by Karen Foley
Jack knocked on the open door, but the woman’s voice continued singing. He stepped inside and found himself in a roomy living area dominated by a stone fireplace at one end, furnished with a comfortable sofa, an oversized coffee table and a couple of sturdy end tables. Following the music, he entered a small kitchen and stopped short.
A woman lay on her back on the floor, with her upper body concealed inside a cupboard beneath the small sink. On the floor around her lay an assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers. A radio on top of the counter blared pop music, and she interrupted her lusty singing just long enough to release a string of colorful curses, before picking up the lyrics again.
Jack grinned, and let his eyes travel the length of her body. She wore a pair of white shorts and her legs were pale, but toned. And right now they were spread wide, sandaled feet planted firmly on the wooden floor as she wrestled with the plumbing. Jack tried not to stare at her crotch, but couldn’t prevent his gaze from lingering on the strip of pale skin above the waistband of her shorts, where her T-shirt had ridden up, or the soft thrust of her breasts beneath the thin cotton.
“Excuse me,” he said, loudly enough for her to hear him over the music.
Her body stilled, and then she slid out from beneath the sink to a sitting position on the floor. Surprise was slowly replaced by an expression of shocked recognition, and Jack felt his own mouth drop open, before he quickly snapped it shut.
“You.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
She scrambled to her feet, and Jack automatically extended a hand to help her. She was the same woman he’d met on the beach two nights ago; the same one who’d retreated to her car so fast after he’d kissed her that he hadn’t even gotten her name. But that hadn’t prevented him from thinking about that kiss over the next couple of days, and wondering who she was. He couldn’t believe she was here, in the cottage he’d rented for the next several months.
“Do you own this property?” He couldn’t keep the astonishment out of his voice. Jack didn’t believe in coincidences, but what were the chances of them meeting again like this?
She swiped her hands self-consciously on the seat of her shorts, drawing his attention to her round bottom, and causing the fabric of her T-shirt to stretch taut over her full breasts. In the daylight, she was even prettier than he remembered, with eyes the color of the Pacific, and coppery red hair. She’d pulled the unruly mass back into a ponytail, but several tendrils had come loose and clung damply to her neck. But it was her mouth that really caught his attention. Her lips were full and soft, the upper lip pillowy plump. Jack recalled how they’d felt when he’d kissed her, and had to drag his thoughts away from that dangerous territory.
She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but there was an untamed quality about her that appealed to him. Right now, she looked like she might bolt if he gave her half a chance. He watched as she switched off the radio, plunging the cottage into silence. His own heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears.
“My mother does. At least, she used to. She gave the house to my brother when he got married.” She was staring at him now, her expression a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
Jack frowned, and then her meaning dawned on him. “You think I’ve been looking for you?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. He had thought of her, probably more than was healthy, considering he knew nothing about her, but she gave him more credit than he deserved if she thought he’d deliberately tracked her down.
Seeing his expression, a wash of color stained her cheeks, and she brushed past him and stepped out onto a small deck on the back of the cottage. Jack followed her. She braced her hands on the railing of the deck and breathed deeply before angling her head to look at him.
“I’m sorry, but what was I supposed to think?” Her tone was defensive. “I meet a complete stranger on the beach, exchange one hot kiss and then lo and behold, he shows up on my doorstep. It was a natural conclusion.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m here because I’ve rented the cottage.”
She turned and stared at him in disbelief. “What? That’s impossible. My brother said the new tenant wouldn’t be here for a couple of weeks. Besides, we only ever rent this place to local artists, never to military guys.” She ran a critical eye over him. “No matter how gorgeous they might be.”
Jack bit back a smile, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. So she thought he was gorgeous, did she?
“I met your brother a couple of months ago when I came out here on a house-hunting trip. He offered me the cottage and I accepted. My original reporting date wasn’t until next month, but I got released from my last assignment a couple of weeks early, and made good time driving out here.”
“Oh.”
He extended his hand. “I’m Jack Callahan.”
Almost reluctantly, she took his hand. “Maggie Copeland.”
Her touch caused a lick of heat along his arm, and he had an insane urge to drag her up against his body and kiss her the way he had the other night. Maybe he’d only imagined the inferno that simmered just beneath the surface, but somehow, he didn’t think so. He pulled his hand back quickly, in case he actually acted on the impulse. “Do you have a plumbing problem?” he asked, hoping she didn’t notice his odd behavior.
“What? Oh, yes. There’s a leak in the pipe, but I think I fixed it.”
“I’m pretty handy, and I can take care of any maintenance issues with the cottage. I don’t expect you—or your brother—to do that.”
“How, exactly, did you and my brother meet?”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and it was clear she found it difficult to believe that her brother had rented the cottage to him.
“I came out here a couple of months ago on a house-hunting trip, but didn’t have much success finding a place to live. The last day on the island, I was looking for a souvenir and walked into a little shop in Coupeville. I met the owner—your brother. He and I got talking and the rest, as they say, is history. That was back in March. I’m surprised he didn’t say something to you.”
Maggie averted her gaze.” Yeah, well, I live in Chicago. I’m only here for a few weeks while he and his wife are on vacation.”
Jack felt a stab of disappointment at hearing she didn’t live locally. He hadn’t planned on getting involved with anyone, but now that their paths had crossed twice, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see more of Maggie. He wanted a repeat performance of the parking-lot encounter. Hell, he wanted her. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so turned on by a simple kiss, and he acknowledged that everything about Maggie Copeland appealed to him, from the sweet curve of her ass beneath the white shorts, to her prickly attitude. But a few weeks wasn’t very much time to get her to warm up to him, and if she was heading back to Chicago, the effort might well be pointless.
She squinted up at him. “Can I ask what you’re paying for rent?”
He shrugged and told her the amount, but was unprepared when her eyes widened in shock.
“Are you kidding me?” She sounded horrified. “I mean, have you seen this place?”
She thought he was taking advantage of her brother. “I know,” he said, raising both hands to stem her flow of words. “I think it’s too low, too, but it’s the maximum amount that the navy will allow.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “No, that’s not what I mean. You’re paying almost triple what we normally get from tenants. It’s too much.” She gestured around her. “I mean, look at this place.”
Jack laughed softly, liking her even more. “Trust me, I have. It’s perfect—exactly what I want.”
Maggie gave him a dubious look. “Wouldn’t you rather be in Oak Harbor? That’s where most of the military live. In nice condos, close to the base, or the ocean.”
&n
bsp; Jack shrugged. “I’m with the guys in my squadron for ten to fourteen hours every day. I wanted to find a place outside of Oak Harbor, and this has everything I need. I used to spend time here when I was a kid, and I couldn’t wait to get back.”
For just a moment, he allowed himself to go back to his youth, when he’d spent summers with his grandparents on Whidbey Island. His grandfather had operated a whale-watching charter business, and Jack’s happiest memories were of days spent on the waters of Puget Sound, trolling the orca feeding grounds in the hopes of sighting the magnificent animals.
Maggie made a snorting sound of disbelief, snapping Jack out of his reverie. Her voice was filled with disbelief. “You came back here voluntarily?”
“Actually, I did. I had a choice of several different assignments, but I chose Whidbey Island. You sound surprised.”
She shrugged. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to live here on a permanent basis. Sure, it’s beautiful, but when you see it on a daily basis, day in and day out, you become immune to it. You take it for granted.”
“I don’t think I’d ever take true beauty for granted,” Jack said quietly.
Maggie gave him a sharp look, as if she suspected him of being insincere. “Trust me, after a while, you won’t even notice the scenery. What you will notice is how isolated the island is. And unless you’re in the military, there are very few worthwhile jobs.” She gave a soft laugh. “But it sounds like you already knew all that before you decided to come back here, right? And you’ve obviously got the job thing figured out, so you should be very happy.”
Giving him a bright smile, she turned and went back into the cottage. Jack followed her, turning her words over in his head. So she didn’t like Whidbey Island, and she didn’t like men in uniform. He’d gathered that much from the way she’d practically run from him after that sizzling kiss in the parking lot. Jack gave a rueful grin. Call him nuts, but he always had preferred the difficult missions to the easy ones. Now he had just a few short weeks in which to change her mind about the island—and about him.
3
MAGGIE TRIED TO ignore the new tenant, but found herself standing at her bedroom window and looking across the backyard to where lights glowed softly from inside the guesthouse. If she’d had any doubts that Jack Callahan really did intend to rent the small cottage, they’d been dispelled by the moving truck that had arrived the following day. Maggie had hovered near the back door of the main house, watching with interest as Jack worked alongside the movers to carry items into the cottage. He’d worn a T-shirt that had emphasized the broad thrust of his shoulders, and even from a distance she’d seen—and admired—the impressive bulge of his biceps.
He traveled light, and the movers had departed within an hour of their arrival. But Maggie had felt a sense of smug satisfaction that she hadn’t been completely wrong about the guy—she’d spotted a surfboard among the items carried out of the van. But then Jack had wheeled a low-slung motorcycle out of the back of the truck and parked it beside the cottage. She hadn’t expected that, but she could easily envision him on the bike.
Disgusted by the enjoyment she was getting from spying on him, Maggie determinedly left the house and had spent the remainder of the day at her brother’s jewelry shop in Coupeville, the small waterfront town just a few miles down the road. But even with the distraction of the tourists who came in to browse in the shop, and Carly’s constant chatter about the upcoming arts-and-crafts festival, Maggie had found her thoughts wandering back to the cottage, and the man who now lived there.
Even now she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from the guesthouse. A movement at the door of the cottage captured her attention, and she peered more closely through the window. It was Jack, and he was walking along the path that led to the main house. For a brief instant, she allowed herself to admire his loose-limbed, rolling gait, before panic galvanized her into action.
Jumping away from the window, she did a quick self-assessment. She was wearing a pair of loose pajama bottoms and a camisole top; she looked quickly around for something else to put on, but there was no time. She heard him knocking. Smoothing her hand over her hair, she made her way quickly down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door, opening it wide.
Jack stood on the porch, looking even better than she remembered in a pair of jeans that were comfortably worn in all the right places, and hugged his package in a way that made it impossible for her not to notice. But when she forced her gaze upward, his faded T-shirt only emphasized the planes of his muscular chest and shoulders. Maggie swallowed hard. Maybe she really had gone too long without sex because looking at him now, that was all she could think of. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice her blatant perusal of him.
In fact, he looked mildly irritated, but smiled when he saw her. His gaze briefly swept over her skimpy clothing, and Maggie didn’t miss the flare of awareness in his eyes. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” he began. “I saw a light on....”
“No,” Maggie said quickly. “I was just getting ready for bed.”
“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you had a wrench that I could borrow. The sink sprung another leak, and I can’t find my tools in the boxes I brought with me.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I had fixed it yesterday.” She turned away and quickly located the small toolbox that Eric kept in a closet. “I can come over and take another look at it.”
Jack took the toolbox from her, and Maggie could see the amusement in his eyes. “I thought you were getting ready for bed?”
She had a sudden image of herself, lounging back on a sumptuous bed wearing nothing but a smile, waiting for him. “I was,” she admitted, flushing, “but I don’t mind coming over to take a look at your plumbing.”
He laughed, but there was an expression in his eyes that caused something to unfurl low in Maggie’s stomach. “I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he said with a grin, before sobering. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. You go to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll head into town and pick up parts to replace the piping.”
Maggie chewed her lip. She knew Eric wouldn’t want his new tenant performing the plumbing work himself, and there was a part of her that was reluctant to see him leave. She liked his company. She liked the warm timbre of his voice, and the way he looked at her. And as much as she hated to admit it, she liked the way he made her feel, sort of shivery and hot all at the same time. “Really, you don’t need to do that. I can take a look at it.”
But he was already turning away and making his way back down the steps. “Thanks anyway,” he called over his shoulder, “but I don’t mind.”
Slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops and snagging a hoodie from a hook near the door, Maggie followed him along the path, pulling the sweatshirt over her head as she walked. “Look, you’re paying enough in rent that you shouldn’t have to do your own home repairs. Eric has a friend in town that does plumbing work. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”
They had reached the cottage, and Jack opened the door, standing back to let Maggie enter. Stepping into the kitchen, she saw he’d mopped up the leak with several bath towels, and had unsuccessfully attempted to tighten the leaky joint with a variety of kitchen utensils, including a pair of tongs. Even now, a thin trickle of water seeped out of the cupboard and onto the floor.
Maggie automatically bent to wipe up the moisture, but found herself prevented from doing so by a strong hand on her arm.
“Leave it.” Jack’s voice was firm. “I didn’t come up to the house because I expected you to come back and clean up for me. I can do that.”
Even through the thin fabric of the hoodie, his hand was warm on her arm, and just like before, his touch seemed to scorch her. Releasing her, Jack set the toolbox on the
counter and rummaged through the contents until he found a wrench.
“What can I do to help?” Maggie asked.
He nodded toward the refrigerator. “Grab a couple of beers and make yourself comfortable. This won’t take long.”
Maggie did as he asked, uncapping the bottles and handing one to Jack. He took it with a murmur of thanks, and Maggie watched with interest as he took a long swallow before setting the beer on the counter beside the toolbox. As she had done the day before, Jack lay on his back and slid his upper body into the open space beneath the sink, uncaring of the water that pooled beneath him.
“Hand me that wrench, would you?”
Maggie handed him the wrench and then crouched beside him, telling herself that she was only trying to be helpful, and that she wasn’t ogling the taut muscles of his abdomen, exposed where his shirt had ridden up.
“Do you have enough light?” she asked, peering to where he was expertly tightening the pipe.
“There are some things that you don’t need to see what you’re doing in order to do them right,” he replied smoothly.
Immediately, Maggie’s imagination surged. He’d be an expert with a woman’s body, knowing exactly where and how to touch her, and using more than just his hands. Stifling a groan, she took a hefty swig of beer.
“There.” Jack let out a soft grunt of effort as he gave the wrench one last twist. “That’ll do, at least until I can replace the pipe.”
He eased himself out from beneath the sink and rose to his feet. Water soaked the back of his shirt and jeans, but she was unprepared when he reached behind his head and dragged the wet garment off.
Instantly, all the moisture in Maggie’s mouth evaporated.
The guy was layered in muscle, from the contoured planes of his impressive pecs to the cobblestoned terrain of his abdomen. His skin was tanned and his chest was lightly dusted with soft hair that narrowed to an enticing trail over his flat stomach, then disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. Oblivious to her hungry gaze, he balled up the shirt and used it to wipe himself dry.
