by Goode, A. J.
"What are you talking about?"
"I got an interesting phone call from Vernabelle Hyde this morning. Very interesting. I know you've always had such poor self-control, but I thought you'd last at least a few weeks before jumping into bed with the little gold digger. Tell me, did you make it all the way home from Ben's office on Friday, or did you stop for a quickie in the car on the way here?"
"We're not—"
"Oh, defending her honor already? How predictable. For God's sake, Ethan, don't tell me you've been taken in by her little victim act."
"Don't you have nineteen other houses to look at?" Ethan took hold of her elbow and tried to guide her toward the door without calling any more attention to the conversation. People were starting to stare, and he wanted her out of his home. Now.
Jacqueline laughed. She reached into her bag and pulled out two manila envelopes. "I'll leave you with some reading material, Honey. This envelope has a list of the annual property taxes on your new home, along with an estimate of yearly maintenance costs for the next five years. When you and Tina manage to come up for air, you might want to put some thought into how you two sweethearts plan on paying for all of this on your teacher's salary. She certainly won't be helping with any of the expenses."
"Jacqueline—"
“And this envelope has a copy of her credit report and bank account information, showing just exactly how much debt your new darling is in. She's broke, Ethan. Evicted from her last apartment when her fiancé got tired of supporting her. Before that, she lived with her boss. That's what she does: goes from one man to the next, always looking for someone to sponge off of. She just changed it up a little this time by conning a feeble-minded old woman into pitying her. She's got no job, no money, nothing. She flashes those great big eyes and works up a few tears, and people fall all over themselves in a rush to take care of her. You're not the first to fall for it, and I'm sure you won't be the last."
He heard a gasp. Tara had led her group back into the room. She stood as if frozen, the color draining from her face.
"Oh, have I said too much?" Jacqueline sounded contrite, but there was a triumphant gleam in her pale blue eyes. "Oh, dear, Tina, you hadn't told him about your money troubles or your broken engagement, had you? My bad."
"Tara, is any of this true?"
Tara looked up at him, her lips moving soundlessly as she struggled for words.
Her silence told him everything he needed to know.
"You're out of luck this time,” he said flatly. "I'm broke, too."
Chapter Seven
Tara was furious. At Jacqueline, for manipulating the facts. At Ethan, for believing his former wife. And at herself, for standing there with her mouth hanging open like a fool instead of standing up to both of them.
She had never been good at confrontations; she knew that. It had gotten worse in the months since her accident, when it seemed as though she faced a battle at every turn – at a time when she just didn't have the strength to fight. She'd had to defend herself against everyone from insurance bureaucrats to bill collectors to her idiot ex-fiancé, but somehow none of them bothered her as much as having to face the accusing look in Ethan's eyes.
They avoided each other for the rest of Sunday, and she awoke early on Monday to find that he had gone out somewhere. Good. She knew they had things to discuss, but she just wasn't ready yet.
She took her morning coffee out on the front porch and settled back into one of Bea's wicker rocking chairs. The air was still oppressively hot and humid, but at least there was a little bit of a breeze coming in off the Lake this early in the day. For the first time since moving into her new home, Tara had the time to enjoy the spectacular view and appreciate just how lucky she was to live here.
Even if she couldn't afford to stay for long. Jacqueline had been truthful about that, at least. Property taxes on prime beachfront property like this were astronomical and she had no income to help pay the costs. Maintenance was going to be rough, too; storms coming in off of Lake Michigan could do some pretty severe damage, and she realized that the utility bills were going to be out of control when winter hit.
She shook off the thought and watched a few early morning beachgoers. There was an elderly man with a metal detector, and a few people walking their dogs. A vacationing family stood near the boardwalk and tossed bread in the air for the seagulls, which wheeled and screeched above them for a moment before landing and feasting while the children wailed in sudden fear.
Near the shoreline, a lone jogger made his way along the hard-packed sand. As he drew nearer, he turned and made his way through the loose, softer sand in front of the Seashell. There was something familiar about him; as he drew nearer, she recognized Ethan's friend Sean.
He returned her wave. "Mornin'," he panted.
"Morning."
"Sand . . . works different muscles," he explained. "Not . . . usually this . . . winded."
Tara hurried inside to get him a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully before dropping into the other chair.
"Where's Ethan?"
She shrugged.
"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"
"It's not Paradise, Sean. We're roommates. He doesn't have to tell me where he goes." Tara watched a seagull for a few minutes and tried to think of something polite to say. "Thanks for helping Ethan home the other night," she finally said.
"He'd do the same for me." Sean shrugged it off. "I'm just sorry I had to leave him with you like that. When the pager goes off, I have to go. I'm a volunteer firefighter."
"That's why you look familiar!" she cried. "You were there the night of my accident! You're that Sean." Of course. She closed her eyes, remembering.
It had been so dark in the twisted remains of her trusty little car. Dark and lonely, while the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed and her cries went unanswered for what seemed like forever. Then the red and blue flashing lights showed up and she heard shouts from the rescue workers. Someone crawled into the wreck and put his hands on either side of her face to hold her head steady.
She caught glimpses of his face in the lightning flashes, and she remembered his voice promising not to leave her side until she was safe. I’ve got you. My name’s Sean, she could still hear him telling her.
"Tara? Are you all right?"
She opened her eyes and realized that he was leaning over her.
"I – I'm sorry." She hated the catch in her breath that sounded like a sob. "I'm fine. I just . . ."
"It's all right. Take it easy." He touched her wrist, counted her pulse for a moment and then leaned back, apparently satisfied. "Does Ethan know about your accident?"
"No."
"You can tell him, you know. He'll understand."
"Understand what?"
They hadn't heard Ethan's car in the driveway, or his footsteps on the walk. He stood behind Sean, his face dark with anger, and Tara flinched as she realized just how things looked.
"We weren't—" she began, and stopped. She owed him an explanation for several things, but this was not one of them. Her conversation with Sean was none of his business. She stood up carefully. "It was nice talking to you, Sean. I've got things to do."
"Are you feeling all right now?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Tara managed to shut the door behind her without slamming it. Barely.
The man had absolutely nothing to be jealous about. He had made it clear, absolutely clear, that he felt nothing but scorn for her. Even those early, tentative gestures of friendship meant nothing now. They were roommates, plain and simple. Nothing more, nothing less.
She tried not to think about his touch the other night, the way his fingers and lips had felt on her skin. She'd behaved foolishly, melting into his caress like that. No wonder he had been so ready to believe Jacqueline's poison about her. He believed she was the kind of woman who used her body to get what she wanted from others, and she'd all but proven him right. And now he'd come home to find his best friend leaning ov
er her, holding her hand and murmuring soft words to her only hours after she'd been confronted by Ethan and his ex-wife.
She growled impatiently. Men were idiots, she decided. She didn't need any of them, especially not Ethan.
* * *
Ethan glared at his buddy, not liking the way he felt at that moment. Jealousy was not an emotion he was used to feeling, and besides, Tara was nothing to him. Nothing more than a roommate that he was stuck with for the time being, thanks to his grandmother's foolish matchmaking attempt.
"That looked pretty cozy," he said, through clenched teeth.
"Back off, buddy. She almost fainted, and I was helping her out. I am a Medical First Responder, remember?"
Ethan snorted. "I'm sure she did," he spat. "She's so helpless. That's how guys like us get sucked in. We all just rush in to take care of her."
"Pretty harsh judgment, Pal."
"You don't know the kind of stuff I found out about her. She's nothing but a gold digger, just like I thought. The whole little helpless routine is just an act."
"Where did you find out all of this 'stuff'?"
"Jacqueline was here yesterday. She told me –"
"Jacqueline? You're trusting information from Jacqueline?"
Ethan stopped short.
"Don't take this wrong, Ethan, but you're an idiot."
"Hey –"
Sean put his hands up as though protecting himself. "I don't know about anything that happened in her life before, but I know that she really was in a horrific accident. I didn't recognize her at first, but I was there that night, and she's lucky to be alive. I can't say anything more than that, but it's no wonder she's having flashbacks. And I'm no doctor, but I have enough training to recognize a real faint when I see one, and that girl just came damn close to passing out, right here on the porch."
Ethan said nothing.
"What's happened to you?" Sean finally asked. "When did you get so cold-hearted?"
"Being married to the Ice Queen for five years will do that to a guy."
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but you're not married to her anymore." Sean patted his arm and gave him a quick smile. "I'm outta here, Dude. Some of us have jobs to go all year 'round."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Ethan couldn't help but smile as his friend trotted away. The smiled faded, however, when he thought about Tara.
He had called Ben Jacobs first thing that morning, and the attorney had agreed to meet with him. According to Ben, Bea had changed her will only a few weeks before her stroke; she had told him that Ethan was getting remarried soon, and she insisted on including her future granddaughter-in-law in the will. Although the attorney recommended that she wait until after the wedding, Bea was adamant about updating the document, "just in case."
He was baffled by his grandmother's actions. She had always been an irrepressible matchmaker. He smiled, remembering some of the "accidental" encounters with pretty young things who just happened to be at the Seashell when he showed up for Sunday dinners after his divorce from Jacqueline was final. Bea was a hopeless romantic who couldn't stand the thought of her only grandchild being alone.
But lying to her attorney about Ethan and Tara seemed a bit extreme, even for her. Ethan doubted if he would ever know whether it was a wild matchmaking attempt or if his grandmother had perhaps been in the early stages of dementia.
The attorney also informed him that Jacqueline would most likely use that as part of her legal action to contest the will. If she could prove that Bea wasn't in her right mind, then they would have to revert back to the earlier will, which left everything to Ethan and his ex-wife.
Ethan squinted out across the water. It was calm, almost glassy in the morning light, but he thought the color shifted gradually from a deep blue to a more menacing greenish-grayish-blue out toward the horizon. There was a storm coming in, he realized. He couldn't tell how fast it was moving, but it was definitely coming this way.
He didn't know who –or what – to believe about Tara. He couldn't remember ever being so confused about a woman, not even his ex-wife in the final days of their marriage. With Jacqueline, it was over for him when he realized that she cared more about money than she cared about him. It hurt at the time, but that hurt had quickly been replaced by dislike and eventually relief when it was over.
But Tara was different. He wanted to believe that she was as money-hungry as Jacqueline; he had certainly seen enough evidence to support that belief. At the same time, her vulnerability seemed so real, so genuine, that he had a hard time believing that it was just a part of a con. Every time he saw her, he felt a desire to protect her, to take care of her, and at the same time he felt a desire to call her out as a fraud.
There was an entirely different kind of desire going on as well, one that he was reluctant to face. Sure, she was curvy in all the right places and she had the kind of full, lush lips that could mesmerize any man. But he'd seen beautiful, desirable women before without losing the ability to think clearly. He had to face the fact: he wanted her. In his arms, in his bed. Hell, on the floor, for that matter.
Ethan flopped back into the wicker chair she had recently abandoned. He wanted her. Damn it all.
It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Sex with Jacqueline had stopped long before their divorce. He told himself that he only wanted Tara because she was there, in the house with him. There was nothing special about her. He would have reacted the same way to any female living in such close quarters.
That was all there was to it. Proximity.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember Saturday night more clearly. His fantasy about her that night seemed so real. He could still feel the warmth of her breast in his hand, taste the sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He imagined that he could feel her weight on his lap as she leaned against him, and he could swear he recalled the sound of her moaning softly.
This was not helping.
He needed to talk to Tara and find out if they were on the same side or not. And he needed to tell her about Ben's not-so-subtle hints of a possible way to defeat Jacqueline. He didn't know Tara very well, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to like the suggestion any more than he did.
Chapter Eight
"Are you insane?"
"Tara, just hear me out –"
"Why? Because it's going to get even crazier?" Tara threw her hands up in the air and turned to march out of the room, but Ethan moved quickly to block her way.
"Five minutes," he pleaded. "Give me five minutes. I know it sounds crazy, but just let me explain."
Tara eyed him warily. It was still much too early in the day for her to have to deal with the fact that the man had obviously lost his mind somewhere between the front porch and the kitchen. Still, he had seemed fairly reasonable up until this moment, so she might as well give him the five minutes he asked for.
"Fine," she said, sitting carefully at the table. "Five minutes."
He explained it again, just as he had a few minutes before, and she thought he still sounded like a complete whack-a-doodle. But she had to admit that he made a certain degree of sense too.
"So you and Ben think that Jacqueline might back down if we can convince everyone that we really are a couple," she repeated.
"Right. If it looks like we were together when Grandma drew up the will, then it seems like she pretty sane at the time."
"Ben really suggested this?"
Ethan shook his head. "Not entirely. He just sort of hinted at it. But think about it: Jacqueline's main argument for proving that Grandma was senile is that Grandma lied to her lawyer about you and me. If we can make it look like we really were a couple at the time, then that just knocks the legs right out from under her argument."
"But we weren't. We aren't."
"That's not what the Hyde sisters have already told half the town."
"Oh, no." Tara had forgotten about the two old gossips. She groaned. As crazy as it sounded, she had to admit that Ethan's idea was
at least worth considering. "But won't it just make your ex even angrier? Any lingering jealousy that you've moved on so quickly?"
"No."
Tara raised a questioning eyebrow, which he made a point of ignoring.
"So," she said after a moment, "we just have to tell her that we've been together all along, and let people see us together in public, right? We don't have to make any kind of a legal statement or anything, do we?"
"Right."
"For how long?"
"Been says she's got six months to contest the will."
"Six months?!"
"One more thing." Ethan suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Jacqueline's going after this from two angles. She's going to try to prove that Grandma wasn't of sound mind, and she's going to say that you exerted 'undue influence' because of your money problems. So. . . I gave Ben your financial information that Jack gave me yesterday."
Tara groaned again.
"He says she probably broke a few laws to get your personal information without your permission. He also says he wants to meet with you because he thinks he can help you fight some of your bills."
"I can't afford—"
"Yes, you can. Ben's a good guy. Just talk to him."
She nodded. This was just crazy. She didn't know if she could pretend to be more than Ethan's roommate for six months. Lying made her uncomfortable, but there was also the undeniable attraction she felt toward him. In just the few days they'd lived together, they'd already kissed twice; it was hard enough to keep their hands off each other when they were alone. How much harder was it going to be if they had to act like a couple in public?
As if reading her thoughts, Ethan reached across the table and took her hands in his. She shivered at his touch.
"Tara, I can't let the Ice Queen turn the Seashell into a rental," he said softly. His blue eyes looked deeply into hers, and she suddenly found that she couldn't look away. "I don't ask for help very often, but I'm asking you now. Please. You need this place as much as I do."
