“No need to sound so cynical.”
“You have a warped idea of real life, honey. No man is going to wither a decade away over the love of one woman.”
“I don’t write real life,” Megan muttered. “I write fiction.”
“And in both, men are just as human as women. They hurt, they love, they get confused, they make mistakes, and sex is always the dark smudge left behind.”
Megan knew where this going and didn’t like it. She’d never put Jack on a pedestal. She’d never expected or wanted perfect. She had expected more than a one-night stand and the abrupt dismissal, as if they’d been nothing more than strangers passing in the night. It didn’t help that she was just as mad with herself as she was at him. She really should have known better.
And now he was back, sexy as sin and sizzling her blood with those heated looks. Charming his arrogant features with that lop-sided grin and taunting her with the familiar banter of their once-upon-a-time friendship.
The last time around, he’d stripped her ego and nipped her heart. She couldn’t afford to give him anything more to walk away with this time.
Megan jumped up to fetch the bottle of wine and steered the conversation determinedly toward the hen party she was organising for Isobel next month.
Isobel was more Finn’s friend than theirs. Finn was another guy they’d known forever, a close friend, and he’d taken the new, slightly gawky, somewhat aloof, girl under his wing when Isobel had arrived in Corkscrew Bay with her dad halfway through their final year of school. Megan had been a little surprised to be appointed chief bridesmaid, but then again, Finn would have looked ridiculous in pink satin.
Hours later, wrapped in slinky black silk and seated at a table of twelve beneath fairy lights twinkling from the ceiling, Megan finally responded to Jack’s message.
You know what they say about a man’s ego being indirectly proportional to his— She reconsidered the word she’d been about to use and substituted –shoe size. I didn’t run from you. I’m at a writing conference that I attend every year without fail.
There were two erotica writers, a poet and the lead scriptwriter for a TV comedy show at the table with Megan, which made for a colourful conversation indeed. Megan relaxed into the laughter that was sparked with naughty context, drank too much wine and table-hopped to catch up with friends she seldom saw face-to-face except at events such as this.
When she returned to her seat for the final round of speeches, there was a new message notification. She ignored her phone. For exactly five seconds.
Never heard that saying, but knowing that you’re thinking about my *shoe size* has me hard and throbbing.
Heat rushed up her throat. Her eyes flashed around the table, but no one was looking her way. Her fingers tightened around the phone. She should just leave it. Really leave it. But phone-sex? Seriously? What the hell was wrong with the man?
Her fingers tapped furiously. Nothing to get excited about. I was thinking how very small it is.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a deep sip. And maybe she should be asking what was wrong with her, because now she was definitely thinking about a lot more than how deeply, fully he filled her. The feel of his strong hands caressing her skin. The taste of his mouth on hers, the pressure of those firm lips slanting kisses with increasing urgency until his tongue dipped inside to claim her senses, the gentle scrape of his shadowed jaw as those kisses trailed down her throat and fluttered butterflies to her…
Your memory is fuzzy. I’d be happy to give you a private tour to refresh it.
She blinked. Released her lower lip from where it had caught between her teeth. Her blood was hot, and it wasn’t all anger.
Yes, Jack. Oh, yes. The chemistry between them was explosive. One night had never been enough to sate the desire that had slowly built over more than a year and then rocked her world off-tilt.
And maybe, despite how far and fast he’d run, one night hadn’t been enough for Jack either. Not if the flirting and innuendos and blatant invitation was any indication.
Was she the unfinished business he’d come to check up on, that had drawn him back to Corkscrew Bay?
Her pulse raced at the possibility of accepting his invitation. But only for one night. This time she was under no illusions. If she did this… God, what was she thinking?
He’s like a friggin’ fever inside me. Megan turned her phone off and slipped it into her purse. Jack wasn’t a fever. He was a disease. He was malaria, lying dormant inside her body but never gone.
There were more messages between them before Megan arrived home late in the afternoon a few days later. But Jack had toned it down after she hadn’t replied to his invitation, kept the communication light and general.
Except for the one that unsettled Megan more than all the rest. I miss you.
She hadn’t replied to that message either. Hadn’t tried to analyse what those three words meant. It didn’t matter. He’d still leave just the same as he always did. If that one explosive night of her hadn’t been enough to anchor Jack, then no amount of missing, nothing she could do or be, ever would.
When Megan rounded the corner at the top of Bluff Drive, she saw an unfamiliar white car pulled up behind Jack’s Land Rover. She parked around her side of the house and let herself in by the kitchen entrance, trying her utmost not to think about who Jack’s visitor was. None of her business.
She lugged her suitcase up the stairs and hauled it on top of her bed. The beat of a rock ballad pumped the dividing wall. Whoever it was, they’d taken the party up to the master bedroom. In the middle of the afternoon? Classy, Jack, real classy. She unzipped her suitcase, flipped the lid back, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The room was stuffy, the air thick—it had nothing to do with what was going on next door, she assured herself. She all but ran into the adjoining office and flung the window open. The sound of voices below jerked her flat against the wall. She shuffled along the wall, inch by inch, until she could peer around the curtain without being seen.
A girl, she couldn’t be twenty yet, was climbing into the white car, her flowery sundress tugged high as she slid long legs behind the driver seat. Jack clicked the door closed after her and there he stood, with his back to Megan, wearing threadbare jeans and a pale blue T-Shirt and mussed up hair.
The girl rolled down the window and Jack bent forward, his forearms resting on the door through the open window. Megan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the girl’s giggling echoed in her head as Jack straightened and the car reversed into a U-Turn and sped off down the road.
I don’t care.
I really don’t give a damn.
She shrank behind the curtain just as Jack turned and glanced up at her window. Her heart pounded. She didn’t care, but what kind of careless bastard issued invitations to private tours and made claims about missing you and then hopped into bed with an arbitrary girl half his age? Someone needed to scrape the calluses from Jack’s heart and watch them bleed and she’d certainly earned that right.
Before she could come up with a suitable plan, however, another car came chugging up the drive. Megan peeked through the curtains.
An ancient Ford with missing hubcaps and puffing toxic fumes stuttered to a halt behind the Land Rover. The door opened and long, tanned legs slid out. Megan’s mouth dropped as she watched the stunning brunette in a cut-off T-Shirt walk up the cobbled path to Jack’s front door, shorts riding low on her slender hips.
Red mist clouded Megan’s vision.
He knew she was arriving home today.
He was deliberately shoving his callous exploits in her face. Probably regretting the intimacy he’d established while she was in London.
Reminding her that sex was sex and the bodies were as interchangeable as the sheets on his damn bed.
She grabbed her phone and, with a little exaggeration and a lot of truth—yes, there’s a possibility of domestic violence and it’s going to get ugly if you don’t get here quickly—Harry a
rrived in five minutes flat, hand hovering over the baton clipped to his belt as he sprinted the distance between his car and where she waited on the porch.
“Wh—what’s wrong?” he heaved, worry creasing his brow as his eyes darted from corners to shadows to bushes and then back to her.
“Jack Marlin,” she said. “He’s running a brothel next door.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Harry’s brow creased deeper. Blue, blue eyes seared her. “Dammit, Megan, did it occur to you that you could be dragging me away from a real crime?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Am I?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Didn’t think so.” She nudged her chin at the front door down Jack’s end of the house. “I’m not kidding. He’s had two girls in there, one straight after the other.”
A grin erased Harry’s scowl.
Megan poked him in the chest. “Very, very young girls.”
“Underage?”
She almost went that far. Almost. “I’m reporting suspicious activity, Harry. It’s your duty to investigate.”
“You’re harassing the poor man,” he countered, “and last time I checked, I decide which reports of alleged wrong-doing are actually worth an investigation.”
“I have photos.”
“Of Jack?”
“Of you,” she said. “Remember how those railroad braces made your mouth so dry, your upper lip was forever sticking to them, making you look like a hungry bunny? Oh, and my favourite, the time we went swimming and you didn’t realise how transparent white briefs were? Or maybe your disco phase? So many photos, Harry…”
She shook her head sadly. “You know, Corkscrew Bay never did pay tribute when you were promoted last year and my best friend does run the Corkscrew Weekly. We could organise such a lovely spread—”
“Kate would never do that to me,” Harry scoffed, but his cheeks were tinged with red.
“You turned her down when she asked you to the prom.”
“That was junior prom. None of the guys in my group went with girls.”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “There’s no statute of limitations on a woman scorned.”
Harry changed tactics. “You could get into serious trouble for blackmailing a police officer.”
“Oh, don’t be so stuffy. All I’m asking is for you to take a look next door and make sure there’s no funny business going on.”
The silence stretched as he looked at her. Probably trying to decide whether she was bluffing. “Okay,” he said at last. “But I want those photos back.”
“Yeah, right.” She prodded him ahead as they walked down the path on her side of the hedge.
Chapter 3
Jack muttered a curse as the doorbell chimed below. He took a long second to adjust his equipment, then straightened and gave Susie an apologetic grimace. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she cooed, fluttering thick lashes his way.
He chuckled as he left the room and trotted down the stairs. A quick glance at the hallway clock and he saw it was much later than he’d thought. Megan was due—he cut that thought with a smile, realising it was probably her at the door.
She wasn’t alone, though, and her hazel eyes, peering over Harry’s shoulder, flashed green with anger.
Jack threw his hands up and took a step back. “I never reported you as missing, I swear,” he told her.
“Missing?” Harry asked, crossing the threshold to stand inside so he could glance back and forth between them. “Megan was missing? Were you?”
“Obviously not,” she snapped.
“Well, if you’ve come for a drink and a chat,” Jack said, “you’re welcome to my fridge, but I’m in the middle of something—”
“I’ll just bet you are.”
Jack folded his arms and put his back to the wall, his eyes on Megan. Her hair, a rich chocolate brown, fell to her shoulders and his fingers itched to tangle in those loose curls. The green flecks in her eyes were usually more dominant when her emotions were high. The last time he’d seen them this particular shade of green, her legs had been wrapped around him and she’d been in the midst of a climax.
Suddenly his jeans were an inch too tight and he had trouble focusing as Harry explained, “Actually, this isn’t a social call. I’ve been called out by a concerned citizen.”
“Concerned citizen?” He pulled his gaze off Megan and onto Harry. “What?”
Harry’s lips twitched. “Megan thinks you’re running a brothel.”
Jack tried to stop the laughter chortling up his throat. He didn’t succeed. “I should be so lucky.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Harry said, grinning.
“You’re supposed to be here in an official capacity,” she reminded Harry in a frosty voice.
Jack’s gaze returned to Megan and the indignant fury staining her cheeks. She’d never blushed prettily. How long had she been home? How many girls had she seen come and go? And was she serious about this accusation?
His humour faded and irritation took its place. What the hell was going on inside her head?
He waved a hand to invite them both further inside. “Up the stairs, first door on your right. I believe that’s where you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Harry’s grin flattened. “Now, Jack, I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“Since accusations have been cast, I must insist,” he said mildly. He angled his body to give the man a wink that Megan couldn’t see. “Wouldn’t want any lingering rumours to bite me in the arse when I’m not looking.”
When Megan held back, he grabbed her arm and guided her up the stairs before him.
“Where are we going?” she yelped.
“The bedroom, of course.”
She dug her heels in on the stairs runner and glared over her shoulder at him. “I refuse to enter—to enter that—that…”
“Den of evil?” he suggested smoothly. “Hive of sin?”
He hadn’t thought it possible for her cheeks to get any redder, but they were close to glowing now.
“Yes, I read that book,” he said softly, his hands landing on her waist to lift her up the next step. “I won’t say I’ll be trading in thrillers for romance any day soon, but there were one or two fascinating scenes.”
“I hate you,” she hissed, slapping his hands from her waist.
His eyes roamed over the tight black pants that curved deliciously over her snug backside and tapered down long, shapely legs. He knew exactly how to turn that I hate you on its head. Heat simmered through his veins and fed into a lazy grin. He froze the thought and his grin flattened into a grimace.
He’d hurt her and nothing had changed; he hadn’t changed. Megan was different from his usual women. She needed more than he’d ever be able to give. He’d known that from the start. One moment of weakness, and he’d screwed up big time. Wasn’t going to happen again.
Okay, the flirting wasn’t helping. That crack about a private tour was totally out of line. Megan was hot-wired to his blood. Always had been. She triggered impulses that bypassed his brain and shot straight to his groin, but look how badly that had played out.
Game over.
He was here to pack up Frank’s things and sort out the house.
At the top of the stairs, she turned a hard look on him before jerking her head forward again and disappearing around the corner.
The iciness behind her fury stuck in his gut. Jack admitted then and there that maybe Megan Lane topped his list of reasons for being here. But to fix his last mistake, not make new ones.
Their friendship deserved a more graceful ending than the knock it had taken.
Except, she seemed to think him the kind of guy who’d sleep his way through the teenage population of Corkscrew Bay.
Hell, she’d called the police on him.
He didn’t even know what to do with that. And this time, he knew he’d done nothing wrong.
He stop
ped inside the master bedroom to turn the music down before catching up to Harry and Megan as they reached the door of the guest room. He pushed between them, deciding work was safer than trying to reason with her right now. He’d only regret whatever came out of his mouth and when it came to him and Megan, he already had one regret too many.
Suzie, draped in a dramatic pose over the armchair with one hand scooping her hair from her face and her chin balanced on the other, looked over their heads to him. “I haven’t moved a muscle.”
“Perfect.” He gave her a smile as he moved into position behind the tripod that his camera was set up on. As he glued his eye to the lens and started clicking, he spoke to Megan, “Kate was around here the other day, looking for you. When she heard I’d be staying on a while, she asked me to take the headshots for the Summer Beauty Pageant entrants.”
“But you’re a wildlife photographer,” Megan protested, her voice small.
“She didn’t seem to mind,” he murmured, pulling his eye from the lens to adjust the light setting. “If you have a problem with that, you’ll have to take it up with her.”
He heard Harry apologise for the interruption, heard Megan stomp off, but he tuned them out and concentrated on his work. Here, at least, he was in control. Cause and effect was the precise click of a dial. With Megan, he was never totally sure what he was doing and the effect more often than not ended up disastrous.
The Christmas Before Last
The black of night was slowly retreating to the grey haze of a frosty dawn. Jack turned from the window as he pulled his coat on.
“You going out?” Frank, still in his pyjamas and cradling a mug of coffee, came through from the kitchen into the front room.
“I thought I’d get some shots over the valley.” He hitched the camera bag on his shoulder and grabbed a pair of Wellington boots from the rack beside the door. “Did I wake you with my shower? Damn pipes were frozen over.”
Frank shrugged. “Want me to make up a flask of coffee to take with you?”
Falling for the Guy Next Door Page 2
