by LuAnn McLane
“I did.”
“ ’Kay,” she said briskly, and then opened the tube of antibiotic ointment. After washing her hands with antibacterial soap, she said, “Now, where are the scrapes?”
“Uh, you’ll have to check me over,” Jimmy said. “I kinda rolled onto the boardwalk so …” He shrugged. “Here and there.”
“Right.” Maggie swallowed hard, realizing she was going to have to give him a thorough once-over. She pressed her lips together and frowned. “Oh,” she said, and gently applied some salve to his right shoulder. Mmm, his skin felt soft and warm. She found another scratch running from his collarbone over his pec to the center of his chest. She squeezed a dollop of ointment onto her fingertip and followed the reddened skin. When she traced another scrape, he inhaled sharply. “Jimmy, did that hurt?” Maggie stopped and looked at him.
“No.” His low, husky tone nearly made her moan. He held her gaze. “It’s fine,” he said. “Would … would you do me a favor?”
Heart thudding, she nodded. “Wait, it depends on what it is.”
Jimmy grinned. “Give me a sip of my drink?” He held up his hands. “I’m handi-glued.”
“It’ll dry quickly.”
“I need a sip. Please?” he asked, and she couldn’t resist the plea.
“Oh, um … sure.” She looked around for the glass, but it seemed as if all she could see was him, in front of her, in the mirror, everywhere.
Jimmy pointed to the marble countertop. “Over there, by your electric toothbrush. I have one just like it.” He gave her a toothy smile. “It works.”
“Oh, right.” Maggie flushed at the reminder that Jimmy was in her bathroom, the most intimate of places in her condo. Thanks goodness for the neat freak in her that kept everything spotless and hidden away in cabinets. She picked up the cold glass and willed her hands not to shake. Turning to him, she asked, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Jimmy nodded. “I’m developing a taste for Irish whiskey.”
Maggie leaned forward, brought the glass to his lips, and tilted it back oh so slightly.
“Okay, a little bit more, please. That hardly wet my lips.”
Lips … wet. So much bare skin. God.
“I need more.”
Maggie inhaled and gave him a level look.
“No, seriously. Brace your hand on my shoulder and try again. Please?” He smiled.
“Oh jeez,” she grumbled, and tried not to let it show that gripping the solid top of his shoulder made her want to toss back the drink herself. Leaning over again, she tilted the glass up farther. His eyes widened and he was forced to take a huge gulp. Whiskey ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest. He coughed, sputtered. He lifted his glued hands as if in surrender.
“Oh, sorry!” Maggie said, but then started to giggle.
“So,” he began in a Will Arnett voice, “you think this is funny, huh?” He coughed. “Holy shit.”
“I didn’t mean to do that!”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“No, really,” Maggie said, and then burst into another fit of giggles. The laughter calmed her nerves and she tried to put on a straight face. She cleared her throat. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You do know that the whiskey is burning into the scrapes, right?”
“What?” Maggie’s eyes widened. “Oh!” She reached for a soft washcloth and started dabbing at the whiskey on his chest until she heard a rumble of laugher. “You!” she sputtered, and shoved at his shoulders but then stumbled forward, landing against him. He caught her around the waist with his glue-covered hands, stood up, and pushed her against the wall.
Before Maggie could catch her breath, he bent his head and kissed her.
Mmm, Jimmy tasted like whiskey, and when his tongue tangled with hers, Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him, melting into the moment. The cool tile against her back contrasted with the warmth of his body. She slid her fingers into his damp hair, opened her mouth for more, and he obliged. The passion she had tried to tamp down earlier simmered to the surface, burst into freedom, and did a happy dance.
Maggie might have avoided him all week, but he’d been on her mind constantly, and now she was in his arms. When Jimmy’s hand slid beneath the edge of her shirt, a long pull of desire settled in her chest and then spread, reaching into secret places that were begging for his attention. The dried glue felt velvety smooth against her skin. His mouth moved from her lips to her neck and when he cupped her breast, her breath caught.
“Maggie … God … you’ve been on my mind constantly.”
In a bold move, Maggie lifted one of her legs and anchored her ankle around him, pulling him even closer but still not close enough. The steely hardness of his erection sent a hot thrill down her spine. Her heart pounded wildly and she longed for him to take her right there, up against the wall. She’d never done anything so wild, so spontaneous, and yet she urged him on, tightening her leg around him.
Reasons to stop fled her brain, and white-hot passion took over.
“Maggie …” he breathed, and she knew it was part question and part plea.
“Yes … yes!” she responded immediately, because if she thought about it, she’d pull back. When Jimmy tugged her shirt over her head, she helped him, made sounds of encouragement. A moment later he tried to unhook her front-clasp bra with his gluey fingers and struggled.
“Your hands. Don’t hurt yourself!”
“I’m fine,” he said next to her ear, but she brushed his fingers away and did the task herself.
Once she was free from her bra, his warm mouth found her breast. Desire unfurled, deep and potent. A moan escaped her throat. He circled her areola with his tongue and then flicked over her nipple, making her gasp. God, then he lifted the fullness into his palm, licking, sucking, until she closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders.
“You’re gorgeous.”
Drunk with passion, she barely realized he’d tugged her yoga pants down to her thighs. She sucked in a short breath and all coherent thought fled her brain. She could only feel a deep, desperate desire, an intense longing unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She wanted Jimmy Heart and she wanted him … now.
Slow your roll tiptoed into her brain and she smacked it away. Boom! Get outta here.
“Maggie …” The ragged desperation in his voice penetrated her passion. He pulled his head back and gazed into her eyes. She could see the hunger, the need, but also the unspoken question. He cupped her chin. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you right now. But I don’t want you to get caught up in the moment and”—he swallowed hard—“then have … regrets.”
“I—I won’t.” Desire for him suddenly became something deeper, stronger, and she hoped he felt it as well.
“You mean too much to me,” he added gruffly.
Maggie’s breath caught. So he really did feel something for her too. Her head spun with the sudden knowledge.
But on the other hand, getting swept away by wild desire was mindless, easy, and somehow emotionally safer in an odd way. Admitting her feelings for him was a different animal altogether. Elation at his declaration warred with her fear of falling in love.
“Maggie?” Jimmy asked gently. “Talk to me.”
“I …” she began, but then shook her head, unable to respond. Her body throbbed with need, but her heart pounded with trepidation.
“Ah, Maggie.” Jimmy looked up at the ceiling and inhaled a deep breath. “I should be pissed off at myself for not taking things slow, but I’m not.” Closing his eyes, he groaned. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re one of the good guys,” Maggie said softly, more to herself than to him, and, afraid or not, she found herself falling for Jimmy Heart, fast.
“Yeah, I try to be.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
“But you barely know me, really.”
Jimmy nodded slowly. “That’s the thing. If I feel thi
s strongly now, I know we could have something amazing.” He leaned in and kissed her softly, but she could feel the passion simmering beneath the gentle touch of his lips. “I don’t want to screw this up.” He tugged her pants back in place and located her tank top.
Reality hit Maggie like a bucket of ice water in the face. Jimmy had hit the brakes. Why? Was the sudden chivalry on Jimmy’s part really rejection? While her common sense told her she knew the correct answer—Jimmy was a true gentleman who was trying to take things slow—Maggie was suddenly mortified. She’d worked so damned hard to avoid him, and now here she was, nearly naked in her very own bathroom. Ugh.
Cheeks flaming, Maggie quickly tugged the shirt over her head, too embarrassed to hunt for her bra, which had gone missing. While Jimmy’s selfless gesture tugged at her heartstrings, she was suddenly royally pissed at him—at herself too—but she lifted her chin with false bravado and tossed blame his way like a hot potato. “I think it’s fair to remind you that the pushing-me-up-against-the-wall move was totally yours,” she said sharply.
Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up as if he was surprised at her change of attitude, but then he seemed to recover. “Fine, I’ll take the blame.”
“Your tone suggests otherwise.” Maggie folded her arms across her chest and gave him what she hoped was a look.
Jimmy frowned. “My tone?”
“Uh, yeah, like an attitude,” she said with a lot of tone herself.
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware I had a … tone.” Jimmy held his palms up, and his gesture of innocence revealed the dried glue, reminding Maggie that he’d banged himself up rescuing Trixie. She felt a stinging flash of guilt, but her wounded pride caused her to cling to her anger like a lifeline. “But you gotta admit that you were, um, enjoying the moment too,” he added carefully.
Maggie’s guilt hit the highway and tore off the rearview mirror.
“Yes!” Maggie spread her arms wide in the small space. “A moment of reckless abandon … and … whiskey.” She pointed to her empty glass, wishing she had another one at the ready. She was being unfair, unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Jimmy chewed on the inside of his lip, as if pondering how to respond.
“I think perhaps you should just”—she inhaled sharply—“go.” Raising her chin another notch, she pointed to the left.
“Uh, that’s the shower.”
Maggie quickly changed hands, indicating the door.
“Seriously?”
Maggie gave him a jerky nod, but she felt like crying. She pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to reverse her decision. The last thing she wanted was for him to go. “Yes.” She blinked rapidly, and for a moment she thought he was going to step forward and pull her into his arms. She hoped so—no, she didn’t.
Yes, she did.
“Okay, Maggie,” Jimmy said, and the sadness in his voice was almost her undoing.
In fact, what the hell was she doing?
She sure as hell didn’t know.
When he walked out of the room, she remained rooted to the spot for seconds.
Minutes.
And then, when her addled wits returned, she knew she’d overreacted. She’d been a bitch! She hated bitches!
With a little strangled cry, Maggie hurried after him.
But Jimmy was already gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHAT WAS I THINKIN’
Still trying to process the emotional whiplash of going from the sexy, against-the-wall interlude to basically being shoved out the door, Jimmy headed to his balcony to clear his head. No, he stomped to the sliding glass door and yanked it open, nearly tearing his arm from its socket. Jimmy, who always tried to keep his damned cool, was fuming. He wanted to throw something, shout profanities. Kick his own ass for being so damned stupid!
Tough as Maggie wanted to appear, Jimmy knew she was fragile, and he’d let his damned dick overrule his common sense.
Jimmy paced, paused, and shoved his fingers through his hair so many times that the glue started to come off. With his hands on his hips, he stared out over the ocean and finally settled into his chair to do some songwriting. He peeled the smooth glue from his fingers, hoping he’d left it on long enough for the splinters to come out. Once he was splinter-free, and after some serious deep breathing, he strummed a melody, jotted down a phrase or two, but his brain refused to allow him to concentrate on anything other than Maggie Murphy. He kept glancing over to her balcony, hoping to hear Trixie’s bark. Nothing. Damn.
Jimmy finally gave up on trying to work on Oliver and Belinda’s love song. With a long sigh that segued into a groan, he put his guitar down, and after a few minutes, he decided to see if Jesse wanted to hang out. After heading inside, he gave his twin brother a call.
“Hey, Jimbo, what’s up?” Jesse asked.
“Ah, not much. Trying to write and failing massively.”
“Well, that sure as hell sucks.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jimmy rolled his head to his shoulders, trying to get the kinks out. “So, whatcha doin’?”
“Swam laps until my legs were like rubber. Now that we’re not doing ass-kicking rehearsals I need to find new ways to keep in shape. Now I’m just chillin’ by the pool, drinking a few beers.”
“Counterproductive?”
“That’s my middle name. Wanna come over and be counterproductive with me?”
Jimmy laughed. “Yeah, might as well, because I’m sure as hell not being productive. Need anything?”
“I was gonna order some pizza in a few.”
“You live on pizza.” Jimmy shook his head.
“I’m adding green peppers, mushrooms, and onions, so I’m getting my veggies,” Jesse said in an English accent.
Jimmy laughed. Back on the Heartbeat tours, they’d had an English teacher who tutored then while on the road. Their endless teenage quest for pizza had driven Charles mad.
“Along with sausage, meatballs, pepperoni, and extra cheese.”
“Uh, protein and dairy. The bases are covered.”
“Okay, enough of the accent.”
“Right, get your arse over here.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Wait, you’ve got plenty of beer, right?”
“Is that even a bloody question?” Jesse asked in his John Lennon voice. He could imitate just about anyone.
“Dude, seriously.” Jimmy laughed again, knowing that heading to Jesse’s was a good decision. “Cheap stuff or good stuff?”
“You know I only keep cheap stuff in reserve for beer emergencies. But hey, if you wanna bring some, fine by me.”
“Gotcha covered.”
After ending the call, Jimmy grabbed his swim trunks and a six-pack of craft beer he’d been wanting to sample and headed over to Jesse’s. With the convertible top down on his Beemer and the radio cranked up, he tried to get in a better frame of mind before arriving at Jesse’s, which was just a short drive down scenic Sea Breeze Boulevard.
In less than fifteen minutes, Jimmy pulled into the crushed-seashell driveway and parked alongside Jesse’s upscale surf shack. Bold blue with a thatched roof, the surfer-style home fit Jesse’s personality perfectly.
“Yo, anybody home?” Jimmy called out as he left the Florida heat behind and entered the cool interior of Jesse’s house. He failed to get a reply, but that was expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows across the back of the house showcased the beach-entry pool and the Atlantic Ocean visible beyond the white sand dunes. As expected, Jesse was relaxing in a lounge chair, bobbing his shaggy blond head to music playing so loud that the house seemed to vibrate.
Jimmy broke off a can from his six-pack and put the rest of the beer in the fridge, raising his eyebrows at the lack of food on the shelves. “Wow,” he said, thinking that he and his twin brother remained vastly different from each other even into adulthood. Unlike Jimmy’s condo, with its soothing neutral décor, Jesse’s place was filled with bold colors. Not that Jimmy didn’t like the vintage surf-shac
k furnishings. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d just time-warped into the 1960s. Smiling, he ran his hand over the glossy surface of the surfboard that had been repurposed into a kitchen island. Knotty pine floors and whitewashed walls offset the beach party–themed collectibles placed everywhere.
Jimmy smiled while he looked around, sure to find a new vintage something or other, and sure enough, he spotted a Beach Boys poster he’d never seen before. But Jimmy’s smile faded when he looked above the leather sofa at the Gidget movie poster with Cliff Robertson and James Darren holding Sandra Dee up on their shoulders. Even as a kid Jesse loved anything to do with surfing, so much so that their mom would sometimes call Jesse Moondoggie, after Gidget’s crush in the classic beach movie.
The surfer-shack vibe continued outside with a thatched tiki-hut cabana to the right of the pool. Bold-colored Adirondack chairs and tiki torches added to the theme. Beyond the pool, several hammocks stretched between palm trees, but Jimmy’s favorite thing Jesse owned was the vintage lifeguard chair that Jesse loved to sit in during his many parties.
Jesse finally noticed Jimmy walking toward his chair and waved. “Hey Jimbo,” he shouted; then he turned the Beach Boys down to a normal volume. He pointed to a chair. “Take a load off.”
Jimmy sat down and popped the top off his beer, licking the foam that poured over the edge.
“Whatcha drinkin’?”
Jimmy showed him the can. “Beachin’, from the new craft brewery that just opened up in town.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, we’ll have to head there sometime soon. I haven’t been out in ages. I hear the food trucks there are amazing too.”
“No doubt. So, you said the song’s still giving you fits?”
“Yep.” Jimmy took a deep slug of his beer.
“Grady said you were making nice with the dog or something?”
Jimmy nodded and relayed the doggie-treat story, leaving out a few personal details.
“So the dog no longer barks. Why are you still stuck?”
Jimmy looked down at his beer can and inhaled a breath. “Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
