“I won’t be out long,” he said, shaking his head. “Sunrise is in about half an hour.”
He was halfway out the door, and Frank was still standing there, cradling his coffee and watching. “Everything okay?” Jack asked.
“It’s good to have you here, boy,” Frank grunted. “Now go on, before you miss that sunrise.”
Jack swallowed hard around that and closed the door behind him. His uncle was getting sentimental in his old age.
As he walked down the path and out the gate, it struck him that Frank must be close to eighty. He usually only stopped by Frank’s once or twice a year, but maybe he should make more of an effort in this coming year.
His uncle was getting on, even if he didn’t look it. Frank had farmed a couple of acres north of Penzance up until three years ago and still had the robust health of an outdoor man. When Jack had helped him sell up the farm, the semi-detached house up the hill from Corkscrew Bay had been ideal. Frank had refused to settle in any town and at least here he wasn’t completely isolated. The original couple from next door had retired to Spain last year, but 21b hadn’t stood empty long.
Jack grinned at the fleeting impression that had hooked and stuck to his memory after meeting Megan Lane briefly when he’d come down for a weekend last August. Now there was a neighbour he wouldn’t mind getting all neighbourly with.
Unfortunately, the whole neighbourly thing also put Ms Megan Lane strictly out of bounds. He liked his relationships short and spicy. That philosophy would be shot to ribbons if he dipped into the candy jar next door. That was the kind of grief he could live without.
Pulling his collar up against the bite of late December, he cut through the wooded copse that spread from the house. The sound of the ocean battering the sheer limestone cliff faded as he strolled deeper into the thick forest of pines until he came to a natural viewing ledge that peeped over the leeward slope of Bluff Hill. A verdant valley of evergreen trees and shrubbery fell away sharply and then rose again gently on the other side.
Jack set his camera up on a portable tripod, was attaching the timer chord to keep the exposure open when he heard the unmistakeable whirr of rotating blades. He fell to his stomach and leant out over the long drop, surprised to discover a road ran straight down the middle. His gaze followed the road from where it rounded the bend that hid the town from view and ended in a stately wrought-iron gate. A massive perimeter wall enclosed a castle nestled deep in the valley.
The whirring blades grew louder and a sleek black helicopter came into view, slicing the frozen air as it flew low along the valley and then hovered above the extensive front lawn within the castle walls. Jack scrambled away from the ledge and onto his feet. At the same moment, voices from behind reached him through the trees.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Less talking and more walking, if you don’t mind.”
“I should be in bed. It’s not even light outside.”
“Your bed’s right back there. I’m not holding a gun to your head.”
“Well, I’m up now…might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
“We’re not going to get to see anything if you don’t—” The owner of the voice cut off as she stepped into the clearing.
Blue eyes, a crop of blonde hair, heavy olive green cargo pants, hiking boots and a pretty decent camera strapped around her neck. Her frown went from Jack to the tripod holding his camera, then back to him. “Seriously? Has London run out of socialites trashing each other for a good story? See?” she flung over her shoulder. “I told you something funny’s going on and now the paparazzi’s here.”
Before he could protest, a second woman came barrelling through the trees and grabbed one hundred percent of his attention.
“Oh, hi!” she exclaimed. “I mean, hi.” She shook her head on a smile. “I mean, it’s Jack, right?”
“Hi there.” He had no problem remembering her name. Megan Lane was just as cute and sexy as he remembered. Even bundled up in a thick duvet, furry bunny slippers sticking out at the bottom and a mess of dark curls and sleepy eyes sticking out at the top. Actually, he corrected, especially then.
Her gaze went past him to her friend. “This is Jack, Mr. Marlin’s nephew, not the paparazzi.” She looked at him, lowering her voice. “You aren’t the paparazzi, are you?”
“No, I’m…” He lunged toward the ledge to retrieve his camera as the friend lifted it out of her way, then returned to Megan’s side. He grinned. “I am a photographer, but I stick to wildlife and nature.”
“You’re American, right?”
“On my father’s side,” he explained. He carried both a British and American passport, but didn’t spend a lot of time considering specifics such as which was home. “I was born in New Jersey and lived there my first couple of years. I did a chunk of schooling out there as well, and studied photography in California.”
The sound of rocks spraying down the side of the mountain turned them both toward the source.
“Kate!” Megan yelped.
“I’m fine.” The blonde was perched on the very tip of the ledge, one leg dangling over the side. Her eyes were glued to the camera lens and aimed down the valley in the direction of the castle. “The helicopter’s on the ground.”
“Kate runs the local paper,” Megan explained to him. “Castle Darrock was sold a couple of months ago and she’s convinced there’s something shady about the new owners.”
“They’ve been in residence two months,” Kate called back to them, “and they haven’t put a foot in the town. No one’s even seen their faces.”
“And you intend to splash their faces all over tomorrow’s paper?” After she’d accused him of being paparazzi.
“I’m not taking photos,” she said. “I’m just using the lens to zoom in and that—” She glanced at him over the top of her camera “—is not snooping. It’s called investigation. This is the third time some or other contingent has arrived by helicopter. It’s in the public interest to know if Castle Darrock has been taken over by mafia or cartels or whatever else they’re hiding from us.”
“Maybe they just like their privacy,” Jack drawled.
“Oh, sorry to invade your morning peace.” Megan grimaced, her cheeks splotching with pink. “This is the only place she can get a view on what’s happening behind those walls.”
“There’s a fine line between privacy and secrecy and this one’s been crossed,” Kate added, then seemed to settle into a conversation partly with herself and partly, he assumed, with them. “Come on, what’s with the hat? I can’t see her bloody face. They’re stepping down from the helicopter. You should see this coat, Megs, I bet anything it’s sable.”
Jack’s arm shot out to catch Megan as she tried to waddle closer to the ledge and nearly wobbled to the ground. “You don’t want to do that, not when you’re rolled like a sausage in that duvet.”
She took his advice to the extreme and sank into a puddle of goose down at the base of a trunk, pulling her knees up and keeping the duvet tightly wrapped around her.
Jack drowned out the running commentary of her friend and sank to his butt beside Megan. His brow arched in amusement. “So, did your friend, Kate, literally drag you from your bed?”
“Kate crashed at my place last night and she was up like a flash at the first sound of those helicopter blades. I have no idea why I ran after her.” She groaned, her chin tucked in and those expressive eyes on him. “Kate’s a whirlwind. When she’s up to something, one tends to find yourself sucked up and spit out at the oddest places before you can think better of it.” She brought a hand up to smoothe her hair. Her eyes dipped from his. “God, I must look a sight.”
“A beautiful sight,” he murmured, resisting the urge to twine a finger through one of those unruly, silky curls.
She peered at him, a blush riding her cheeks and her voice snappish, “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”
“Prickly in the morning, are we?” He chuckled. “Relax, I was simply
stating a fact and, just in case you’re worried, I’m not about to pounce, either.”
Although his blood did thicken as the thought of snuggling beneath that duvet with her crossed his mind. He shrugged the arousal off. There were plenty of other beautiful women for that, women who didn’t live next door to his uncle.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not good at taking compliments.”
That surprised him. “You must have had plenty of practice.”
Her eyes turned a shade closer to green. “You’re doing it again.”
“Or you could simply thank me with a gracious smile.” He grinned at her outrageous expression. “Let’s try that again.”
He moved a little closer, angled his head a little lower, and ignored another wave of desire heating through his blood as his gaze settled on her lips.
“You have the sexiest mouth, especially when you do…that.” She’d snagged the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth, tugging her mouth into a lopsided grimace. He moved his gaze from that temptation to find the green in her eyes had faded into a warm, speckled brown. “That’s what makes you so damn beautiful, the way your emotions play across your face and draw me into the game.”
“W-What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
He jerked back. Grinned hard. Cursed his foolishness. “Helping you practice to take a compliment.”
She looked at him a moment longer, then a smile formed over her grimace. “Well then, this is me, accepting with a gracious smile.”
And this is me, he thought wryly, hard and throbbing and uncomfortable.
“Did you get in last night?” she said into his silence. “I didn’t see your car parked outside when I got home.”
“I flew into Penzance.” Gentleman that he was, he refrained from pointing out that she’d been in no state to notice anyhow. He’d heard the two girls come in at around two this morning, giggling and shushing each other loud enough to wake the dead. “The car rental place had nothing available, so I caught a taxi.”
“Your uncle must be pleased to have you here for Christmas.”
Jack let that ride rather than explaining that his timing was a mere coincidence. They didn’t do the family Christmas thing. It was only him and Frank and they barely did the family thing.
“Hey,” she said, her voice brightening, “you and your uncle are welcome to have Christmas dinner with us tomorrow if you don’t have plans. My mom puts on quite the spread.”
“Thanks, but…” He shook his head. Dinner alone with Megan? Oh, yeah. Crashing her Christmas family dinner? Not so much. “Your parents live in town?”
“Gramps used to work the boats when Corkscrew Bay was still a fishing village and the Lanes have been here ever since.”
She’d grown up here and never left? He struggled to comprehend that. “Haven’t you ever got itchy feet to get out of here?”
“I’m not chained to the base of the cliff.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I have travelled, you know, but this is my home. So I guess, no, I don’t have itchy feet.” Her nose wrinkled at him. “What about you, Jack Marlin? Where’s home? America?”
“I’ve never favoured one continent over any other.” He shrugged, moving his gaze from her to the narrow view that opened over the valley. The sun was rising, streaking rays of light through the pine forest on the opposite slope, creating the magnificent contrast to the grey-blue dawn sky that he’d been hoping to catch. “Home is wherever I hang up my camera that night.”
“Oh,” she said, and there was no mistaking the ring of pity echoing around that word.
Not that the misplaced pity bothered him. But the insight into Megan was another wall slammed up between them. He grabbed a little fun where and when he could, and he preferred his play buddies to be like-minded, carefree roamers. That way, no one expected more and no one got hurt.
“Well, since you like to blow with the wind,” she said, “perhaps you’ll swing by the Three Jugs for the New Year’s Eve bash. It’s mainly locals that make their way to that end of town. It’s always a blast.” She shrugged. “If you’re in the area.”
“I won’t be,” he said, feeling a twang of regret. “I fly out to New Zealand the day after tomorrow.”
“Do you have to?”
He wanted to. He hadn’t had to do anything since his trust fund had kicked in at the age of twenty-three. “Ever heard of Jeremy Grainger?”
“The name is—Oh, wait, doesn’t he do that Natural Geographic show on TV?”
“That’s the one. He’s writing a book on the natural habitats of indigenous specie in New Zealand and I’ll be tramping with him to do the photos.”
Her eyes widened. “That sounds very glamorous.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he said. His experience in these types of adventures was closer to muddy campsites, backbreaking hikes and atrocious cellular reception.
“Will you?” she murmured, staring into his eyes, nibbling at that lower lip.
“Get back to you?” he asked, confused. And distracted by that lip nibbling.
She blinked and glanced away. “I mean, I’d love to hear all about it on your next visit.”
“Summer,” he said, not sure why he was committing to anything, even in half measures. “I’ll probably be back this way in the summer.”
Her gaze slid his way again. She made it halfway to a smile before her mouth crumpled into an undecided grimace. “I guess I’ll see you in the summer, then.”
He had no idea what that sweet mouth was trying to convey, only that it was entirely kissable. And once the thought was there, it hunkered down inside his blood and pulsed hot and heavy to his groin.
He enjoyed sex as good as the next man, but he’d never had trouble taking or leaving any particular variety of woman. He controlled the urges, but something about Megan whipped that discipline the wrong way round.
Another excellent reason to leave their status quo at greetings waved across the hedge.
Which he would have done, if he’d been in charge of the urges. Instead of giving in to the irresistible tug that brought him close enough to inhale her essence. What was that? Vanilla?
“I was thinking of taking my camera to the old fishing village this afternoon.” He lifted his gaze from her mouth to look into her eyes. “If you’ve got a couple of hours to spare, I wouldn’t mind some company.”
“I’d love that.” Her eyes lit up. “I could show you which cottage was Gramps’. It’s one of the few preserved by the heritage trust.”
Of course it was. “Your family roots really are planted deep in this community.”
“We even have a family joke.” She laughed lightly. “Half the streets in Corkscrew Bay are named after us.”
You have got to be kidding. A moment later, it sunk in that her surname was Lane and she was kidding.
That didn’t change the fact that he’d probably have to go to the Outer Hebrides to find a woman more grounded in her small village life. Women like her no doubt married their childhood sweetheart and helped him run for mayor in between rearing a posse of children. Not that he minded the sort, but those weren’t the kind of dreams he’d screw with. How the hell had he forgotten why he should be building walls and not bridges?
She struggled to her feet within the bundle of her duvet and smiled down at him. “I’ll be at home for the rest of the day. Just knock on the door whenever you’re ready for that walk.”
“Yeah, sure.” He returned the smile, and damned if it wasn’t the truth when he added, “I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter 4
Megan was lucky enough to snag a parking spot in front of the Corkscrew Weekly on the high street. She tucked her keys into her hip pocket and flew through the doors into the unmanned reception area. Kate pretty much ran the paper with the help of a couple of stay-at-home moms who did regular columns and plenty of articles submitted by the general populace of Corkscrew Bay.
She found Kate at her desk in the back office and th
rew herself into the opposite chair. “You could have told me about asking Jack to do the photo shoot.”
“Photo shoot?” Kate glanced up from the screen, still wearing a frown of concentration. “Right, the pageant. And hello, by the way. How was London?”
“London’s fine. Lucy sends hugs.” Megan huffed an impatient sigh. “I accused him of running a brothel, Kate. I called Harry out on him.”
Kate flipped the laptop closed and settled back in her chair, lips twitching. “Even if he was running a—”
“Yes, I know, none of my business.” She gritted her teeth in pure frustration. “What is it about that man that shoots me straight past common sense and into a twilight zone of bloody mortification? I made such a fool of myself.”
“You should jump into bed with him and get it out of your system.”
Been there, done that, and made it a hundred times worse.
Kate folded her arms and tilted her head, her eyes on Megan. Waiting…
Had Lucy said something? “What?”
“He’d say yes in a flash, you know. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Oh, yeah, he’d said yes in a flash. Jack excelled at rash decisions and sprinting in—and out—of situations.
Kate wasn’t finished. “You two have been dancing around each other for two years now. It’s time to hitch a ride or get off the road.”
“Huh?”
“There’s simmering attraction that slowly blooms into a love affair,” Kate explained with exaggerated patience, “and there’s watching paint dry.”
Megan’s jaw dropped. At least that confirmed that Lucy hadn’t spread the word. “I’m off the road,” she assured Kate. “I’ve never been on the road. What do roads have to do with anything, anyway?” She stood and dug her keys out. “I need a drink.”
“Jugs?” Kate pushed to her feet and grabbed her purse. “First round’s on me.”
A half hour later, bunched into a corner banquet of the Irish pub with large glasses of wine and a plate of fries to share, the devil himself walked through the doors. Megan ducked her head and slid a groan Kate’s way. “I’m starting to understand why Lucy lives in London. This town’s too darn small.”
Falling for the Guy Next Door Page 3
