Real Men Don't Quit

by Coleen Kwan

  She couldn’t miss the signs, not with their bodies wound together so intimately. Grabbing onto the last remnants of his self-control, he forced himself to lift his head slightly. A soft groan escaped her as their mouths separated. He stared down at her dilated eyes, mussed hair, and moist lips. Christ, he’d never wanted a woman so badly.

  Tyler sighed and reluctantly unwrapped her leg from him. “Wow,” she murmured, running her fingers through her hair. “You sure know how to kiss.”

  He swallowed. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

  “Hey, buy me dinner and I’m all yours.”

  She was joking, he knew, but it didn’t stop the fire reigniting in his veins. He reached for her again, but this time she caught his hand and twined her fingers through his, forestalling him.

  “Luke…” There was a wealth of meaning behind that single word. “I don’t think we should be getting so heavy right now.”

  His blood surged in defiance. He tightened his grip on her hand. “Why not?”

  “Because…” She drew in a breath. “Because I’m neck-deep in work and Chloe and keeping Gretchen off my back. It’s bad timing.”

  He had a feeling she wasn’t telling him the entire truth, but as his oxygen-starved brain belatedly caught up, reason began to filter back. He had a looming deadline to meet, and Tyler was proving too distracting. And besides, after his difficult split with Jennifer, he was supposed to be more circumspect, not running headlong into another noose. Not to mention his dad. Seeing him again, learning about his infidelities, was a sobering reminder to Luke that commitment wasn’t for him.

  Then again, he was holding a gorgeously seductive woman, and his body was thrumming with heat. “But I like kissing you. A lot.”

  Her lovely lips curled up, and he wanted to crush them again. “I don’t want to stop kissing you, either.”

  “We can keep it light and casual.” Lifting their joined hands, he pressed a few small kisses on her fingers and was rewarded by a shiver running through her.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Um, we don’t go lower than the collarbone, and we don’t go under clothes.” Jeez, what was he signing up for? Could he really keep to those adolescent rules?

  But Tyler was already nodding. “And we keep it strictly private.”

  He knew why—she didn’t want Chloe seeing them kiss. Her first priority was her daughter, as it should be.

  “Strictly private.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t see anyone around now.” He kissed her again, slower this time so he could savor the moment, but soon Tyler’s tongue was frolicking with his, and another eruption threatened. This time, she broke off the kiss, but judging by her heaving breath and glimmering eyes, it had cost her a lot to draw the line. Gulping, she pushed him toward the front door.

  “You’d better go,” she muttered, cheeks flushed as she readjusted her blouse.

  He took one last look at her and reluctantly left. He’d arrived at her house seething, and he was leaving still tense, but this was the kind of tension he infinitely preferred.

  …

  Tyler leaned against the shut door and tried to get her breathing under control. From head to toe, her body tingled from the afterglow of Luke’s kisses. She felt as if she were floating in champagne bubbles.

  It’s bad timing, she’d said, and he’d bought her line. Luckily, he hadn’t tried to change her mind by kissing her some more, or she would have been in serious trouble. Timing wasn’t the main problem—Luke was. He wasn’t like any of the men she’d dated in the past. With him, she could feel her self-control ebbing away. He was fascinating and gorgeous, but he was also the dangerous undertow that could sweep her out of her depth if she wasn’t careful. She knew she couldn’t keep her distance from Luke, but she’d be wise to swim between the flags before she got towed under.

  Chapter Seven

  Tyler squeezed her way into the crowded bookstore, cursing her tardiness. She’d run late because she’d had such trouble deciding what to wear. It wasn’t like her to worry what people might think of her appearance—being one of only six Goths in high school had made sure of that—but for some reason, she wanted to wear the right thing to Luke’s reading and book-signing. She felt stupid for caring, and when she saw the mishmash of clothing the crowd in the shop was wearing, she felt even sillier. Most people had turned up in jeans and casual shirts, whereas she had chosen a plain black dress in a stretchy fabric, unadorned except for a wide fringed belt in black leather. She’d been determined not to stand out; instead she came off too try-hard in this crowd.

  Clearly, she had no idea how the “intelligentsia” dressed.

  She spied Luke on the other side of the store, leaning against a table piled with books, Fiona fussing around him. Like the majority of the audience, Luke wore jeans and a shirt—it seemed he’d deliberately emphasized his casualness. His jeans were faded and well worn, his shirt was rumpled and missing a couple of buttons, and his chin was rough and stubbled. He looked different from his posters plastered on every wall. Different and, in Tyler’s opinion, a lot sexier.

  Her pulse beat faster as she continued to gaze at Luke. It was the same reaction she got every time she caught a glimpse of him, and it had become even more pronounced ever since they’d exchanged those hot, steamy kisses two nights ago. Since then, they hadn’t repeated the experience. There hadn’t been much opportunity. Tonight, with Chloe dropped off at Aunt Daphne’s for a couple of hours, hope had lurked in Tyler that she might get Luke on his own, but now that hope slunk away. Seventy percent of the crowd was female, and practically each one was ogling Luke. To get to him she’d have to beat them off with a stick, and even then there was Fiona, flapping around him like a tipsy butterfly.

  As she watched, the bookstore owner shooed away the people surrounding Luke. “Right, everyone,” she called out, clapping her hands like a schoolmarm. “If you all take a seat, we can get started.”

  Chairs and stools had been set up haphazardly around the store, but there weren’t enough for the entire crowd, and Tyler found herself pushed to the back by the eager rush. Well, she didn’t really belong here anyway, she thought as she settled against a bookshelf. She knew nothing about Luke’s work and had no business pretending she was a fan. She saw Luke frowning in her direction, and her discomfort multiplied. She hadn’t told him she was coming, and he didn’t seem too happy to see her.

  Luke perched on a stool in front of the crowd. He looked utterly serious as Fiona introduced him and gushed on for several minutes. Finally he took the mic and started reading from his book in a gruff, almost terse voice. The audience didn’t seem to mind. Motionless, they lapped it up with rapt attention. As the minutes wore on, Luke loosened, and his voice smoothed out and began to flow more easily.

  At first Tyler had a hard time concentrating on his reading. She couldn’t get comfortable, the girl next to her was breathing heavily through her mouth, and some of the sentences Luke read were long and convoluted, requiring all her attention. But gradually the tenor and rhythm of his voice snuck up on her, and she began to enjoy his reading. She leaned her head against the bookshelf, her eyelids drooping. After another long day at the store, this was the first chance she’d had to relax.

  Suddenly the strident chords of “Eye of the Tiger” began screeching out of her bag. She jack-knifed upright, aware of everyone looking daggers at her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, frantically scrambling through her bag to be sure her mobile phone wasn’t buzzing with an emergency call from Aunt Daphne. It wasn’t. She didn’t even recognize the caller’s number. Mortified, she shrunk back. Her cheeks throbbed with heat, and she didn’t dare glance in Luke’s direction.

  A few minutes later, he was done reading. The crowd applauded and stood up. A few people slipped out of the store, but most stayed, chattering loudly as they surged toward the table to have their books signed. Lost behind the sea of eager fans, Tyler couldn’t see Luke. She contemplated skulking away, but she wanted to buy an autogr
aphed copy of Luke’s book, and she refused to let the incident with her phone put her off. Hitching her bag up, she shouldered her way through the crowd to the queue for the book signing.

  When she reached the head of the line, she stepped forward. “Hi,” she said with determined cheerfulness, plunking her book down on the table.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “Why not? I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

  He spun the pen in his fingers several times. “You really didn’t need to give up your evening for this.”

  She pursed her lips. “Why are you so ticked off with me?” she asked in a lowered tone. “Is it because I forgot to turn off my phone?”

  “No, it’s not that.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something more, but then he simply shrugged. “Author readings aren’t my thing at all.”

  But it was more than that. Something else was bugging him, but she could tell he wasn’t about to confide in her. She pushed the book toward him. “Can you sign this, please?”

  “You honestly want to buy my book?”

  Why did he ask her that? Didn’t he think she’d be able to understand it? “Of course. I need something for my bedtime reading.”

  Sighing, he pulled the book toward him. “It’s not a very good one,” he said as he dashed off something on the flyleaf.

  “That’s no way to sell your book.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to sell it.” He handed the hardcover back to her. “Here. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Boy, he sure was Mr. Crankypants tonight. Given how klutzy she’d felt ever since she’d arrived, it was probably best to leave now. Gripping the book to her chest, she backed away. “Thanks, I’ll, uh, see you around.”

  He nodded, but the next woman in line was already pushing forward. Tyler turned away and flipped open the book to see what he’d written. To Tyler. May your bedtime reading be always pleasant. Hmm, that had a hint of sarcasm to it.

  She shouldn’t have come tonight. Luke wasn’t pleased one bit to see her, despite all those hot kisses they’d exchanged. If it had been any other guy, she would have shrugged her shoulders and dusted her hands of him. But not this time. She cared what Luke thought of her, and that made it worse.

  As if things weren’t depressing enough, Fiona was standing at the cash register, eyes narrowed, ready to harangue her about that phone call.

  …

  Luke eyed Tyler’s receding figure with some misgivings. That clingy black dress of hers did great things to an already amazing bottom, but seeing her in such conservative garb only compounded the mountain of irritation crushing him tonight. She’d deliberately dulled herself down, possibly because she felt she needed to blend in, and the thought annoyed the hell out of him. Tyler shouldn’t ever feel the need to hide her light under a bushel.

  It wasn’t just her clothing that irked. Her presence at the reading made him all too aware that he was a fraud. She’d been awed by the occasion and the eager audience. Hell, she’d even bought his bloody book. But she didn’t realize how much he was beginning to hate that book, to hate Kingsley Jeffers. He’d written that book to impress, to show off his skills, to win the approval of his MFA mentors, and he’d succeeded, but it wasn’t what he wanted to write, and the more he struggled with the sequel, the more he was convinced that he’d never write another word about Kingsley Jeffers. But everyone else thought otherwise. Some even thought his book semiautobiographical, goddamn it.

  But he shouldn’t have taken out his ill-humor on Tyler. None of this was her fault. Tomorrow, when he was in a better mood, he would go round and apologize. He signed the last few books and managed to exchange a few pleasantries with the buyers. Glancing up to see if there were any more customers, he froze when he saw his father walk up to him.

  “Evening, son.” Patrick slid a copy of Luke’s book onto the table.

  Luke couldn’t help glancing about him and wondering how many people could overhear them. Acknowledging his father in front of a roomful of strangers was the last thing he wanted. Fortunately no one was within earshot.

  “You came in tonight just to get a book signed?” Impatiently he opened the book and scribbled his name in it, nothing more, no personal message. He didn’t have anything to say to this man tonight. He flicked the book shut, shoved it toward his father, and rose to his feet, making it clear that he was about to leave.

  Patrick examined the signature for a few moments. “I’ve been hoping you’d call,” he said conversationally. “Saw your poster in the window and thought I’d pop in.”

  Cold foreboding crawled down Luke’s spine. What the hell was his father up to?

  “We’d better talk outside,” he said curtly before approaching Fiona to tell her he was leaving. She thanked him profusely and invited him for a drink, but he made his excuses and headed for the exit, Patrick following close on his heels.

  Out on the street, dusk had turned to a cool autumn evening. A few people lingering outside gave him and Patrick curious glances. Conscious of the similarities in build and coloring he shared with his father, Luke took off at a brisk pace, only slowing when they were well away from bystanders. He paused at a deserted corner and waited for his father to catch up.

  “I didn’t see you during the reading,” he said for want of something to say.

  “I was outside.” Pausing, Patrick rearranged the folds of his scarf. “Actually, I was hoping some of your sisters might have come.”

  Luke scowled at his father. “That wouldn’t have done you much good. They all hate your guts. Especially Helen.”

  Patrick’s shoulders drooped beneath his suit. “Even after all these years?”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know…” Some of his father’s composure crumbled away. He threaded shaky fingers through his immaculate hair. “Whatever’s happened, they’re still my daughters.”

  “And it’s only taken you twenty-two years to remember that.”

  “But I have remembered. Doesn’t that count for anything?” He laid a hand on Luke’s arm. “I remember all my girls—Helen, Karly, Rosie, Mags. I remember how they sang and played and danced. I even remember their birthdays. Helen’s is in a week or so, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Luke’s head began to pound. He longed to shake off his dad’s hand and tell him to shove off, but something held him back. Maybe it was his father’s rheumy eyes or his wrinkled hands. Maybe it was the memories of his father reading to him late into the night. Maybe it was just his own weakness, but whatever it was, he couldn’t walk away from his father. At the same time, he needed to protect his sisters, Helen in particular. He couldn’t have this man saunter back into their lives and play merry hell with their emotions.

  “Look, after what you’ve done, you can’t come barging back and expect everyone to forgive and forget. It doesn’t work like that. You have to give them time to adjust, to sort through their feelings.”

  Patrick nodded. “I knew I could count on you, my boy. You’ll explain things to your sisters, ease the way for me, so to speak. They all have a soft spot for you, bless them. You’ll talk to them for me.”

  Dismayed, Luke shook off his father’s hold. “Jesus, I’m not on your side. I’m not going to sweet talk my sisters into forgiving you.”

  “But I thought…”

  “When I think it’s appropriate, I’ll mention that you’ve been in touch with me and that you’d like to see them again. That’s all I’m prepared to do.”

  His father gazed at him for what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t guess what the old man was thinking, and he didn’t want to. All he wanted was to get away from him, fast.

  Finally Patrick sighed. “Very well. I suppose I was expecting too much from you.”

  Luke clenched his jaw. What was it about this man that so infuriated him? He should have turned around and walked away in disgust, but instead he said, “I’ll ring you when I’ve talked to them. Until then, do
n’t contact any of my sisters.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good night, then,” Luke said firmly. Pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he strode away, determined not to look back at his father. He’d done more than the man deserved, he argued. And he was going to do even more. His sisters wouldn’t thank him for bringing up the subject of their father. They’d argue with him and take offense, and probably he was a fool for sticking his neck out, but he couldn’t not do it.

  As he drove home, the pummeling in his head built up, and by the time he pulled into the driveway, he had a monster headache. The sight of Tyler’s lit windows next door made things worse. He wished he could go to her and just sit in her presence, but he’d been such a jerk to her at the bookstore that she was probably sick of him, and he didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be with him, and she definitely wouldn’t want to kiss him. Damn. The image of Tyler’s lips made him feel even worse.

  He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. The dark, silent windows of his agent’s house mocked him. He didn’t want to go there and be locked in with only his milling thoughts for company. But he couldn’t go next door, either, and he sure as hell couldn’t go back to his mother’s house.

  Everything was closing in on him. He needed a break, an escape valve. He needed to get away for a few days from his writing, his dad, even from Tyler. Yes, definitely from Tyler. His father’s unwelcome reappearance had reinforced his belief in keeping himself unencumbered. But his sparking, mind-bending attraction to her clashed with his instinct to keep aloof, and the constant, escalating battle was screwing with his head. A break from her would be healthy. Alone, he could refocus his priorities, his future.

  Alone was good. Alone was best for him.

  Chapter Eight

  Everything about the Kerrigan homestead was built to impress, from the sweeping acres of garden to the sprawling Gothic-style mansion. But Tyler wasn’t in the mood to be impressed as she drove up the gravel driveway in the car she’d borrowed from Ally. She braked outside the house, gathered her things, and marched up to the front entrance.