Gypsy Love: A Gypsy Beach Novel

by Jillian Neal

  She did grin up at him. His jaw flexed. Damn, those eyes and those lips were going to be his undoing. “Neither, really. I know that’s weird, but I went to Samford. I guess I’m a Bulldog, too.” Her eyes lit and a mischievous smirk formed on her face. “But when I was a little girl, Daddy would always let me watch Alabama stomp Georgia with him when they played.”

  John clutched his heart and feigned anguish. Her laughter made every loss worth it in his book.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” Her laughter halted abruptly.

  “Sure.”

  Her lip slipped through her teeth, and his cock immediately perked up and paid attention. “How did you know all of that stuff about the industry?”

  “Oh,” John nodded. “Well, my undergrad is in English Lit. I guess literature has always fascinated me. I’ve always loved to read. I was a huge fan of your father’s novels. He was one of my all-time favorites.”

  “Wow!” She stared at him like he might’ve suddenly sprouted another head.

  “That weird or something?” She’d seemed like the kind of girl that would appreciate a fellow book nerd, but maybe he’d misjudged her.

  “You majored in English Lit?”

  “Yeah.” His brow furrowed.

  “So, you know who Proust is?”

  “Not a huge fan or anything, but I made it through all seven parts of In Search of Lost Time.”

  “What’s Fitzgerald’s best work?”

  Chuckling at this 20-questions style of conversation, he considered. “Not Great Gatsby, that’s for damn sure. I don’t know, probably Tender is the Night, but it’s sad as hell. I honestly prefer Steinbeck to Fitzgerald.”

  “Wow!” Arley bit her tongue to keep from proposing to John Rowan. Where had he been all her life? He’s probably terrible in bed and has really bad morning breath. Her brain tried to save her. She was on a very slippery slope and there was nothing to grab onto to hold herself up. She continued, certain he would eventually fail her test.

  “What do you think of Hemingway?”

  His insanely sexy smirk and the bat of his thick eyelashes made her heart fly and her insides melt. The wet heat gathered in her lacy cotton panties.

  “Am I getting graded on this?”

  “Maybe.”

  His husky chuckle turned to outright laughter. “Uh, okay, let’s see here. In college, I used to imagine that if Hemingway and Dickens ever got together to have a beer that they would bore each other to death. Of course, that was probably after I’d had several beers, so who knows.”

  Arley shifted slightly in the wooden chair and felt the lace of her panties slide along her clit. It was so desperately in need of some attention it begged her to drag John back to her room and keep him busy.

  “Wow!”

  “Does that mean I passed?”

  “Sorry.” She felt the same heat that had settled between her thighs fever her face. “I’ve just never met a guy that actually read anything besides Playboy and Sports Illustrated.”

  “Never said I didn’t read those, too.” He winked at her. Dear God, he winked at her. She called herself an immature virgin schoolgirl for the way that made her heart fly. Could he possibly like her?

  He definitely had a cocky edge, one she found insanely seductive, and he was brilliant. Maybe a little vacation romance wouldn’t be totally out of the question. Might do a hell of a lot for her silent muse, too.

  “Have you ever read an erotic novel?” Her voice shook when she managed this question. He held her gaze with his own.

  “Several. I’m a big fan of Nin and Miller’s stuff. Some of it is disturbing, but life is disturbing, I suppose. Nabokov is probably my favorite if I had to name one.”

  “Wow!”

  “Do I get to ask questions now?” His rumbled inquisition did nothing to help the woozy state of her brain and body.

  “Sure.” She managed to nod.

  “First, would you like to get dinner tonight? Sienna only does dinners at the Inn on Sunday nights, but there’s an outstanding restaurant out on the pier. I took Evie there a few months ago.”

  John watched her body and her brain begin a contentious argument. His brow furrowed. He’d thought they were really connecting.

  “I’d love to, but I kind of swore off men.” She sounded like it wouldn’t take much convincing to rectify her boycott.

  In his vast experience, there were a million reasons women placed embargos on their libido and on male companionship, and they all came from the very same problem. They’d been hurt, badly.

  He watched her eyes dance as he sat up and leaned closer to her. The perfume of her, a heady cocktail of floral seduction and dark vanilla, filled his lungs. He fought not to moan. The sexy patch of skin where her shoulder met her neck in a slight contraction distracted him momentarily. He licked his lips. “Just dinner. Maybe I can negotiate a sanction. If not, we’ll just have a good meal and a hell of a conversation.”

  “Okay, sure, I guess. I’m kind of a disaster lately, though. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be.” Oh my God, Arley. Shut up! He just asked you out on the first real date you’ve probably ever had and certainly the only one you’ve ever actually been excited about. Must you analyze everything to death? Sure she’d dated a few guys recently. Chase being the one she’d been the most intimate with, but they usually considered a great date staying home and watching football while she microwaved jalapeno poppers for them.

  “I’m getting life’s been shitty lately, not disaster. And even if it is a full-blown disaster, there’s a very distinct difference between life being a disaster and you being one.” He admitted. “That was going to be my next question, actually. And full-disclosure, I looked for your work last night and saw that they’re no longer for sale, which I’m guessing is part of the disaster.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Why did you look for my work?” Arley tried to decide if that was weird. It was flattering, sure, but what if he was some kind of stalker?

  “I was a huge fan of your dad’s books, like I said, and I was curious.” The complete honesty in those piercing blue eyes said he wasn’t a stalker. He might have been some kind of guardian angel, but definitely not a deviant.

  She sighed and settled into the chair with another sip of the delicious coffee. It was lukewarm now and still tasted outstanding. “About a month ago, my publisher declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy. When I signed my contract, Dad’s health was declining daily. I was an idiot. I wanted so badly to be published before he passed. He was the only person in my whole family that encouraged me. He’s the reason I didn’t write under a pen name. He was so proud of my work. He wanted me to put my name on it. Anyway, I signed away all of my rights on all of my work. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have no way of getting them back without buying them, and I don’t have enough money. My dad’s will left both of my sisters and me a little bit of money that we’re supposed to get each month. My aunts blocked me from getting mine because of my writing. If I could just figure out how to get what I should have been getting for the last few years, I’d have enough to maybe buy back the rights to one or two of my books so I could at least sell them and promote them again. Right now, I have nothing. I was just sort of starting to get a little bit of name recognition, and now ….” She shrugged.

  John had cringed as soon as she’d said Chapter 11. His expression hadn’t improved. “I’m really sorry, Arley. Care if I slip into lawyer mode for a minute?” Concern darkened his eyes to a deep navy color.

  “Please do.” She had no idea how she’d just met a guy that was not only the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on, but also read more than a centerfold, and was also a lawyer. Maybe this was all some bizarre dream. Maybe she had fallen asleep and crashed her car the evening before and this was some kind of very odd heaven. She’d been pretty sure that dying and going to heaven would involve seeing her dad again, and also that she wouldn’t be worried about her publishing contract once she’d arrived there, however.
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  “Chapter 11 means that there is a chance the courts will give the publishing house a way to restructure, but that could take months. Any chance you could write a new manuscript and get it to another house or get it self-published quickly?”

  “I can’t. My contract is still valid until my publisher completely goes out of business, and I signed the worst kind of contract an author could ever sign. It has a non-compete in it. Like I said, I was completely stupid.”

  “Hey,” he leaned and tucked a few strands of hair behind her right ear. The gentle caress somehow soothed her and simultaneously put her entire body on high alert. Her head lifted upwards, desperate to feel more of his palm.

  “You’re not stupid. Your dad was dying, and I’m betting the contract was worded very shrewdly. They do that to keep the signers in the dark.”

  “I just never really thought beyond that moment. I figured I would write, they would publish, and that was all I’d ever wanted to do. The advance copies of my first novel came in the mail three days after Dad died. He never got to see them.”

  John shook his head. Yeah, she sure as hell had been hurt, not only by this, but from the sounds of it, her family as well. Every molecule in his body longed to hold her in the safety of his embrace. He wanted desperately to fix this for her. Unable to keep his hands away from her soft, alabaster skin he brushed his fingers over her forearm. Her breath seemed to tangle in the emotion that had cinched her throat.

  “Sounds to me like you need a lawyer.”

  “Thanks, that’s really nice of you, but I can’t pay you.”

  “You need a lawyer. I don’t need money. Let me help. Besides, if you’re paying me that makes you a client, and that means I can’t date you.”

  A smile broke through her anguish. It had the effect of the stunning sunrise after a long, stormy night. “I thought lawyers were heartless, cold-blooded, leeches.”

  “Trust me, some of us are, but tell me more about this contract.”

  “When I say all of this you’re probably going to redact your help—and the going on a date thing.” Her smile faded quickly.

  “Try me.”

  “Non-compete, lack of reserved rights, and to ice that lovely cake, a 90-day options clause.” Her entire body weighted with that information.

  A low whistle slipped between John’s teeth. “The triple-crown of death. You’re lucky I’m such a damn good lawyer.”

  There it was again—that grin that was somehow sweet as sugar and sexy as hell. But doubt continued to play in her eyes. “I really appreciate the offer, John, but we really don’t even know each other. Why do you want to help me?”

  He’d always been a man that trusted his intuition. His gut was never wrong. It had served him well in the courtroom on countless occasions. She was wary of him, but it had nothing to do with her contract debacle, her father’s will, or her family’s disdain over her writing. Something else had happened to her. He debated how to respond.

  “Well, first of all, I was a huge fan of your dad’s work. His novels brought me endless hours of joy and gave me an escape when I desperately needed that in my life, so if I can help his daughter, I’d like to do that. Also, I’d like to get to know you better. I’m sick to death of Atlanta and my job. I was gonna hang out around here for the next week or two. Be nice to have someone to hang out with that can go toe to toe with me on good literature. Evie’s great and all, but her taste in books generally involves a Disney princess and a talking animal of some kind. They’re a little juvenile for my liking, and Ryan would far rather choke on Sienna’s tongue than read much of anything.”

  Arley’s laughter was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

  “We can take this as slow as you’d like. We can keep it to the friend thing if you want.” He hoped against hope that she wanted more than that, because he desperately wanted to wine her, dine her, and bed her repeatedly. He could get her mind off of her contract and her family. They could give each other a little reprieve. Two weeks of her would definitely restore his battered soul.

  With another deep study of his eyes and then his face, she smiled again. “Dinner sounds really nice, but slow sounds kind of nice, too. Is that okay?”

  Slow definitely wasn’t no, and John had always been a sucker for a challenge. “No pressure.” He held up his hands in mocked surrender.

  She grimaced in what looked like might have been disappointment. His cock gave another intrigued twitch. “I’m sorry. You’re being so nice, and I’m being a bitch.”

  John’s brow furrowed. He never would have qualified her as such. Before he could point that out, she continued.

  “It’s just that a lot of guys … once they find out what I do …” Fear haunted her eyes, and blood pooled in her cheeks.

  “Are assholes that are certain you’d like to act out what they assume is in your novels with them starring as the hero?”

  Relief eased her entire body. She nodded but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And they have either have no idea what they’re doing, or they don’t understand that I don’t live out scenes that I write before I write them. A lot of them want to be written about, so ‘no’ means try to talk me into it, because clearly, that’s what I want.” The barely audible words were carried away in the breeze almost as soon as she’d spoken them.

  “Arley.” He gently cradled her chin in his hand. “First of all, no always means no. I don’t care what the hell is going on. If we go out a few times, decide to take things further, and I get the extraordinary honor of taking you to my bed, trust me, I sure as hell do know what I’m doing. I would only ever do things that you wanted and that would add to the pleasure for both of us. I’m not some kind of douchebag with something to prove. I don’t want to be written about. I imagine that you keep your intimate moments intimate. They’re not fodder for stories.”

  The fevered heat that colored her cheeks spread downward to streak her delicate neck and settle on the top swells of her breasts, barely visible in the button down dress. “I can’t believe you understand that, and that we’re sitting here discussing sex and we haven’t even been out to dinner.”

  John laughed. “I’m blunt as hell, just ask Ryan, and you’re easy to talk to. I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t agreed to go with Sienna to pick up Evie in a little while. I’d like to just keep on talking to you.” He analyzed his last statement. It had fallen from his lips without his permission. He prided himself on caution and calculation, and somehow in one conversation she seemed to have cracked just a little of his fortitude. It should have scared the shit out of him, but the quickening of his heart was full of undeniable lust and longing to keep this going.

  He’d managed a six-month relationship a few years back. Maybe if the next two weeks went well, he could visit Birmingham occasionally. No reason they couldn’t keep each other’s beds warm until the attraction died down. He refused to acknowledge that single plaguing synapse in his brain that wondered if there could be more to this.

  “I think it’s really sweet that you spend time with Evie. She clearly loves you. My godfather disowned me when my second novel came out. Of course, he’s my uncle on my mother’s side, so that’s not particularly surprising.” She sighed.

  “Damn, woman, anybody in your life besides your dad not been a bitch about your talent and your work?”

  This time it was her laughter that was haunted. “No, not really.”

  He begrudgingly checked his watch. He needed to get a shower and get ready to go get Evie, and there was something else he wanted to check before they went out that night. “Well, add me to the list with your old man, and I’ll pick you up in your room around six. That sound good?”

  “It sounds perfect. Thank you for helping me. I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

  “Me, too. You staying out here, or can I walk you back in?”

  “I think I’m going to stay out here. I don’t really want to run into Kent and Donna again for awhile.”

  “I definitely get that
. Hey, do you want me to bring you some sunscreen? I don’t want you to get that beautiful skin burned. I plan to rub my hands over it all very soon.”

  Arley prayed that he hadn’t noticed her entire body shiver from the thought alone, but his extremely pleased smirk said he had. “Thanks. I won’t be out much longer. I promise.”

  With a nod, he gently squeezed her hand. His thumb made a few languid glides along hers, making her weak before he forced himself to return to the Inn.

  Five

  John spent the afternoon with Evie at the park. When Sienna declared it time for her nap, he took the opportunity to do a little research. Generally, he refused to look up women he dated online. If you couldn’t tell if a woman was bitchy, crazy, or an all-out psychopath after you’d talked to her for an hour or two, then you need better conversation skills and to quit thinking with the head below your belt.

  He knew Arley was a very genuine, extremely intelligent woman, not to mention the fact that she was beautiful, but he wanted to see what he could find out about her before their date that night.

  He scrolled through her social media accounts. She used them to advertise her books, but her posts had dried up about the time her books had become property of the publisher’s creditors. There were a few articles she’d had written for some literary blogs and magazines. She’d given a few interviews about her father’s influence on her work. She was inevitably asked what he would have to say about what she wrote. That had to take its toll.

  At the end of the second Google page, his stomach seized. She wasn’t well enough known for it to have made it to the top of the search, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Chase Masters recently ended his 6-month relationship with fledgling author Arley Copeland, citing her disturbing preferences in bed and insatiable sex drive as two of the main reasons for the breakup.

  “Dude, what the hell?” John settled on his bed and read intently. When he came to the line, ‘She often wanted to have sex in the mornings before I had to be at work and then again a few evenings a week. She never seemed to understand that the men she writes about are fiction,’ he laughed out loud.