Rules of Contact

by Jaci Burton

  That evening, she received a delivery.

  It was a box. Inside the box was a sizzling steak, baked potato and a salad. And another note from Flynn.

  You're probably cooking every day but not eating, and you should eat. I made this because I know you like steak. I made the salad dressing. Hope you like it.

  I love you, Amelia.

  F

  Damn him.

  She wanted to toss the meal. But no good meal should be ignored, so she ate the steak while she stared at the note. The salad dressing was a creamy balsamic vinaigrette that was pretty damn good.

  The next morning when she got up there was another box at her front door, along with another note.

  Inside the box was a gorgeous handmade lap quilt. She ran her hands over the intricate design, then opened the note.

  Thought this might keep you warm while you're sitting on your porch.

  I love you.

  F

  With a shuddering sigh, she carried the quilt out to the porch and draped it over her lap while she had her morning coffee.

  With her mail that day came another note.

  I'm really bad at poetry but I'm going to give this a try:

  I'm imperfect, but you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met

  We were good together, and yet

  I blew it. Please give me another chance

  And I know we can make this last.

  I love you, Amelia.

  F

  As poetry went, that was awful. But her heart was melting.

  He was trying. He was thinking about her every day.

  Damn him.

  *

  Over the next two days there were at least two notes a day. He fed her, gave her wine, a cookbook she'd been coveting that hadn't even been released yet, and wrote another note with even worse poetry than the first one.

  Laura had come over and Amelia told her about the notes.

  "He loves you. He fucked up badly. He's obviously trying to make amends. What are you going to do?"

  She sighed. "I don't know. You know how I feel about trust."

  "Yes, I do. But he's not Frank."

  "No. He's not."

  "I guess that leaves you with two choices. You forgive him and you find your way back to each other, or you walk away forever."

  She blinked back tears at the thought of never having Flynn in her life again. "I don't know what to do, Laura."

  "Okay, think about this. When you called it quits with Frank, how did it make you feel?"

  "Sad. In a remote kind of way. But also relieved."

  "And how do you feel now--about the possibility of ending things with Flynn?"

  She turned tear-filled eyes to Laura. "It's tearing me apart. I love him so much."

  Laura ran her hand up and down Amelia's arm. "I think you have your answer."

  Amelia nodded. "I think I do."

  Laura picked up one of Flynn's notes and read it. "Honey, no one who is that big of an asshole would go to this much trouble to win you back. Trust me, average guys just don't do this. Also, this is the worst poetry I've ever read."

  Amelia laughed. "I know. God, I love him so much."

  "So forgive him and let's get your happily ever after started."

  "Yes, let's do that."

  THIRTY-FOUR

  When Flynn received the text from Amelia asking him if he'd like to come over to her place for dinner, it was all he could do not to leave practice right then and rush over.

  But they had a big game this weekend, and his focus had to stay on his team and the upcoming game against Seattle. They were in first place in their division, and determined to stay there. It was too close to the end of the season to screw things up now.

  He was ready for this game, and he thought the defense practiced tough today. He felt like they were all prepared to do battle on Sunday.

  It had been a long grueling day, but once the team meetings were over with, he headed home, then went upstairs and got ready to go to Amelia's house.

  He sat on the bed after his shower, pondering what he was going to say to Amelia tonight. He had hoped the notes he had sent her this week communicated the depths of his feelings. But he needed to write her one more note, so after he got dressed he went downstairs, took a note card out of the box and wrote out the note. He put it in the envelope and tucked it in the pocket of his button-down shirt, then headed over to Amelia's house.

  His heart was pounding as he rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, he wasn't sure what kind of reaction to expect, but seeing her tremulous smile was the best thing he had seen in the past week.

  "Come on in."

  "Thanks."

  "I'm making pork tenderloin for dinner," she said as she headed into the kitchen. "I need to check on it."

  "Sure." He watched her walk away. She was wearing a flowing dark brown cotton dress with long sleeves and all kinds of ripples at the bottom of the skirt. She was barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders in waves. She looked like a gorgeous hippie and all he wanted to do was put his arms around her and hold her for like . . . an hour or two.

  When she closed the oven door, she lifted her gaze to his. "Glass of wine?"

  "Yes, please."

  She poured from the bottle that was open on the counter and handed him the glass. He took a sip.

  "Good."

  "Yes."

  "Thanks for inviting me to dinner."

  "Thank you for all the notes, and all the gifts. They were personal and from the heart, and that meant a lot to me."

  Which reminded him of the one in his pocket. "Oh, there's one more."

  He took it out and handed it to her. She looked at it, then up at him.

  "Should I open it now?"

  "Whenever you want to."

  She opened the envelope and pulled out the card and read the note aloud.

  "'I do trust you. And I was so very wrong not to. Please forgive me. I love you, Amelia, and I want a future with you. I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.'"

  As she read it, he saw her eyes fill with tears. She laid the note down.

  "Oh, Flynn." She walked into his arms.

  Having the contact of Amelia's warm body pressed against his was the best damn thing ever. It would always be the best thing ever.

  He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry for being such a jerk. It'll never happen again."

  She tilted her head back. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

  He smiled. "Okay. I'll try not to be such a big jerk again."

  "That works."

  He brushed his lips across hers. "Forgive me?"

  "Yes."

  He smoothed his hand over her face, unable to believe this amazing woman had forgiven him. "I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  He wasn't sure he'd ever felt his emotions swell this deeply, but hearing Amelia tell him she loved him was overwhelming.

  "I really don't deserve you."

  She grinned. "No, you don't. But you have me. Now and for always."

  "We have each other. And we're a work in progress. At least I am."

  "I am, too. We'll work on our issues together."

  He took in a deep breath and kissed her again, this time a deeper kiss. This time a kiss that was filled with love and passion. She pressed against him and his cock got hard. He ran his hands down her back, cupping her butt to draw her against his erection.

  She pulled her lips from his. "Make love to me, Flynn. Now."

  They moved into the bedroom and clothes were shed fast. He cupped her breasts and sucked at her nipples until she gasped. When she stroked his cock with her soft, smooth hands, it was his turn to suck in a breath. He reached for a condom and put it on in record time, then they rolled on their sides to face each other as he slid into her, teasing her nipples as he thrust deeply in and out of her hot, tight pussy.

  She ran her palm over his jaw. "I've missed this, missed you being inside of me."

  He felt
her tighten around him. "I haven't slept. I don't sleep when you're not with me."

  She whimpered as he drove deeper into her. "I love you, Flynn."

  He teased her lips with his. "I love you, too, Amelia."

  Then there were no more words as they were both caught up in the passion. And when she came, she cried out and dug her nails into his arms. He groaned hard with his climax and emptied into her with a shudder.

  After, he tucked her head against his shoulder and held her, feeling like the luckiest damn man in the world.

  "You'll come to the ranch for Christmas, won't you?" he asked as he stroked her back.

  "Oh, God, yes. I love your family, Flynn. I wouldn't miss it."

  "Good. And you'll come back to work at Ninety-Two, won't you?"

  She paused for a few seconds before answering. "If you want me to. I'm sure Stefanie is doing a great job."

  "She is, but she'd really like you back. She said she needs a couple more years of training before she's ready to be a head chef."

  Amelia leaned back to look at him. "She's very good."

  "Yeah, she is. You're better. And speaking of you being the best chef ever, you really don't want your own television show?"

  She stabbed at his chest with her fingernail. "No. Not now. Not ever. TV is not my thing, Flynn."

  "Ow. Okay. Got it. No TV. Not now. Not ever."

  "In fact, the next time a film crew comes, I'm taking the day off."

  He nodded, willing to give her anything as long as she was happy. "Got it. You're in charge."

  "I am?" She pushed him onto his back and rolled over on top of him. "Good to know."

  "What about dinner?"

  "It's on slow simmer."

  He grasped her hips and lifted against her. "Oh, good. Then let's move things in here to a full boil."

  She smiled down at him. "See what a good match we are, Mr. Cassidy?"

  "Damn near perfect, Ms. Lawrence."

  TURN THE PAGE TO READ A SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM THE LATEST HOPE NOVEL BY JACI BURTON

  DON'T LET GO

  AVAILABLE NOW FROM JOVE

  ONE

  Brady Conners was doing one of the things he enjoyed the most--smoothing out dents in a quarter panel of a Chevy. As soon as he finished, he'd paint, and this baby would be good as new.

  It wasn't his dream job. He was working toward that. But with every day he spent as a mechanic at Richards Auto Service, thanks to the shop's owner, Carter Richards, he was pocketing money. And that got him closer to his dream--opening up his own custom motorcycle paint shop.

  Somewhere. Maybe here in Hope. Maybe somewhere else. Probably somewhere else, because the town of Hope held memories.

  Not good ones.

  A long time ago--a time that seemed like an eternity now--he'd had plans with his brother, Kurt, to start up a business together.

  That dream went up in smoke the day Brady got the call that his brother was dead.

  He paused, stood, and stretched out the kinks in his back, wiping the sweat that dripped into his eyes. Needing a break, he pulled off his breathing mask and swiped his fingers through his hair. He took a step away and grabbed the water bottle he always kept stored nearby. He took a long drink from the straw, swallowing several times until his thirst was quenched, then stepped outside.

  It was late spring, and rain was threatening. He dragged in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of fresh air.

  He really wanted a cigarette, but he'd quit a little over a year ago. Not that the urge had gone away. Probably never would. But he was stronger than his own needs. Or at least that's what he told himself every time a powerful craving hit.

  Instead, he pulled out one of the flavored toothpicks he always kept in his jeans pocket and slid that between his teeth.

  Not nearly as satisfying, but it would do. It would have to.

  He leaned against the wall outside the shop and watched the town in motion. It was lunchtime, so it was busy.

  Luke McCormack, one of Hope's cops, drove by in his patrol car and waved. Brady waved back. Luke was a friend of Carter's, and while Brady wasn't as social as a lot of the guys he'd met, he knew enough to be friendly. Especially to cops.

  Samantha Reasor left her shop, loading up her flower van with a bunch of colorful bouquets. She spotted him, giving him a bright smile and a wave before she headed off.

  Everyone in this town was friendly. He mostly kept to himself, did his work, and then went home to the small apartment above the shop at night to watch TV or play video games. Some nights he did side work painting bikes. He had one goal in mind, and that was to save enough money to open his business. He saw his parents now and again, since they lived in Hope, but the strain of Kurt's death had taken a toll on them.

  Nothing was the same anymore. With them. With him, either, he supposed.

  Sometimes life just sucked. And you dealt with that.

  His stomach grumbled. He needed something to eat. He pushed off the wall and headed up the street, intending to hit the sandwich joint on the corner. He'd grab something and bring it back to the shop.

  He stopped suddenly when Megan Lee, the hot brunette who owned the bakery, dashed out with a couple of pink boxes in her hand. She collided with him, and the boxes went flying. She caught one, he caught one, and then he steadied her by sliding his arm around her.

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

  "Oh my gosh. Thank you, Brady. I almost dropped these."

  "You okay, Megan?"

  "Yes. But let me check these." She opened the boxes. There were cakes inside. They looked pretty, with pink icing on one and blue on the other and little baby figurines in strollers sitting on top of the cakes. There were flowers and other doodads as well. He didn't know all that much about cake decorations. He just liked the way they tasted.

  "They're for Sabelle Frasier. She just had twins." She looked up at him with a grin. "A boy and a girl. Her mom ordered these for her hospital homecoming. I spent all morning baking and decorating them."

  He didn't need to know that, but the one thing he did know was that people in this town were social and liked to talk. "They look good."

  She swiped her hair out of her eyes. "Of course they're good."

  He took the boxes from her. "Where's your car?"

  "Parked just down the street."

  "How about you let me carry these? Just in case you want to run into anyone else on your way."

  Her lips curved. "I think you ran into me."

  He disagreed, but whatever. He figured he'd do his good deed for the day, then get his sandwich.

  He followed her down the street.

  "I haven't seen much of you lately," she said.

  He shrugged. "Been busy."

  "I've been meaning to come by the shop and visit, but things have been crazy hectic at the bakery, too." She studied him. "How about I bring pastries by in the morning? And I've never brought you coffee before. How about some coffee? How do you take it? Black, or with cream and sugar? Or maybe you like lattes or espresso? What do you drink in the mornings?"

  He had no idea what she was talking about. "Uh, just regular coffee. Black."

  "Okay. I make a really great cup of coffee. I'm surprised you haven't come into the bakery, since it's so close to the auto shop. Most everyone who works around here pops in." She pressed the unlock button on her key fob, then opened the back door and took the boxes from him.

  Man, she really could talk. He'd noticed that the couple of times they'd been together in social situations. Not that it was a bad thing, but for someone like him who lived mostly isolated, all that conversation was like a bombardment.

  But he liked it. The one thing he missed the most since his self-imposed isolation was conversation. And Megan had it in droves. He just wasn't all that good at reciprocating.

  After she slid the boxes in, she turned to him. "What's your favorite pastry? You know, I've dropped cupcakes off at the auto shop. Have you eaten any of th
ose?"

  He was at a loss for words. He always was around her. A few of his friends had fixed the two of them up before. Once at Logan and Des's dinner party, then again at Carter and Molly's wedding. They'd danced. Had some conversation. Mostly one-sided, since Megan had done all the talking.

  He wasn't interested.

  Okay, that wasn't exactly the truth. What heterosexual male wouldn't be interested in Megan? She was gorgeous, with her silky, light brown hair and her warm chocolate eyes that always seemed to study him. She also had a fantastic body with perfect curves.

  But he was here to work. That was it. He didn't have time for a relationship.

  He didn't want a relationship, no matter how attractive the woman was. And Megan was really damned attractive.

  "Brady?" she asked, pulling his attention back on her. "Cupcakes?"

  "What about them?"

  She cocked her head to the side. "Oh, come on, Brady. Everyone has a favorite pastry. Cream puffs? Donuts? Scones? Cakes? Bars? Strudel?"

  He zeroed in on the last thing she said. "Apple strudel. I used to have that from the old bakery when I was a kid."

  She offered up a satisfied smile. "I make a killer apple strudel. I'll bring you one--along with coffee--in the morning."

  He frowned. "You don't have to do that."

  She laid her hand on his arm and offered up the kind of smile that made him focus on her mouth. She had a really pretty mouth, and right now it was glossed a kissable shade of peach.

  He didn't want to notice her mouth, but he did.

  "I don't mind. I love to bake. But now I have to go. Thanks again for saving the cakes. I'll see you tomorrow, Brady."

  She climbed into her car and pulled away, leaving him standing there, confused as hell.

  He didn't want her to bring him coffee. Or apple strudel. Or anything.

  He didn't want to notice Megan or talk to Megan or think about Megan, but the problem was, he'd been doing a lot of that lately. For the past six months or so he'd thought about the dance he'd shared with her. The laughs they'd enjoyed together and her animated personality. She had a sexy smile--not the kind a woman had to force, but the kind that came naturally. She also had a great laugh and she could carry a conversation with ease. And that irritated him because he hadn't thought about a woman in a long time.

  Ever since his brother had died, he hadn't wanted to think about anything or anyone. All he'd wanted to do was work, then head upstairs to his one-room apartment above the auto shop, eat his meals, and watch TV. And on the weekends he'd do custom bike painting. Keep his mind and his body busy so he wouldn't have to think--or feel.