Never Date Your Ex

by Genevieve Goodwin

  But Jamie had reminded him, and now it all came back to him in a flood of dark, unwanted memories. She was forcing him to return to Seabrook, forcing him by her stupid refusal to marry him.

  She would pay. She would suffer dearly for this atrocity.

  ~

  Saturday morning the deliverymen arrived with Jamie's new bed. Jamie never intended to move in so quickly, but Conrad's deranged behavior changed her mind. It was nearly noon when they finished setting up. After making the bed she collapsed on the soft mattress, having spent a sleepless night in a worn-out motel bed that had seen better days.

  Hours later she awoke suddenly, feeling an eerie quietness in the dim room of her shabby, new home. She sat up in bed, taking a moment to clear her foggy mind. It was too dark and she trembled as she groped for the lamp switch. Fifteen years of living alone, and she was still afraid of the dark.

  A familiar scent floated in the air. Men's cologne. She flicked on the light, her heart rate jumping. As her eyes adjusted, her mouth grew dry and anxiety rushed her veins. Sitting across from the bed with deceptive calm was the figure of a man who was too dangerously real to be a dream.

  "Conrad?" she whispered.

  He stood, his tall lanky figure threatening in the shadows.

  "You look like an angel when you're sleeping," he said.

  Her breaths came closer together and panic built inside of her like a dam about to break.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "You can't escape, my dear. No matter where you go, I will find you." He spoke in a mild, pleasant voice, but she didn't mistake the threat of violence beneath it.

  "Get out," Jamie said, thrusting the sheets aside and moving toward her cell phone next to the bed. "I'm calling the police."

  "The police? Think of the scandal," he said.

  "I don't care about a scandal. I don't want you poisoning my new home with your presence!" She picked up her phone and fumbled, trying to put in her passcode, never letting her eyes leave his face as he crept to stand in front of her.

  "You call this dump home?" He laughed as he took a depreciating look around the room. "Go ahead, I own the police," he said.

  "Not in Seabrook," she countered.

  "Especially in Seabrook." He lifted her chin with thin, cold fingers. " I'm watching you. Better be a good girl."

  He turned, moving through the house with unnatural, quietness. She knew he'd gone when she heard his car start and drive away.

  She struggled to breathe, taking in gulps of the still, warm air that surrounded her. Goosebumps scattered like an army across her skin causing her to shiver. She wrapped her arms across her chest in an effort to still the shaking, and pulled her legs up close to her body to warm the chill assaulting her. Toward the end of the bed she spotted a white lace pillow resting next to her feet with wedding bands sewn into its top.

  She tossed the pillow across the room, resisting the urge to shred it into a thousand pieces. It was evidence, though she doubted there was a law against leaving a pillow on the bed of a woman, especially if there was no proof of breaking and entering. Conrad was as clever as a top-notch cat burglar. And apparently as silent.

  What did Conrad mean he owned the police in Seabrook? She'd never told him about her hometown. Had he probed into her past looking for some way to force her into marrying him? No matter what he threatened to reveal to the close-knit Palm Beach crowd, she'd never change her mind. She saw him for who he truly was now: a narcissistic, self-deluded psychopath.

  She swept her feet over the edge of the bed, her stomach churning. Conrad knew she was in Seabrook. He had been here, watching her as she slept. Her bare feet touched the cold, wood floors. She steadied herself against the bed, waiting for the nausea and the shaking to subside.

  She slipped down the hallway, silently making her way through the empty rooms of her home. No broken windows or door jams were tampered with, as she suspected. She grabbed the phone and began to dial, then stopped. Who would she call? The police that Conrad claimed to own?

  There was no proof of forced entry. Conrad's family was too powerful to cross, and besides no one would believe her when she told them Conrad was stalking her. She didn't believe it herself.

  She picked up the phone book and found the number to a security company. Changing the locks wouldn't help, so she'd have a security system installed, complete with cameras. If he broke in her house again, he would be caught red handed by sirens and film. Then she would have proof that he was stalking her, proof for the police, proof for the media. Proof she wasn't going mad herself.

  He didn't own the Seabrook police. He was bluffing. She doubted he'd ever set foot in such a dull, sleepy town in his life.

  It was still light out as she hung up the phone with the security company. She put on her swimsuit and slipped on a pair of shorts. She stepped outside, savoring the feel of the sunny warmth as it sank into her bones and edged the chill away. Some spoiled lunatic wouldn't control her, or cage her into a life of fear. The more he tried to scare her, the more determined she was to stick to her plan.

  Escape. And a fling with Aidan Brice.

  Chapter Three

  On Saturday afternoon Aidan rolled out of his well-worn hammock hot and hungry. The latter put him in an unmistakably foul mood. Ross was at a sleepover for the night, and although Aidan had the opportunity to go out on the town tonight, he didn't feel much like socializing.

  It was her. That vixen Jamie Connolly was messing with his head with her flowery perfume and her soft, silky voice. Women. They were nothing but trouble, nothing but unpredictable conniving little foxes. He should know. They'd reduce a man to rubble with one well practiced kiss. Well, this was one man who was not going to fall into the hands of another femme fatale. The last one almost brought him to ruin.

  He thought of the last night he had seen Ross's mother. Lauren had been reckless and impulsive; he had been shattered with disbelief, too shattered to stop her. Now he lived with the regret. He started toward the house and tried to purge the memory. But he couldn't forget, not as long as Villa Milagros still stood. Every inch of that house was a constant reminder of Lauren's scandalous betrayal. A symbol of shame and angst to his son as long as it existed, reminding Seabrook of the single murder in the small town's history. And he was going to tear it down.

  Five years had passed, and he was a changed man. Fatherhood had transformed him into a better person and gave him sustenance when a woman's love had failed him. He had learned from his past mistakes, and he wasn't inclined to repeat them. He would stay far away from Jamie Connolly. Innocent seductress or cunning vixen? He wasn't going to find out.

  It was a clear, sunny day, and he might as well take advantage of his solitude. A swim would be just the thing to ease his mind. It was a quick walk to Sabina beach, and in a matter of seconds he had kicked off his sneakers, feeling the white sand firm and warm beneath his feet.

  Jamie was a few yards away from him when he first noticed her. Memories of the evening they'd shared on this very beach flooded his mind. She was still tall and thin as she had been in high school but had filled out a little more. She was a woman now, not that shy girl he'd once known. Her brown hair was wet, and hung loosely down the middle of her back.

  Aidan felt a tug at his heart and cursed beneath his breath when she turned and walked toward him, oblivious to his scowl.

  "Good afternoon," she called out in a friendly voice. "Going for a swim? The water's warm."

  She walked toward him, coming a little too close for his peace of mind. She had a dazzling smile, affable and friendly. His frown grew deeper.

  Her hair was damp from the swim, and her skin was tan and glowing. She had an appealing natural beauty. Wholesomely attractive is how he would describe her. Not hot, not beautiful. Sweet, maybe even innocent. So why did he feel like he was back in the halls of Seabrook High? His reaction to her unsettled him. She unsettled him. It didn't make any sense, this attraction he felt for her, still felt fo
r her. It was too irrational and far too unsuitable.

  She flung her damp hair across her shoulder and for a moment he wanted to forget his vow to stay away from Jamie Connolly.

  The night he'd felt the softness of her lips and smooth silk of her hair burned in his memory as if it was yesterday. He found himself wondering briefly if she still kissed the same.

  She reached out, surprising him as she caught his chin in her slender fingers. They were damp and cool.

  "Forgot to shave this morning, soldier?" she teased, letting her fingers fall away playfully, one by one.

  He squinted in the sunlight. She was close to him. Too close. "It's the weekend," he said, rubbing his scruffy chin brusquely. "And I assure you Jamie, I am no soldier."

  "No," she mused. "You're more like a warrior, a great Spartan warrior, stoic and one minded in all he does."

  "Is that what you think?" he said with deceptive calm.

  Her response was a sweet smile. "Yes."

  "You big city women, you're so worldly." He grabbed the bottom of his tee shirt and pulled it over his head casually, then let it drop in the sand.

  "You think you know everything about men, when the truth of the matter is you know nothing at all," he said, relishing the pink glow washing over her face.

  He'd shed his shirt for effect, and it worked. She couldn't hide her reaction to him, her blushing cheeks said it all. Her face revealed everything to him. She wasn't so brave after all.

  "Is that how you think of me? A big, bad city woman?" She laughed nervously. "Surely you can be more imaginative."

  He sensed something different about her, tension, which hadn't been there before. "Perhaps," he said, stepping close to her, "I could correct your assumptions about me."

  He bent over her just enough to bring his face tauntingly close to hers. "I can be a quite charming sometimes," he said with a wink. He didn't miss the alarm in her eyes, although it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He allowed a bland smile to spread across his face.

  "I'm not sure you can handle this big, bad city woman," she said, taking a step back from him.

  "Oh, I think you're wrong." He studied her face, those beautiful round eyes that were at once familiar and unfamiliar. "But not today."

  Her expression went blank a moment.

  Let her think of him as a mountain of solemn duty. Better than her knowing what dark secrets were buried in his past and much better than her understanding what feelings she was stirring in his stone heart. He looked at the surf, away from temptation. He'd definitely been single for far too long.

  He turned abruptly toward the beach, controlling his urge to blurt out something he might regret. "I think I'll take a swim now," he said.

  "Enjoy yourself," Jamie said.

  Her words stung his ears until he dove into the warm surf, drowning out her soft, sweet voice. But the warm waters did nothing to cool the fire of feelings she had started.

  "Like heck," he muttered under his breath. And Aidan began to wonder if he would be able to resist Jamie over the three months it was going to take to remodel her house.

  ~

  Jamie was humming to herself in the kitchen, a catchy, happy tune. Aidan was attracted to her. Oh, she'd panicked at the beach last night, no doubt. She'd been planning on just getting him to warm up to her and hadn't prepared herself to be drawn in so quickly. He'd been teasing her, and she was acutely aware of his resistance, even as he tried to goad her. But why?

  She poured the thick purple smoothie from the blender into a frosty glass. She opened her kitchen window letting the fresh breeze flow through her house. A crunch of leaves, a thrashing sound, and then a long, deep howl pierced the silent air. Jamie set down her glass.

  She stepped toward the door and out into the back yard. A rustle of leaves scattered violently from the corner of the yard where a thorny, overgrown bougainvillea stood spilling over the fence. A blur of brown fur moved amidst the vibrant fuscia blooms. A tiny mutt was caught up in the bush.

  "You poor creature!" she exclaimed as she untangled the pup from the prickly branches.

  She brought the dog into the house and bathed him, doctored his wounds while he whined, and gave him a bowl of water, which he lapped up with gusto.

  "We are going to have to find you a home," she told him. She didn't have any food in the house save some left-over hamburger, and so she crumbled it and set it down for him. The pup ate like it was his last meal, and then sat staring at her, waiting for more.

  "I guess it's about time I went to the market anyway," she told him.

  He wagged his tail in reply.

  She had never had any pets as a child and traveled too much as an adult to keep a pet. Her Palm Beach condo was designed for sophisticated adult living, not furry animals. She didn't like the idea of growing too attached to any living creatures. As an adult she had forgone any emotional comforts she might have become depended upon.

  Her mother had died when she was fifteen years old, leaving her alone and penniless. She'd worked hard to become successful and independent. Her comforts were material, ones she could see, touch and feel. Ones she could change or replace without a second thought. Not people who could perish and leave you broken hearted.

  The puppy nudged at her heels, and she knelt down to scratch his head. "We are going to have to give you a name while you're visiting," she said. He nipped playfully at her hands as she petted him, until she found a thorn still clinging to his fur. He whimpered as she pulled it out.

  "I guess I'll have to call you Thorn," she said. For one eerie moment the notion of a family slipped through her mind, and Jamie had the strangest feeling of contentment.

  "No, you're not staying" she said firmly.

  And Thorn, understanding none of it, licked her face in warm appreciation.

  ~

  The week came and went, and Thorn was still here. Every time Jamie had resigned herself to take him to the pound, the phone or doorbell rang, or he was so peacefully asleep she couldn't bear to wake him up. It wasn't because he sat at her feet while she had coffee every morning, or yapped with pleasure when she returned home, or cuddled up next to her at the end of the day. Thorn was visiting. She just hadn't had the time to drive him down to the animal shelter. She wasn't getting attached to him.

  She had no more contact from Conrad for which she was immensely grateful. She'd never foreseen the events of the last few weeks. She knew people of Conrad's standing were accustomed to a certain level of indulgence from society, but she was completely unprepared for the aggression of his actions. Still, Conrad was nothing if not arrogant, and by now he certainly realized the futility of pursuing her. A top-notch security system would put an end to any more of his antics. And give her peace of mind.

  Jamie took a sip of iced tea and glanced contentedly at Thorn who was resting at her feet, shoving the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She was enjoying her time away from the stifling Palm Beach crowd. She felt alive for the first time in a long while.

  Aidan Brice had certainly done something to her, bringing out a familiar yearning in her she hadn't known existed in her solitary, controlled self. But she didn't have the leisure time right now to dream about Aidan, who was on his way over with the contract. She still had a few finishing touches to make.

  As an interior designer, staying even temporarily in this run-down cottage was like a pastry chef going on a diet. She had been living with barebones furniture, and the house had seemed depressingly empty. Then she'd gone shopping. She bought a wicker basket with a big fluffy pillow for Thorn, even though he wasn't staying and all the other necessary paraphernalia for a dog. She'd give it to his new owners when the time came.

  An indigo tablecloth now covered a kitchen table, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers. A Key Lime pie from Maggie's Sweet Tooth, the best bakery in town, was in the oven. Its meringue toasted slowly and filled the house with a decadent scent. She set a bottle of fine chardonnay in a bucket of ice next to two crystal wine glasses. She
smiled, pleased at the improvements. Even Thorn looked cute as a button in his red bandana, nothing like the ragamuffin mutt she'd found days ago.

  She wore a navy blue knit dress and just a hint of flowery perfume. She would break through Aidan's rough veneer. When she heard Thorn yapping from the back yard, she knew a moment's panic as her stomach dropped. The time had finally arrived. Her hands were inexplicably shaking as she opened the front door, but her voice was steady and sweet. She had learned to master her emotions long ago. Emotions weren't of much use in the business world.

  She opened the door.

  Aidan looked devastatingly handsome in jeans and work boots. His hair was ruffled as if he'd taken off a cap and ran his hands through the strands. He was wearing dark sunglasses, which hid his expression, and he gripped a manila folder in one capable hand. It made her breathless to look at him.

  "Please come in," she said.

  ~

  Aidan stepped carefully into the house as if entering the realm of the devil. There had been a subtle change since the last time he had been there. A wonderful scent came from the kitchen, causing his empty stomach to growl. The afternoon light shone through the bare windows, creating a dappled effect on the worn walls. Despite its near emptiness, the house had a very strong sense of Jamie's presence.

  "Let's sit in the kitchen," she said and led the way, her hips swaying slightly as she moved in front of him.

  He took his sunglasses off.

  The kitchen looked warm and inviting with a set table, colorful dishrags hung at the stove and even a pet bowl, presumably for the dog of the house, was artistically set askew on the floor. Nice designer's touch.

  He couldn't imagine Jamie owning a dog, unless it was one of those ridiculously small lap dogs, and he'd seen no sign of one of those yappers. Decorators were masters of illusion, and Jamie was nothing more than an illusionist. He eyed a wine bottle chilling in a bucket and immediately felt uneasy. He was being ambushed.

  "Please sit down," she said graciously.