. The lack of a shirt only highlighted how good he looked, because good God, those abs had to have been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. There was no way those were real.

  He’d always been fit, but now…

  He was a freaking Adonis.

  Damn him.

  At my obvious appraisal of his body, he grinned and gripped the opposite side of the doorjamb, leaning closer. “You look good, too, Chels.”

  That annoying childhood nickname snapped me out of my haze of abs and pecs. Gnashing my teeth together, I ducked under his arm, barging in his room without invitation.

  After all, he’d done the same thing to me.

  “Please,” he said dryly, closing the door behind me. “Come in.”

  The room was tiny, and being shut inside with him wearing practically nothing was too much. I needed that door open again…better yet, I needed to get the hell out of here. Away from him. “I’m not staying. Keep your stupid flowers and stop showing up at my place. I don’t need you coming by, scaring the shit out of me—”

  “Scaring you?” He raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Why the hell would flowers on your porch scare you?”

  I lifted my chin, knowing I’d said too much and cursing myself because of it. When would I learn that less was more, especially when it came to Jeremy Holland? “When will you realize all I want is for you to stay away—”

  “—from you.” He walked across the room, not stopping until he was directly in front of me, in my personal space, doing the very opposite of staying away from me. “I know. I heard you. When will you realize I don’t give a damn what you want, because I know that you’re hiding something, and I’ll keep asking questions until I get some answers?”

  I sucked in a deep breath, watching him closely, my chest rising and falling way too rapidly. He always could read me like an open book, and clearly he hadn’t lost that skill during our years apart. I needed to do something to throw him off balance.

  So I did the most unpredictable thing I could think of.

  I kissed him.

  Chapter 8

  The second our lips touched, I knew I’d made a big mistake. Huge. It came second only to running away to Miami to chase after a new life. And look where that had gotten me.

  He gripped my shirt at the small of my back, taking over the kiss without any hesitation. His lips moved over mine, claiming me, and he moved my body so I was trapped between him and the dirty wall. There was no escape, which is the first thing I should have been focused on, but instead…

  All I could think was more.

  More tongue. More hands. More heat. More everything.

  He lifted m
e up as if I weighed nothing and edged between my legs, pressing his hardness against me. I’d only felt him like this against me once before, and yet it was like my body had never forgotten just how right he felt.

  Growling, he slipped his tongue between my lips. The second his touched mine, I gasped into his mouth, curling my fingers over his impossibly hard biceps. For the first time since leaving Miami, I felt like I wasn’t lost. For the first time…

  I felt safe.

  And it was all Jeremy’s fault.

  I pushed at his shoulders, inhaling deeply, and turned my head to the side so he couldn’t claim my lips with his own again. He was stealing the air right out of my lungs. The room was spinning, and his muscles were pressed against me, and I wanted more of him. Oh, my God, I couldn’t breathe when he was touching me.

  Sliding his hand under my butt, he thrust against me, his sweatpants and my leggings creating only a thin barrier between the two of us. Part of me wished they were gone, and the other part knew if they were, nothing would stop us from having sex right here, in his drab motel room.

  “You taste so damn good,” he mumbled, nibbling my ear.

  I shivered, digging my nails into him. Warning bells went off in my head. I knew I had to put a stop to this before things went too far. The whole reason for this ill-advised kiss was to throw him off balance.

  But, God help me, he didn’t seem to be falling victim to my master plan.

  Not even a little.

  Instead, he was acting like he’d been waiting ten years for this to happen…just like I had. I skimmed my fingers down his arms, exploring his muscles as I went. Relearning the way he felt, pressed up against me. He still felt like Jeremy, but at the same time, it was like he was an entirely different man. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the emotions coursing through me, but I knew one thing.

  If we kept doing this…

  I’d regret it.

  Shaking my head, I pushed at his shoulders again, a moan escaping me as he brushed the sides of his thumbs across my nipples roughly. “We can’t—oh God.”

  “Yes. We can,” he rasped in reply. “We really can.”

  He claimed my mouth again, his hand dipping in between our bodies. The second he ran his fingers over me, I knew my defenses were gone. His tongue brushed against mine, and I clung to him, some small part of me never wanting to let go. The feeling was so familiar that it was like putting on a sweatshirt you hadn’t worn in years.

  It just fit.

  Pleasure built in my stomach, spreading slowly over my body, and I rolled my hips against his fingers, and his erection. He put me down and ran a hand across my nipples, squeezing them as his other hand moved over me, and with an embarrassing quickness…

  I came.

  Hard.

  His mouth tore free, and he dropped his forehead to rest against mine with a ragged moan. “Jesus, Chels. That was the hottest orgasm.” He slipped his hand under my butt again, palming it, and lifted me. “I want more.”

  He sought my mouth, but I turned away at the last second, panting. “No.”

  “No?” He asked in surprise. “Seriously?” I pushed at his shoulders and he immediately set me down, nostrils flaring as he stepped back. “All right. I get it.”

  “This never should have happened. We had one night and that’s it. It’s done,” I said, still trembling. “Finished.”

  “I don’t know about you,” he said slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, which made it stand up in a sexy, GQ model way. “But when I’m done with someone, I don’t kiss them like I’m going to die if I don’t fuck them in the next five minutes.”

  My cheeks heated, and I backpedaled—which was stupid, because we both knew exactly what had happened here. Panicked, I said, “I only kissed you because I thought it would scare you off.”

  “Why the hell would you think that?”

  “Because it scares me.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I’ve spent the last few years forging a new path, doing what I want to do, and playing by my rules, not my father’s. But after two days back here, I’m kissing you like nothing’s changed at all.”

  He reached out hesitantly, brushing my hair behind my ear. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yes. I’m no good for you and never have been.”

  Shaking his head, he pressed his mouth into a thin, hard line. “I disagree.”

  “That’s because you always look for the good in people. Sooner or later, you’ll realize there’s none in me.” I slid away from him, avoiding his eyes. If I looked at them, I’d get lost in their green depths, and I’d end up right back in his arms—endangering him. “Don’t bring me flowers again. I don’t like them.”

  “Why not?” he asked softly.

  “My ex used to give them to me, as an apology, after he…” I broke off, refusing to say any more. It was enough. It was more than enough. “They just—they hold a different meaning for me now. Don’t give them to me again.”

  Something crossed his eyes—rage, maybe—and he stepped closer. “I’m sorry.”

  I opened the door, grabbed my purse off the floor, and swallowed hard. “Stay away from me, Jeremy.”

  Far, far away.

  Chapter 9

  Later that night, I was on a ladder, shoving a pry bar between the last of the wood paneling in the living room, when headlights hit my window. I sighed and shoved harder, successfully knocking down a portion of the dated wood, sending a puff of dust flying through the air in the process. I let out an exasperated breath, because I had no doubt who had just pulled into my driveway.

  It had to be Jeremy.

  Clearly, my warning to stay away hadn’t taken.

  I hopped off the ladder and removed my dust mask, heading for the door. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the upside-down bucket and uncapped it, swallowing a mouthful before setting it back down. My body still hummed from the orgasm he’d given me. Even though I wanted him to stay away from me and the danger surrounding me, my traitorous heart sped up at the thought of seeing him.

  No matter how logically I looked at the situation, one thing wouldn’t change: My body remembered Jeremy Holland, and it wanted more of his touch.

  Much more.

  A girl could only save a guy from herself so many times before she stopped trying.

  Being a good person didn’t come naturally to me, and resisting temptation wasn’t my strong suit. Eventually, I’d stop pushing him away.

  And then he’d be in as much danger as I was.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch as I swung the door open. “You just can’t take no for an—” I broke off, the words choking me, because it wasn’t Jeremy on my doorstep this time.

  It was a cop.

  Oh, shit. They knew. They found me.

  “Chelsea Adams?”

  “Wh—?” I blinked. Chelsea Adams…? Paul. He’d come through. “Y-yes?”

  “I’m Officer North. I’m afraid your brother has been attacked.” He removed his hat. “He told an officer you’re his sister, and his emergency contact.”

  Paul. Oh God.

  Paul was the only family I had left who wasn’t behind bars, and I couldn’t lose him. “What happened? Where is he?”

  “He was jumped outside his office, on his way to come see you.” The officer fiddled with his hat, as if unsure where to look or how to act around me. “He’s in pretty bad shape, but he should recover. I can take you to him, miss, and the doctors can tell you more.”

  “I’ll drive myself,” I said quickly, reaching for my keys.

  “Ma’am?” He leaned in, locking eyes with me. I stiffened, because I didn’t need him all up in my face. “I can smell the whiskey from here. I think it’s best I drive.”

  My cheeks flushed and I nodded, ducking my head down. In my worry, I’d completely forgotten about that. That wasn’t like me. Then again, I’d done a lot of uncharacteristic things these past few days…my behavior with Jeremy was just the most recent example. “Right. Thank you.”

/>   The ride in the cop car was filled with awkward silence. For a moment I reveled in the novelty of riding in the front for a change. Then I started quietly panicking. Paul had just been attacked, and the timing was a coincidence, right? My brother had his fair share of enemies. I shouldn’t jump to the conclusion that this was the work of the people after me.

  But when I walked in the room and saw Paul lying in the hospital bed, I knew. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, and parts of his head were shaved, with thick bandages covering wounds. A thin white blanket concealed most of his body, but I could see that both of Paul’s thumbs were splinted. I knew what that meant.

  They were here.

  Chapter 10

  Jeremy pushed through the doors of the hospital, his heart racing as he dodged an old guy in a wheelchair. Nurses in colorful scrubs walked the halls, some clearly at the beginning of their shift, others obviously at the end. One of them, someone he vaguely recognized from high school, smiled at him as she passed, so he nodded back politely. People sat in those horrible plastic chairs in cramped waiting rooms, waiting to find out if they were losing someone they loved today.

  He hated hospitals.

  They reeked of desperation and death.

  When he’d heard of the attack on Paul, his stomach had sunk. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, damn it. He pushed the elevator button harder than necessary, tapping his fingers on his thigh impatiently. “Come on,” he growled.

  He needed to see her in one piece.

  With his own eyes.

  The second the doors started to open, he slipped through the crack, hitting the button for the third floor before anyone could join him. Paul had already been admitted, and word was that he’d be in the hospital for a good couple of weeks.

  Paul had been beaten and tortured.

  It was a miracle he was still alive.

  The only reason Paul was still breathing: He was a message. A warning. One intended for his sister, and one Jeremy intended to take very seriously.