by Karen Foley
As Maggie continued to stare, slack-jawed, he seemed to recall himself. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “I’ll just go change.” He strode from the room, and then ducked his head back through the kitchen door to flash a smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Maggie blew out a hard breath. The guy was seriously hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. She took a gulp of her beer, and then pressed the cold bottle against her throat, letting the condensation cool her overheated skin. She should leave; she should go back up to the main house right now and try to forget the sight of his lean, hard body—and her own reaction to him. In fact, she should go back to Chicago, because she was suddenly certain that two thousand miles should be enough distance between them for her to resist the temptation he presented.
He returned almost immediately, tugging a clean T-shirt into place, and covering all that gorgeous maleness. Maggie wanted to weep with disappointment.
He looked suddenly uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with her now that the plumbing issue had been taken care of. Maggie had a few explicit ideas, but decided she lacked the courage to suggest them. She set her bottle of beer down on the counter. “I should go.”
For just an instant, she thought she saw regret on his face, before he schooled his expression into one of politeness. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“You don’t need to do that; it’s barely a hundred yards from here,” she protested.
Jack shrugged. “Call me old-fashioned. It doesn’t seem right to let you walk back by yourself in the dark.”
“Okay, then.” Maggie nodded, but couldn’t prevent the small rush of pleasure she felt in knowing that he wanted to ensure her safety.
He opened the screen door of the cottage and stood back to let her pass. In the narrow confines of the doorway, she brushed up against him and couldn’t help but notice how he stiffened at the contact. Was it possible that he was as aware of her as she was of him?
Outside, the night air was cool and filled with the sound of crickets and night bugs. Jack’s booted feet crunched softly on the gravel path as he fell into step beside her.
“So what do you do out in Chicago?” he asked.
“Photography.”
“Of course. I mean, I should have guessed. Do you have your own studio?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. I went to photography school out there, and then worked for a magazine for a couple of years, mostly shooting food items.” She gave a soft laugh. “I had to get out of that business, because everything I photographed made me hungry! I’d probably weigh a million pounds if I’d stayed in that job.”
“So what kind of photography do you do now?”
Maggie couldn’t prevent a grimace. “Sadly, I do a lot of weddings.”
Jack stopped walking, and even in the indistinct light, she could sense his curiosity. “Why sadly? I’d think wedding photography would be very...I don’t know—uplifting, I guess. If you don’t enjoy it, why do it?”
“It’s not that,” she protested woodenly. “I enjoy the work. But there are times I wonder if the bride is really getting the happy-ever-after that she’s been dreaming about. Sometimes I think the glitz and glamour of the wedding day is like putting rouge on a corpse—it might look healthy to the casual observer, but when you wipe away the makeup, there’s no life there.”
Now there was no mistaking his surprise. Embarrassed that she’d revealed so much, Maggie turned and began walking determinedly toward the house. She glanced at him as he fell into step beside her. He probably thought she was bitter about weddings because she was still single. Because everyone knew that a woman couldn’t possibly be happy unless she had a man in her life. And here she was, approaching thirty and not a prospect in sight.
“I’m sure not all wedding bells have the ring of doom,” he finally said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “What about your brother? The last time I saw him, he seemed genuinely happy—a pretty wife, a baby on the way, a business he can be proud of. I’d say he’s found his happy-ever-after.”
Maggie nodded, wanting to change the subject. “You’re right. Eric and Danielle are crazy about each other.” She gave him a bright smile. “Don’t listen to me, I’m just having a bad day.”
“Oh, yeah?” They had reached her back door and stood facing each other under the entry light. “What made it so difficult?”
You. Having you so close.
She almost blurted the words out loud, but instead shook her head and looked out beyond the dark yard, toward the water.
“Nothing I can explain. Maybe it’s just being back here.”
“How long has it been?”
“Almost ten years.”
He was silent for a long moment, and she knew her words had shocked him. “So you were, what, just a teenager when you left?”
She tipped her chin up and looked directly at him. “I was almost nineteen. Old enough to be married.”
He blanched. “Were you? Married?”
If he was going to be living in the tiny enclave of Rocks Village, then he would eventually learn the truth. Ten years wasn’t nearly enough time for the locals to have forgotten what happened. But there was no way she was going to fill him in on the sordid details. She’d endured enough humiliation at being jilted; the last thing she wanted was this man’s pity.
“I came close,” she finally said. “But we didn’t go through with it.”
“Because you realized there was no life under the rouge?”
Oh, there was life, she thought bitterly, at least for her so-called fiancé. Another life, with another woman, whom she hadn’t known existed.
“Something like that,” she murmured.
“So you ran, and you didn’t look back.”
Maggie looked sharply at him, startled by his astuteness. “My leaving had nothing to do with that,” she fibbed. “I simply decided to pursue my dream of becoming a photographer.”
“In Chicago.”
“Yes.”
His lips quirked in a half smile, and the expression in his eyes was so understanding that for a moment, Maggie was tempted to tell him everything.
“What about now?”
She stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Is there someone waiting for you back in Chicago?”
Maggie thought briefly about the men in her life. There was Ramon, who had worked with her at the foodie magazine and who occasionally helped her out with her wedding assignments, but who was crazy about his partner, Kenny. Then there was Adam, the sweet old man who lived across the hall and brought her a plate of homemade cookies every Sunday afternoon. But she couldn’t say that either of them was waiting anxiously for her return.
She shook her head. “No. There’s nobody like that in Chicago.”
“Good.”
And just like that, the air between them thrummed with energy. Jack took a step toward her and Maggie held her breath. There was something in his expression—something hot and full of promise—that made her heart thump heavily against her ribs, and heat to slide beneath her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel so aware of herself as a woman. Reaching out, he traced a finger along her cheek.
“It’s getting late. You should go to bed.” His voice was low and Maggie thought it sounded strained.
Erotic images of the two of them, naked and entwined beneath her sheets, flashed through her mind. She should have her head examined for even considering getting involved with this man, yet every cell in her body ached for him. She recalled again how he had looked without his shirt on, all thrusting shoulders and sleek, hard muscle. But more than that, it had been the expression in his eyes that made it impossible for her to stop thinking about him. It had been years since she’d had a one-night stand, but she realized she wanted to know what it would be
like to have his hands and mouth on her, to hear the sounds he would make as she brought him pleasure.
In three weeks, she would return to Chicago, and the likelihood of ever seeing Jack Callahan again was zero. Did she have the guts to reach out and take what she wanted, knowing she couldn’t keep it? She wasn’t sure, and suddenly she didn’t care.
Turning, she opened the back door to the house, and then looked at Jack. “Why don’t you join me?”
4
FOR A MOMENT, Jack was too stunned to react. He’d been consumed with lusty thoughts of her since he’d first seen her sprawled beneath the kitchen sink in the cottage. Earlier, when he’d pulled off his shirt, he’d caught the greedy expression on her face. He’d gone instantly hard and had fled the room before he’d done something he knew he’d regret later. But even after he’d changed his shirt and had come back into the room, the tension in the air had been palpable.
More than anything, he wanted to follow her to her bedroom, drag her loose pajama bottoms from her body and bury himself in her heat.
But he wouldn’t.
He’d learned a long time ago that one-night stands left him feeling unsatisfied, so he’d made a practice of not engaging in them. Besides, he wanted more from Maggie Copeland than just sex, no matter how incredible it promised to be. He wanted to imprint himself on her; to ensure she wouldn’t forget him after one night. When he made love to her, he wanted it to mean something.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said carefully.
For a moment, Maggie stared blankly at him, and then hot color washed into her face. She looked so mortified that Jack wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss away her confusion.
“Oh, my God,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought—” Dropping her hands, she gave him a helpless look. “I misunderstood.”
With a rueful smile, Jack stepped closer until he was crowding her against the open door. He slid a hand along her jaw, caressing the smooth skin of her cheek with his thumb. “There’s no misunderstanding, Maggie. I’d love to take you to bed, I really would.”
She searched his face, bewildered. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because you’d hate yourself tomorrow and worse, you’d hate me.”
“No, I—”
He put his thumb over her mouth, silencing her. “It’s okay. I fully intend to sleep with you, Maggie Copeland.” He smiled as her eyes widened. “Just not tonight.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, and then her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Well then. How about a good-night kiss?”
With a small groan of defeat, Jack pulled her toward him and covered her mouth with his own. She tasted just as he remembered, like wild honey and the tang of the sea. She made a soft sound of approval and leaned into him, deepening the kiss. Jack welcomed the silken intrusion of her tongue, and the moist fusing of their lips caused lust to jackknife through his gut. He slid one hand to the small of her back and drew her closer so that she couldn’t mistake his growing arousal, or her effect on him.
“God, you taste good,” he muttered against her mouth.
She pulled back and he could see the heat in her eyes. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”
Jack gave a low laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, you are making it so damned hard for me to do the right thing here.”
He knew if he didn’t leave now, he might not leave at all, so he reluctantly set her away from him. He told himself he was making the right decision; he needed to be at the airfield early the following morning, and he needed to be rested and clearheaded.
“Okay.” Maggie’s skin was flushed, and in the indistinct light, her eyes were smoky with desire. “I’ll let you off easy this time.”
But as Jack walked back to the cottage with his hands thrust into his pockets, he knew she hadn’t let him off easy at all. He’d spend most of the night awake and aching, and he’d feel the effects tomorrow. But he knew he’d made the right choice in walking away, even if it felt completely wrong.
* * *
MAGGIE PAUSED IN the act of arranging jewelry in a glass display case, and cocked her head, listening. Two jets rocketed overhead, the rumble of their engines causing the windows of the small shop to tremble.
“I swear, those flyboys come a little closer every day,” grumbled Carly from the other side of the room. “I didn’t think they were allowed to fly over here.”
Maggie waited until the sound of the jets faded in the distance, and then stood back to study the collection of necklaces and earrings, artfully arranged on the white silk with bits of sea glass and some polished beach pebbles. “I like the sound,” she mused. “I remember lying on the beach as a kid and watching the jets perform maneuvers along the coast. It was like a never-ending air show, every day.”
Carly looked up from the counter where she was writing an order and gave Maggie a fond smile. “I seem to remember you spending more time traipsing all over the island with your camera in hand, searching for the perfect picture. But I do recall how you loved the sound of those jets.”
Maggie laughed. “I wanted to be a fighter pilot in the worst way. And if I couldn’t do that, I wanted to marry a fighter pilot.” She sobered instantly. “I was so stupid.”
Carly came around from the counter and enfolded Maggie in a sympathetic hug, despite the fact she had to stand on her toes to do so. “You were a lot of things, Maggie Copeland—strong-willed, passionate and stubborn, but you were never stupid.”
Ridiculous as it seemed, Maggie found herself tearing up under the other woman’s compassion. Carly had been like a second mother to her for as far back as she could remember. She was her own mother’s best friend, and had helped to run the family business in downtown Coupeville since it had first opened nearly twenty years earlier.
Now Maggie returned her hug. “Thanks, Carly.” She pulled away and swiped self-consciously at her damp eyes. “You’d think that after ten years I’d be over it, right?”
“You are over it,” Carly said briskly. “But you haven’t been back to Whidbey Island in ten years, so it’s completely natural that all those old memories would return.”
Carly was right. She’d left Whidbey Island ten years ago in desperation, needing to escape the pain and humiliation of watching the man she loved start a new life with another woman. Maybe Chicago hadn’t provided the catharsis she’d been looking for, but at least there hadn’t been daily reminders of what she’d lost. Being back on Whidbey Island brought all the memories of Phillip rushing back.
Needing a moment to compose herself, Maggie ducked into the back room of the shop and determinedly began to unpack a box of hand-blown glass mermaids that had arrived earlier that day from a local artist. Closing her eyes, she recalled the day she’d discovered Phillip’s betrayal. Maybe Carly was right and she hadn’t been stupid, but she’d certainly been naive.
She’d met Phillip Woodman the summer after she’d graduated from high school, before she’d left for college. She and a bunch of friends had gone to an air show at Whidbey Naval Air Station, and Maggie had been in heaven as she’d watched the air maneuvers. The show had also provided her with the opportunity to get a close-up look at the jets—and pilot Phillip “Woodie” Woodman. Just twenty-five years old, he’d been the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with his sun-streaked blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.
Maggie had fallen instantly in love.
They had spent a lot of time together that summer, at least as much as his schedule would allow. He’d explained to her that his job as a navy pilot required him to be gone much of the time, but she’d been unprepared to have him disappear for several weeks at a time to support various missions. But when he was around, he made it clear that he wanted to spend his time with Maggie. She’d been so convinced that he was The One that she’d dec
lined her acceptance to Seattle University in order to stay on Whidbey Island and be closer to Phillip.
Her mother hadn’t understood. In fact, she’d been furious and had done everything she could to discourage the relationship and encourage Maggie to complete her education. But there was no reason to think that Phillip would abandon her the way her father had once abandoned her mother. Any fears she might have had were completely allayed when Phillip had proposed marriage during the annual Coupeville arts-and-crafts festival.
She and Phillip had been strolling through the fair admiring the various artists, and had walked out along the enormous pier to the restaurant at the end. He’d bought them both ice cream, and as they’d sat on a bench overlooking the water, he’d asked her to marry him. Maggie could still recall how dizzy she’d been with happiness, unable to believe she was going to become Lieutenant Phillip Woodman’s wife. He’d given her a sapphire solitaire because he’d said it matched her eyes.
Three weeks later, when he’d told her he would be leaving for a six-month sea tour aboard the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, Maggie had wanted to get married before he left. But Phillip had balked, saying he didn’t want to rush anything, and that she deserved a big wedding with all the bells and whistles. They would get married as soon as he returned.
So Maggie had bid him farewell, and had thrown herself into the wedding preparations. She and her mother had purchased a gown, chosen the bridesmaids, selected a caterer and a band and ordered the invitations. And then the unthinkable happened.
Maggie would never forget the day she had run into a high school girlfriend in Oak Harbor, who had told her she’d run into Phillip the week before. Maggie hadn’t believed her—she hadn’t wanted to believe her. Because that would mean that he’d either lied to her about the length of his deployment, or he’d returned three months early, but didn’t miss her enough to let her know. Either option was almost too horrible for her to bear.
She’d left voice messages for him, asking him to return her calls, but two days passed without a word. Finally, unable to stand it, Maggie had driven over to the air base. Without a military ID, she hadn’t been allowed access. She’d stood outside the visitor’s center, feeling frustrated and panicky, when a car had drove up to the guard house and she’d recognized the driver as one of Phillip’s friends and fellow pilots. She’d approached him and asked if he knew anything about Phillip’s return, but the man had only looked uncomfortable, before telling her that Phillip had never deployed.
