Something wasn’t right.
She scrambled out of bed and padded across the room to peek through the drapes. The view from her window was the sloping meadow and the town nestled in the crook of the battered limestone headland that reached deep into the ocean. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the black of night had lifted and the winding pattern of streetlights far below was a dim yellow against the creeping dawn.
She let the drapes fall back into place with a sigh.
The only thing that was wrong was also the one thing that felt a hundred percent balanced, whether she liked it or not. Jack was leaving. Assuming she’d been the unfinished business keeping him here, well, he’d definitely taken care of that yesterday. Twice over. She rolled her shoulders and took a deep, calming breath. No regrets.
She went through to her office and switched her computer on so it could boot up while she brewed her morning coffee. Her inbox would be bulging and there was always admin stuff to catch up. Plenty to keep her too busy to…her thoughts flat-lined as her gaze strayed out the window.
It wasn’t the knowledge that Jack was leaving today that had unsettled her enough to rouse her from sleep.
It was Jack actually leaving. Sneaking away at the crack of dawn.
He tossed a bag onto the backseat of his Land Rover and then slid his camera bag from his shoulder and leaned further inside.
It’s for the best, she told herself. The sooner he left, the sooner she could prove to herself that she’d be just fine.
I don’t have to watch this. But her legs refused to obey. Thankfully she hadn’t turned the light on. He wouldn’t see her framed in the window unless he looked directly up at her office.
Jack pulled out of the backseat, pushed the door closed and turned. His head came up and she was busted. He came forward a few steps, flapping a hand at her. She answered with a small goodbye wave of her own.
He rounded the hedge onto her side, still flapping that hand. Oh! Megan flipped the latch and pushed the window open.
He grinned up at her. “This is early for you.”
No regrets. She dug deep and found a smile. “I don’t always sleep till noon.” Only when she wrote through the night.
“There goes my theory.”
“What theory?” And speaking of theories, shouldn’t he be halfway down Bluff Drive by now?
“As to why you insisted on going back to your place last night.” He didn’t wait for her to launch into another round of excuses about convenience and practicalities, which he clearly hadn’t bought into anyway. “I’m off to the magic roundabout. I didn’t want to wake you, but since you’re up, come with me?”
“Bunny Island?” Her nose wrinkled in confusion. The roundabout was on the outskirts of Wherrytown, and that was only eight miles down the coast.
“I know.” His grin turned sexy, churning a dimple into the mix. “But Frank mentioned the place once and it sounds like fun.”
She’d been so certain he’d leave today; a fact etched into stone and walled around her heart. Now he was staying. A day longer? Maybe two? Three? To have fun. And she was invited. “Jack, I don’t…I’m not even dressed.”
“I’m not running to a clock,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
A part of her wanted to happy dance all the way to Bunny Island. A larger, more sensible part understood that the tectonic plates of her world were shifting and that could lead to earthquakes. Earthquakes shattered walls.
She’d bartered one last day for herself, one last time with him. She couldn’t take another day with Jack without causing irreversible damage.
Did he not understand?
She stood there a moment more, drinking in the sight of him. He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, his gaze on her and his grin never wavering.
Of course he didn’t understand.
She’d gone out of her way to make him see that she could do the casual dating, hot-sex thing just as good as he could. She’d bludgeoned him over the head with it and in the process completely forgotten about a significant conversation from their past. She’d been teasing him about his fast lifestyle and his response had carved a notch into her heart. A woman’s body is an extension of the woman herself. It’s not possible to be attracted to one without the other. He never slept with a woman unless he enjoyed her company first and one-night stands didn’t fit that profile.
Their previous encounter had been the exception, and that hadn’t been intentional.
“Five minutes,” she called down, turning from the window to dash through to her bedroom.
She pulled on a pair of shorts, sneakers, a long-sleeved T-Shirt, scooped her hair into a high ponytail and brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face. With each task, her blood seemed to gather a little more momentum in her veins, until the buzz forced her to stop. She braced her hands on the edge of the basin and stared into the mirror. “You’re racing toward a natural disaster.”
She couldn’t do this.
She wasn’t that much of a fool.
Bunny Island was a large traffic roundabout on one of the quieter roads that led inland from Wherrytown. Dense shrubbery and wild grass covered the central hub and had been home to a colony of brown rabbits for as long as anyone could recall.
The best time to experience the magic of the roundabout was daybreak: you’d be sure to spot a couple of bunnies frozen in the glare of your headlights. Megan had once made her parents circle the island about twenty times and she wasn’t above detouring past Wherrytown if she happened to be out and about at dawn. But an actual outing to Bunny Island was a first for her.
The ‘bag’ she’d seen Jack toss onto the backseat was a blanket that folded into a carry-pack. They’d stopped for coffees and blueberry muffins at a 24-hour service station. Jack had spread the blanket out on a grassy knoll opposite the roundabout and was currently lying flat in his stomach, fiddling with the camera he’d set up on a short tripod.
Megan sipped her coffee as her gaze washed over him. She’d tagged along with a clear mission in mind. Find out how long Jack was staying, and why, and erase any little misunderstandings. Yesterday was a once-off and not to be repeated.
She just wasn’t sure how to initiate that conversation, so she slanted a cheeky smile his way instead. “So, this is your idea of showing a girl a good time?”
“What?” He gave her a wounded look. “You’re not having fun?”
“Oh, I’m having fun.” Across the road, movement shook the bushes. “I’m just not sure this is entirely legal.”
“I don’t see any ‘Don’t stake out the bunnies’ sign.”
She brought her gaze back to him. “You need headlights if you want to catch a frozen bunny, you know. That’s why we generally drive around the island,” she said, twirling her finger in a wide circle for emphasis, “instead of picnicking on the side of the road.”
“A car will come along eventually.”
“Hmm, that’s what you said about mama seagull.” She finished her coffee and crumpled the paper cup.
He rolled onto his side, leaning on one arm and facing her. “You’re never going to let me live that down.”
“The nest was empty!”
“Which we discovered after I risked life and limb scaling that cliff to get a better view of the ledge.”
“The ledge was seven feet off the ground, you idiot.” She popped the ball of crumpled paper at him, aiming for the forehead. He smoothly raised a hand to deflect the ball before it hit him. She pulled a face. “My point is: sunrise waits for no man. You need a plan.”
“Such as?”
She pointed at the Land Rover parked a little further down the road. “I could drive a few laps around the island and you’d get all the photos you want.”
His brow arched. “You’re talking about engineering the scene?”
“Is that cheating?” she asked, wondering if there was some or other photographer’s code of honour he’d sworn an oath to.
“It’s downright boring,�
� he said. “A part of the thrill lies in the waiting for that perfect shot, the uncertainty, the surprise, and sometimes, even, the disappointment when it doesn’t come.”
“So basically, disappointment thrills you?”
He chuckled. “It makes the successes that much sweeter.”
“If you say so.” Megan wriggled down so she was lying on her back and stretched her legs out, folding her arms beneath her head. “Lucky for you, Wasting Time is my best buddy. I’ve been known to go an entire day with nothing but the conversations in my head for company.”
“That’s one of your most endearing qualities. Most people start fidgeting after half an hour, or feel the need to chew my ear off to fill a void.”
She blinked and a shadow loomed over her.
He’d slid up to her at a perpendicular angle, propped up on his elbows. “My wildlife stakeouts were strictly a solitary affair until you came along.”
Why did he always look ten degrees sexier when he was saying things like that? She felt her body soften beneath his gaze, melt in places that went beyond physical desire.
“So, that’s what you like best about me?” A smile tugged lazily at her lips. “My ability to shut up?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” His eyes went to her mouth and a moment later his lips followed in a slow kiss that stole her breath and most of her senses.
Common sense, however, prevailed, and it told her she wasn’t strong enough to survive much more of Jack’s loving without her heart cracking wide open. She slid one arm from behind her head and pressed it to his chest. “What are you doing?”
His eyes creased into his grin. “After last night, I think you’ve memorised my instruction manual back-to-front.”
“Oh, I know how exactly how you work.” She gave a firm push, knocking his elbow out from under him. You leave. “I don’t think we should take this further. Yesterday was fun, but it wasn’t a beginning, it was an ending.” She swallowed hard and forced her words to come out evenly. “I think we should just be friends.”
He came back up, muttering, “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and me. And how it’s over.”
“Over?” he growled, his expression one of disbelief. “What the hell happened to burning through the passion?”
She had no intention of going into the details with him, of baring her soul. The best way to get him to listen, she realised, was to stop waffling and get blunt.
“Been there. Done that.” Pulling off her shrug of casual dismissal should have won her an Oscar nomination at the very least. She looked into his eyes, saw the confusion there, and almost relented. But one step backward, she knew, would degenerate into a marathon. “Moving on.”
His eyes narrowed on her, his jaw clenched—no doubt on a choice of pretty curses. Megan immediately saw her mistake. She’d interrupted him mid-stride, messed with his pride. But she didn’t have the luxury of waiting for him to end this his way, or even wondering why hadn’t already done so.
The far off rumble of an approaching car cut the silence building between them. “That’s your ride,” she said.
“When you’re ready to tell me what you’re so pissed off about, I’ll be here.” He rolled back to his camera and glued his eyes to the lens. “This is far from over.”
Megan flipped onto her stomach and turned her eyes on the bunny action rippling through the undergrowth of the traffic island. What was she supposed to say now? It has to be, Jack, before I fall for you completely, before you break my heart into so many pieces, I’ll never recover.
The problem was, that’s exactly what she should say. Nothing else would send him scuttling faster, put the distance she needed between her and temptation.
But she’d done the humiliation thing last time round and she couldn’t, wouldn’t be the wounded party left behind again.
This time, it was her decision.
No regrets.
“Jack, yesterday was great. Last night was…” She gave a breathless sigh.
His eyes remained glued to the camera lens. “Not as amazing as it would have been if you’d stayed,” he said gruffly.
The way Jack spoke, the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her… He wrapped her in his world with the kind of age-old promises that had never needed words. But those promises came at the price of heartache and one day, possibly tomorrow, she’d have to pay in full.
“Perhaps,” she said softly. But she never could have spent the night, and wasn’t that the point? Her and Jack, well, all they were good for was a one-night stand. She couldn’t even sleep in his arms without dreading the repercussions when she woke. How could they possibly make anything else, even a brief affair, work?
Logic told her everything was different from that night at Smugglers Inn. She’d offered him no-strings-attached sex and he’d thought twice, and then again, before accepting. The rest of her, however, still froze as if she were the bunny and that memory the headlights.
Chapter 9
January, earlier this year
The small restaurant of Smugglers Inn had emptied out until there were only two other tables occupied. The storm blowing in from the Atlantic had picked up tempo within the last half hour, rattling the windows in their ancient frames and rushing nervous diners through their meal. Jack wasn’t too concerned. They only had a couple of miles to drive home and he was in no hurry to end the evening.
Megan’s stare was thoughtful, somewhat distant, as she swallowed a mouthful of seafood pasta. His lips quirked in amusement he didn’t try to hide. A frown creased her brow. His grin deepened.
“I’ve got it!” Her eyes lit up, sparked with excitement and premature confidence. Her fork clattered against porcelain as she pushed the bowl of pasta aside. “Someone here in Corkscrew Bay…someone you know, actually, is the granddaughter of a Duchess. Well, a Dowager Duchess really.”
“Is that so?” His gaze dipped to the fullness of her lips.
She folded her arms on the table and leaned in to declare, “You’re shocked.”
“Mildly surprised,” he countered, lifting his gaze. Her eyes narrowed on him and he offered a compromise. “If I can’t guess the person in question, then we’ll call it in at shocked.”
“Fair enough.” She settled back in her chair.
“Obviously it’s a woman,” he mused, concentrating on keeping his gaze from sliding to that delicious mouth again. One taste and apparently he was a slave.
“Obviously,” she snorted, reaching for her glass of wine, which only had one sip left in it.
“And someone close to you.” He caught the proprietor’s eye and signalled the burly man over.
“How do you figure that?”
“You said it’s someone I know.” That crossed everyone from the list except Frank and the townsfolk he’d met through Megan. The frequency of his visits to Corkscrew Bay had increased over the last year, but only his uncle and Megan, always Megan, had been the draw and he never stayed long enough—never had the inclination—to involve himself outside their circle.
He glanced up as the proprietor approached with the offer, “I’ve two rooms available if you folks are of a mind to stay warm and dry.”
“Thanks, Liam, but we’re fine,” Megan answered.
“An Irish Coffee to warm our bones before we head out?” Jack asked her.
“Definitely.” She turned her smile on Liam. “I’ll have mine with Kaluha instead of whiskey.”
Liam gave them a doubtful look. “The storm’s whipping itself into a right frenzy.”
Megan laughed. “We’ve seen worse.”
“So we have,” Liam muttered sagely. “So we have.”
Once he’d departed with their order, Jack moved them to one of the cosy rawhide sofas crowded around an enormous hearth. Heat blazed from the crackling logs and slowed his blood until he was seriously reconsidering Liam’s offer.
Megan, curled against the armrest at her end of the sofa, prodded his leg with the tip of
her booted foot. “So, have you got a name for me yet or do you give in?”
His hand instinctively closed around her ankle. Their eyes met and the seconds dragged. His fingers spread up with a gentle pressure, exploring the slender curve of her calf beneath the layers of denim and the supple leather of her boot. Desire swelled his veins and a moment later he filled his jeans a fraction too much for comfort.
Her gaze had turned a warm, sultry gold reflected from the firelight and, perhaps, from another source of simmering heat. Was she thinking of that kiss? Just before Christmas, when he’d stopped by en route to Cape Town. An early Christmas party at the Three Jugs. Kate had been appointed Lord of Misrule, some silly tradition dating back to the Middle Ages that put a castle servant in charge of pranks for the day, so far as he could tell. She’d strung a sprig of mistletoe from the end of a stick and spent the night waving it above the heads of unsuspecting couples.
One taste, his slightly parted lips brushing over Megan’s, hitching on the corner with stubborn reluctance to end the intoxicating rush to his blood. If Kate hadn’t been standing over them, he doubted he could have found the control to stop from crushing his mouth to Megan’s and deepening that kiss until he’d had his full.
The arrival of their coffees knocked him back to his senses. With a gruff laugh, Jack completed the act of flinging her foot aside and accepted the glass from Liam. Friends. Just friends. Don’t stuff this up.
He spread his arm along the back of the sofa and glanced around the restaurant. An elderly couple were just tucking into some sort of steamed chocolate pudding and the group of lads at the other table each had a pint glass of Guinness in the hand and one to spare. He noted that someone had shuttered the windows from outside, which suggested the storm had worsened.
“I don’t mean to rush you,” he said when he saw Megan’s glass untouched on the table, “but the storm doesn’t appear to be easing and we should probably drink up and get out of here.”
Falling for the Guy Next Door Page 9
