Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  Brooke’s thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of activity at the door. More cameras had arrived. Producers had started to make their way through the door and Brooke held her breath, waiting for her first glimpse of the man she’d decided she’d never wanted to see ever, ever again.

  * * *

  Jack’s eyes scanned the room from outside the door. He looked at each of the faces of the twelve women assembled but saw none of them except the one face he couldn’t get out of his mind. Brooke—like the rest of the women—looked angry and shocked.

  Something about her look made his stomach drop. What had happened now? He wanted to go to her. He wanted to put his arms around her, make her laugh—take her anger away. But he couldn’t Not here.

  ‘Jack, we’ve got problems.’

  Mick was at his side and his quiet voice sounded anxious. Mick was never anxious—which put Jack immediately on alert.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Jack looked around. Some of the women looked noticeably shaken. A couple were on the couch, comforting each other.

  ‘Rob Gunn was here before you.’

  ‘What?’ Rob Gunn? His father’s hotshot producer? What the hell had he been here for?

  ‘The format is staying as it is, Jack. The men are determining the challenges. Rob announced it all to the girls—said they had to fight for their places. Told them to consider their friends their enemies and reminded them this is a competition. It wasn’t good, Jack.’

  Jack’s blood burned red. His father had done this. His father had sent Rob here. He’d known it was a mistake to have told him about the revised format. He’d known he should have done this on his own.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Gone. But he showed me his contract, Jack. Signed by your father. It’s legit. He’s in charge now.’

  Anger burned white-hot in Jack’s ears. Not this time. Jack was in charge and his father wasn’t calling the shots here. He was. He’d had enough—enough of playing his father’s game, enough of putting up with his father’s demands and enough of not getting angry. Tonight he was taking control of his life.

  ‘Get him on the phone, Mick. This ends now.’

  * * *

  ‘This is ridiculous.’

  When the door had opened and the stranger had appeared Brooke had known immediately that something was up. Where was Jack? Who was this new man? And when the perpetually happy man who’d said his name was Rob Gunn had announced that the men would be setting the challenges, and that there would only be four men, Brooke’s anger had fired up again. It was bad enough she had to compete in challenges, but challenges chosen by four men who all seemed as if they shared half a brain between them was quite another thing.

  ‘Since when do the men get to choose the challenges? The original format said we’d complete challenges set by the producers and we’d get to choose the men. What’s going on?’

  Rob Gunn had left now, but Mick had just come back into the room. He didn’t appear to have much to say.

  ‘Where’s Jack? Does he know about this?’

  ‘Look, ladies, I don’t know what’s going on right now. This was Jack’s original idea but...’

  This was Jack’s idea? Of course it was. He was a sexist pig, she reminded herself. No matter how good he was at convincing her that he wasn’t. No matter how talented he was with his tongue.

  ‘This is embarrassing and demeaning. You can’t make a major change like that without telling us.’

  Mick stood. He rushed over to her and the cameras fell back.

  ‘No, Mick!’ Brooke’s voice was getting louder. ‘It’s not right. Do you mean to tell me that now only four women will have the chance to meet their perfect match? That now we’ll have to fight each other for the chance? This is silly.’

  Mick was trying to calm her down, but she didn’t want to be calmed down. This was outrageous.

  ‘Calm down, there, love. All you girls have an equal chance of getting to meet us. There’s no need to get your knickers in a knot—you might be one of the lucky ones.’

  One of the four men Rob Gunn had introduced earlier spoke up.

  Brooke turned slowly. She stared at him. ‘My knickers are none of your business—love. And I can tell you right now I would be anything but lucky if I ended up with you.’

  ‘Brooke, calm down. Jack will be here soon. I’ll talk to him. We’ll get this sorted. Just wait. Sit. Wait. I’ll talk to Jack.’

  ‘You’d better.’

  She knew this wasn’t Mick’s fault, but her blood was boiling and her bones were shaking. She wouldn’t fight the other women for these men. She wouldn’t pit herself against women she’d become friends with. And if Jack thought he was going to make her he clearly didn’t realise how angry she could get.

  ELEVEN

  Jack’s anger had subsided. A little. He’d managed to gain back a little control. He’d finally tracked down Rob Gunn, who was hiding in a luxury apartment owned by Jack’s father. Jack had laid down the law. Told him to stay the hell away from the set and the girls.

  Rob Gunn had reached for his phone, but Jack had reached for his as well. He’d done his research. He knew about the formal complaints of sexual harassment brought against Gunn in his last job. He knew Gunn wouldn’t want that made public.

  It had been enough to get rid of Gunn, but not his father. His father was adamant the format stayed the same, determined that the men would be calling the shots. Jack knew that was suicide. Women would hate it and they were the ones watching. It would turn them off. There’d be no chance of a spin-off. And, more important than that, it wasn’t the right thing to do. Brooke had made him realise that.

  The next person he wanted to see was his mother. He wanted to make sure his father didn’t get to her first.

  But he was too late. When he got to his mother’s house her eyes were bloodshot and her normally perfect hair was in a mess.

  ‘I yelled at him, Jacky...’

  Jack remembered the way his mother’s eyes had used to look. Soft and blue and wrinkled at the sides. Now she used Botox. It kept the wrinkles at bay. She didn’t need it. He preferred the way she looked without it.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum, you don’t have to worry about it. I have it under control.’

  His mother had been pouring herself a drink and Jack jumped as he heard the glass smash against the wall. Quickly he went to his mother. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper. His father must have really rattled her, Jack fumed. Right then he made his mind up to get on a plane to Italy and sort that man out once and for all.

  ‘No, Jack, I do have to worry. I don’t want you to fight for me. You’re my son—not my protector. It’s time I fought for myself.’

  Jack stilled. His mother’s voice was raised. She never raised her voice. She was always cool. Always calm.

  ‘Mum, what’s wrong? What did he say to you?’

  ‘Nothing! Nothing more than what he usually says. It’s not him that’s making me angry now, Jack, it’s you.’

  ‘Me?’ He’d done everything to try and fix this.

  ‘Yes—you. When are you going to learn? When are you going to grow up? When are you going to realise that you can’t control your father? He’s the type of man who does whatever he wants.’

  ‘I know who he is, Mum, but that doesn’t mean he can treat you like he does.’

  ‘Oh, Jack...’ His mother poured the drink and fell into a nearby armchair. She lifted her arms, took her earrings out and placed them on the table next to her. ‘Honey, sit down. It’s time we talked.’

  So Jack sat. And he listened.

  ‘Your father is a passionate man. He throws himself headfirst into things. That’s his charm. That’s what I fell for. When we met he chased me. He pursued me and made me feel I was the only girl in the world. I felt
like the most important person in the world. I thought that meant he loved me. But I was just something he wanted. After he had me the novelty wore off. He moved on. I could have left. I considered it. But you were so young and you loved him—he was so good to you then. He’d take you everywhere with him and lavish you with presents and attention.’

  ‘And then he’d leave.’

  ‘Yes, then he’d leave. But you have to realise that people don’t always stay. People like your father have a full tank of love but they use it up quickly and madly. Then they need to leave and go and fill that tank again.’

  ‘That just sounds like an excuse for him to do whatever the hell he wants.’

  ‘I could have left, Jack, but what would have been the point? I loved your father. I wanted him so badly I was willing to put up with him going elsewhere because I knew he’d come back. He always came back.’

  ‘You knew?’ Jack felt the blood drain from his face.

  He reached for his mother’s hand but she pulled it away. His mother didn’t like touching either.

  ‘Of course I knew, Jacky.’

  She knew. He’d been trying to protect her, but she knew. And she didn’t look sad—just exhausted.

  ‘I should have ended it years ago. I should have been more angry. I should have yelled and screamed and demanded he stay with me. But I didn’t. I shut up and I put up.’

  Jack finally really saw his mother. For the first time. Not as someone who needed his protection, but someone who needed his love. His mother had lived for thirty years with little affection. Always feeling second-best. He saw how lonely she was. She was right: she should have got angry years ago. Just as he was angry now.

  ‘Never again.’ When she looked at him determination lit his mother’s eyes. ‘Your father will be back—when this affair is over—but this time I won’t be there. I’m tired, Jack, and I’m lonely. I need to find someone who cares about me. I need to be happy and it’s taken getting angry for me to be able to do that.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Do I love him? I have no idea—I’m not sure I even know what love is any more. Or if I’ll ever meet anyone I love as much as your father. But the truth is all you can really hope is that you’ll meet people to spend a few moments of your life with. Share some good times. Make some wonderful memories. I don’t know if I’ll love again, Jack, but it doesn’t matter because I have you. I love you, and you love me, and our love is stronger and more real than any love I’ll ever have with a lover.’

  * * *

  Jack stared out of the window as he approached the bridge. He’d spent so many years worrying about his mother, thinking she needed his protection. But that wasn’t what she needed. She just needed him. Being there and making her laugh when she needed it. Letting her know that she was loved when she’d spent so much time feeling unloved.

  He wished his mother had got angry years ago. He wished she’d realised years ago that his father was never coming back. But she was angry now and Jack was pleased for it.

  * * *

  The girls looked nervous when he arrived for the challenge. They were being kitted out in climbing suits and ropes. He wasn’t sure if Brooke looked nervous or not because he didn’t want to look at her. He remembered the sadness in his mother’s eyes. Loving someone who didn’t love you back was pointless. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake his mother had made.

  ‘OK, ladies. You’re all ready—it’s time to climb the magnificent Harbour Bridge!’

  The girls tittered and giggled and they set off, led up the stairs by the climb leader. Only one woman remained behind.

  ‘Come on, Brooke, we have to stick together—we’re all joined.’

  Finally Jack looked at Brooke’s face. This wasn’t just nerves. Real fear spread across her features. Brooke was scared and he couldn’t just stand back and watch. Not when he knew how brave and strong she normally was.

  ‘Brooke, what’s wrong?’

  Brooke didn’t look at him. Her face had gone white and she was gripping the rails on either side of her.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Brooke, it’s OK. It’s safe. You’re connected by ropes. You can’t fall.’

  Brooke finally met his eyes. ‘Yes, I can fall. It’s too high. I can’t do this,’ she whispered.

  Jack had never seen Brooke like this. She was genuinely frightened. He wanted to tell her not to do the challenge. He wanted to take her away and make her feel better, But he couldn’t. The cameras were rolling. He shouldn’t even be talking to her. But he couldn’t leave her. He knew no one else would be able to help.

  ‘You won’t fall. I’ll come with you. I’ll stand right behind you.’

  He could see in her eyes that she wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him she could do this on her own but the fear was clearly too much. She took one hand off the rail and grabbed his forearm, holding him tight. He reached out and held her arm, not once wanting to throw her hand off.

  It had been over a week since he’d touched her. Over a week since he’d felt her skin. He missed it. He missed her. But he had to push all that away.

  ‘Don’t let me fall.’

  Jack held on tight and let his gaze fix hard on hers.

  ‘I won’t.’

  * * *

  The view from the top was not what Brooke was expecting. She’d expected to open her eyes, look down and see death swirling beneath her. But when she opened her eyes she didn’t see death—or near-death. She saw sky. Wide, blue sky. She felt the wind as it picked up her hair and the breeze as it tickled behind her ears, cooling her body.

  ‘Just breathe it in.’

  Jack’s voice was calming her. Like it always did. But it shouldn’t. His voice should mean danger and warnings and everything that was bad. But it didn’t.

  ‘Don’t look down. There’s nothing interesting there. Look up. Out there—past the city.’

  Brooke looked up and saw the clouds as they moved slowly. She couldn’t hear anything but Jack’s voice, and the hum of the traffic below muffled the squeals and giggles and conversations around her. Jack moved a little closer. Not close enough to touch—he’d never do that. But close enough that she could feel him. Big and strong and solid. If she fell he’d reach out and stop her.

  Brooke breathed in deeply. The air was different up here. Cleaner, crisper—but thinner. She needed to breathe again and again just to stop her heart beating so fast. She was angry with him for not calling. For forgetting about her. But the emotion running through her right now wasn’t anger—it was fear.

  ‘It’s different to what I thought it would be.’

  The city didn’t look real from up here. It looked like an animation. A pretend city you’d see in a boy’s train set.

  ‘Everything looks different when you conquer something you thought you couldn’t.’

  ‘Wow.’ Brooke whipped her head round to face Jack. ‘Those are wise words from a self-confessed emotionless, indifferent, unfeeling, apathetic bastard.’

  Jack blinked at her and twisted his mouth into a half-smile before looking out to sea, then back at her. ‘Is that what I said?’

  ‘Word for word.’

  ‘You have a good memory.’

  ‘Sometimes. When I know someone is saying something untrue and I want to use it against them later.’

  ‘I should have known you had an ulterior motive.’

  ‘Well, at least I put my motives on the table.’

  ‘I think I’ve made my motives pretty clear.’

  ‘You’re right—your motives are clear.’

  Jack blinked in the wind, his hair blowing across his forehead. His eyes were dark and set on her, making her feel unable to move. She wanted to reach for him, wanted to feel him hold her, but he just wanted to be friends. She didn’t need a fr
iend.

  ‘I don’t have motives, Brooke. I just want to get through the next few weeks of taping. That’s all.’

  That’s all. That was all this had ever been about. The show. Ratings.

  ‘That’s right—you don’t think, do you? It’s all about you and what you want.’

  His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  She was angry. She could feel it burning at her. But this time she wasn’t going to let it out. She wasn’t going to show it. She would find her Zen if it killed her.

  Brooke gripped the rails and looked up. ‘I don’t think about you, Jack.’

  It was a lie. A terrible, awful lie. But she had to lie because if she let the words she wanted to say out of her mouth she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.

  ‘Yes, you do. I know you do.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  She looked at him then, straight into his eyes, refusing to believe that when her stomach flipped it was from anything but hunger. Refusing to believe that she could possibly smell him as she thought she could. They were hundreds of feet up and the wind was blowing. She couldn’t smell anything. It must just be the memory of his scent. Because his scent had been all around her the other night and hadn’t left her mind for the past three days.

  Brooke thought of the other night. Again. She was hot now, and heavy, and she knew what she wanted. But she didn’t want to remember his scent.

  ‘You’re nothing to me.’

  Good. Cool. Nice response. He would have no idea what she was thinking. And that was a relief, because right now she was realising what it was about bad boys that women found so attractive.

  It wasn’t just their muscles and their tattoos and the dirty way they spoke, or the passionate, almost disrespectful way they pushed you down to kiss you. It was a pathetic female need to believe that inside every bad man was a good little boy, waiting for the right girl to find him. Which was complete rubbish. Jack wasn’t good. He was bad. Very bad. She just needed to remember that—not his incredible sexy smell.

  He didn’t answer her and he didn’t move.