Falling for the Guy Next Door

by Claire Robyns

  “He can still see you, you know.” And just in case he couldn’t, she raised a hand to wave him over.

  Megan lifted her head on a sigh. The place would fill up later, but right now the handful of regular patrons provided no buffer for her to slink away on. She notched her chin high, slapped a smile on her face and didn’t flinch when Jack’s gaze met hers and held as he crossed the room toward them.

  “Hey there,” he said, his eyes creasing into his grin. “I was hoping you’d be here.” He slid into the circular booth beside her and turned that grin on Kate. “The last set of head shots is done. I’ll bring them around tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you.” Kate beamed at him. “I usually just take the entry photos myself and everyone’s really excited about having the ‘Jack Marlin’ sparkle this year.”

  “Not so sure about the sparkle,” he murmured, “but my pleasure.”

  Kate shuffled out the other side of the booth. “I definitely owe you a drink. Whiskey? Pear cider? Or have you broadened your alcohol horizons since we last saw you?”

  “Cider’s fine, thanks,” he called after as she sauntered off.

  “About earlier…” Megan cleared her throat. “I might have overreacted.”

  His brow went up, but then his amusement faded and his mouth pulled flat. “Did you really think I was trooping those girls through my bedroom?”

  “You were kind of,” she reminded him.

  “The spare bedroom.”

  Megan sighed. “No, I didn’t really think you were.”

  The truth was, Jack could have been slouched in front of the telly and she’d have found a reason to lash out. She was still so mad at him, at herself, and he hadn’t stayed around long enough for her to fight all that anger out of her system. She wanted to scream and shout at him, hurl accusations and watch him at least attempt some sort of defence.

  She certainly didn’t want to watch the shadows darken his eyes now and wonder if, just maybe, he had one or two regrets after all.

  His hand came out to her, to her cheek, brushing warmth as he tucked a curl of her long fringe behind her ear. “Megan, I’m sorry.”

  He dropped his hand, but his gaze was still heating through her, and his touch still lingered in her blood, and her heart spluttered in the confusion. “You are?”

  She’d never really expected an apology. Her body swayed closer to him, a natural tug she’d always had trouble resisting. Her gaze drifted over the hollows carved into his bristled jaw. She bit down on her lip as a wave of desire swept over her and pooled low in her abdomen.

  Could she forgive?

  Could they rewind time and start again?

  Jack nodded. “I need to remember how close my neighbours are. I shouldn’t have turned our house into a temporary studio without checking with you first.” He leaned in as well, another inch and his lips would be grazing her forehead. “I’m sorry for the disruption, especially when you’d just gotten home after a trip. It won’t happen again.”

  Her spine snapped straight and she jerked out of his grazing perimeter. Trust Jack to apologise for all the wrong things. She should have known better. She did! She already knew his sense of honour was all kinds of screwed up.

  “It’s not our house,” she muttered. “What happens in 21a is entirely your affair.”

  “So long as it’s not a brothel,” he said, followed by a rumbling laugh.

  “So long as it’s legal,” she corrected with a huff, her fingers twining tightly around her wineglass. “I certainly don’t intend to check with you before I do exactly as I please.”

  Kate returned with his cider and Megan made a pretence of moving closer to the plate of fries to widen the gap between them. But her eyes sought him out and he still had that intense gaze on her and a contemplative expression that warned he saw straight through her. Good luck with that. Maybe she could ask him later to enlighten her, because she had no idea what was going on inside her. She dropped her gaze and nibbled on a French fry until Jack fell into his old routine of riling Kate.

  “What’s the latest on the Castle Darrock hoodlums? A real journalist would have hacked the national property register years ago to get a name, at the very least.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a name.”

  Megan’s eyes shot to her. “Did you finally enlist Harry to your cause?”

  “Harry’s stuffier than last year’s Christmas stockings,” Kate snorted. “Crimes are being committed under his nose and he’s too worried about protocol to take a deeper look.”

  “Now that you’ve convicted and judged the poor bastards,” Jack enquired, “do you have any evidence?”

  Kate wrinkled her nose at him.

  “What’s the name?” Megan wanted to know. She’d never be as passionate as Kate about Darrock, but living with her friend’s suspicions for two years had rubbed off on her own curiosity. “How did you find out who lives there?”

  Kate sipped deeply on her wine before smirking at Jack. “Real journalists put in the hard time to get what they want, they don’t cut corners that could land them in prison.” She turned to Megan. “His name is Alexander. He lives alone and he’s just employed a new housekeeper. I bumped into her at the Post Office this morning.”

  “Alexander who?”

  “She was very close-lipped.” Kate slid another smirk Jack’s way. “It a testament to my journalistic skills that she slipped up and gave me his first name. I swear she was made to sign a non-disclosure agreement and if that doesn’t stink...” She threw her hands up and shook her head, as if the notoriety of Castle Darrock’s inhabitants was as clear as day to any old fool.

  Megan glanced at Jack. Their eyes met and laughter erupted. She was the first one to sober up and remember they didn’t do the shared-humour thing anymore.

  For the next hour or so, Kate kept the conversation going by catching Jack up with the last four months of Corkscrew Bay gossip. Jack kept their glasses filled and Megan drank and listened, occasionally waving over a friend as more and more people packed into the Three Jugs.

  The music was turned up to drown out the chatter and everyone chatted louder. And Megan ended up with her thigh squashed against Jack’s as their booth filled up with those who’d stopped to say hello and stayed. Lean muscle flush along the length of her thigh. She sensed rather than saw his arm stretch around behind her and her entire body tensed.

  Jack was engaged in a volley of remarks shouted across the table with the two other guys, both of who’d been in her year at school. His arm came down on the back of the banquet seat, but his fingers didn’t close over the curve of her shoulder and he seemed unaware of how he’d cushioned her into the crook of his arm. His scent was all pinewood with a whiff of spice and far too male.

  A spark of longing ignited and made ashes of her tension. Melted her bones, her pride, and any shred of self-preservation. She should have leant forward with her elbows on the table. That would have been far more sensible than drifting in the bunk until the back of her head rested on his arm. She smiled, laughed, engaged in bits and pieces of the conversation that came her way, and all the while her skin prickled for his touch and her blood thickened for far, far more.

  How much had she had to drink? Two? No, three glasses. Not enough to blame the wine. Enough to forget, just a little. To forgive, just a little. Just for one night.

  She rolled her head to look up at the underside of his jaw. If he noticed, if he felt her warm cheek on the bare skin of his arm, he gave no indication. He took a sip of the whiskey he’d moved onto, grinned at something Pete was saying, and added to it.

  Her hand slid from view and dropped to rest lightly on his knee beneath the table. He cut off in the middle of what he was saying, but only for a second, and then he continued speaking without sparing her a single glance. Her fingers itched to trail higher.

  Haven’t you ever got itchy feet to get out of here? He’d asked her that a long time ago and no, she’d never had itchy feet.

  She rolled her head agai
n to look forward, scanning the familiar faces seated at the booth. Three quarters of the kids she’d grown up with had left Corkscrew Bay as soon as they could, including Lucy, and she knew Jack fell into that category of restless souls. He’d become a household name after doing that book with Jeremy Grainger, and then there was that trust fund, so he could certainly afford to buy a dozen or so houses.

  And perhaps he did own a house somewhere, just as he’d inherited 21a when Frank passed away, but he’d never had a home.

  She understood that about Jack. Had from the beginning. She’d known he’d always leave. And maybe she should have guarded her heart better, but the way he’d left so abruptly and on such a low note? She’d never expected that.

  Megan pushed those gloomy thoughts from her head. Tonight, she didn’t want to be mad at him and she didn’t want to nurse the fledgling ache in her heart.

  There was another ache, a burning need pulsing through her, begging to be fed. Because Jack hadn’t only taken from her. He’d strummed her body to a passionate symphony, stamped that memory on erogenous spots she’d never known existed, and that was another thing she hadn’t been able to forget. Her toes curled and heat coiled low in her belly at the mere prospect of one more night in his bed.

  The buzz of alcohol dulled her safety triggers. She wasn’t too drunk to acknowledge that, but she welcomed the wanton descent into danger. She wanted to be reckless and foolish, she wanted to have regrets come morning.

  Okay, this is the alcohol talking. But damn it all, she wanted to feel alive again, if only for one night. No over-thinking. No messy emotions. This time they’d do it Jack’s way.

  Beneath the cover of the table, no one could see what she was doing and the only person who’d notice where her attention had strayed to anyway was Kate, and she’d cornered Harry by the bar counter a while back. The painful expression on his face suggested Kate had launched a new campaign to open an investigation into Castle Darrock.

  Her pulse fluttered with anticipation as she slid her hand up Jack’s leg.

  Thigh muscle bunched beneath her touch and his hand landed on her shoulder in a firm grip. His breath tickled her ear. “Don’t start anything you don’t intend to finish.”

  His head was still tipped toward her; she felt his warm breaths on her cheek. His arm around her shoulder had pulled her closer into his side. The lights were dim, the music loud, and it was just the two of them in a crowd. The illicit thrill spiralled inside her veins, scorching her desire with hot cravings.

  “Maybe I’m finishing what you started,” she murmured, loud enough only for him to hear. She kept her eyes straight ahead, applied the slightest pressure and dragged that delicious tension further along, stopping inches from his groin.

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” There was no humour in his tone. One hand closed over hers, limiting the journey up his leg. Skin on skin contact tingled up her arm.

  His head tipped even lower, his jaw bristling against her temple. “Payback’s a bitch and her name is Megan. I get it.”

  She liked that word. Payback. There were so many ways to put that to work. Most of them moves she’d learnt in his bed. He’d clamped her hand in place, but she could still wrap her fingers over his thigh and squeeze. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

  “What I meant…” His hand lifted from hers as he shifted in the bunk and tugged at his jeans, presumably trying to make more space in there. “I deserve you messing with me after that inappropriate invitation to a private tour, but hell, Megan, you’ve had your laugh—”

  There was a hiss and the distinct sound of liquid spluttering as she smoothed her palm over the base of his erection. Her blood turned molten at the effect she had on him and set a slow burning fire to her core.

  The grip on her shoulder tightened to bruising. He slammed his glass on the table and reached beneath to grab her hand in his. “I’m taking you home,” he growled in a husky whisper.

  His hands were large, slightly rough from the places his photography took him, and she already knew all the wonders those long fingers were capable of. “Oh, yes, please,” she murmured just as huskily, then ruined it with a giggle.

  Amusement flickered in his eyes before he turned from her to announce their departure. “Megan needs a lift home and it seems I’m the designated driver.”

  After a quick round of goodbyes and signalling Kate that she was tired and going home, Megan was being guided through the back exit with a propriety hand on the small of her back. A warm shiver rolled down her spine. The door swung closed, cutting off the noises from the pub. The parking area behind Jugs was an open field and as soon as they stepped further from the pub’s outside lights, they were at the mercy of the sliver of a new moon and the heavenly cast of distant stars.

  “Watch your footing.” Jack’s arm looped around her waist, loosely, ready to catch her if she fell.

  She was acutely aware of his body brushing against her side again and again as they picked their way across the uneven ground. Neither of them said another word, but the silence was filled with a sense of anticipation rather than awkward. Her heart hammered ten-to-one at what she was about to do, and not all those extra beats were unadulterated lust.

  Could she really walk away in the morning without a scratch?

  She glanced up at his profile, a shadowland of ridges and deep hollows. He was a feast of rugged beauty for her eyes but it was the grin she couldn’t see now that undid her every time. The very thought of that lopsided grin scrambling those perfect angles and creasing softly into his jaw was enough to make her sigh with pure longing.

  Yes, she decided, yes she could. He’d stripped her pride and left her wanting, desperately wanting, and that’s what tonight was about. To prove that he’d got it wrong and sate her body in the process. She’d never wanted forever, she’d just wanted a little more. She hadn’t intended to cage him, she’d only wondered when or if she’d see him again. Apparently that was the death knell to a passionate sex-affair. He hadn’t actually accused her of being pathetically clingy, but his actions had left her feeling that and worse.

  Well, she could do the not-a-single-string-attached night of passion without a pang of emotion other than red-hot ecstasy.

  Jack’s Land Rover was parked near the edge of the field, the last car before the wooden fence. He’d beeped the remote to unlock it as they approached, but still guided her around to the passenger side. When his arm fell from her waist, Megan slid between him and his intentions to open the door. She was done with waiting. She put her back against the cool metal and fit her hands on his hips.

  He went still beneath her touch.

  “Megan?” His voice was raw and seemed to be both a question and a rebuke. “What are you doing?”

  She tilted her face up to him. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the starlight yet, but she felt the intensity of his gaze.

  “Absolutely anything you want.” She gave a playful tug that caught him unawares and brought him one step closer. “Your game. Your rules.”

  “This is a mistake,” he growled. Hands pressed to her shoulders, he pushed her firmly back against the car door. “We are not going to do this.”

  The problem was, he’d come with, his body slanting over her and his breathing ragged against her cheek. The muggy August evening air folded around them, but it was the electrical charge humming between them that heated her from the inside out. She hadn’t misread the signals. He wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. Fire raced through her veins, melting her in all the right places.

  Oh, we are so going to do this and more. She dipped beneath the front of his T-Shirt, her nails scraping lightly over bare skin and a dusting of chest hair.

  “Aw, hell.” The curse was a guttural groan of aching need. His hands came up, his fingers threading through her hair, guiding her head back as his mouth covered hers in a demanding kiss, parting her lips and thrusting his tongue deep inside.

  He tasted of pear and malt whiskey, a blend of pure erotica. She met
his plunging kiss, stroke for stroke, slipping her arms around him, palms splayed over the rock-hard definition of his back as she pushed onto her toes and slid up against his body. Her nipples brushed the cool cotton of his T-Shirt and peaked with tingling heat.

  He broke the kiss to taste a line along her jaw. “You drive me crazy.” His tongue flickered over a sensitive spot behind her earlobe that evoked a moan from deep within her throat. “I can’t think straight when you’re around.”

  I can’t think straight when you’re not around. All those months, seven to be exact, she’d thought she’d die happy if she never set eyes on Jack Marlin ever again and that was clearly a load of crap. She arched her neck to give him access as his lips trailed down her throat and along the groove of her collarbone. “I want you…all of you,” she whimpered, clawing at his back as the pressure of desire swarmed in her veins. I never stopped wanting you. She knew better than to let that nugget slip out. “Jack, please…”

  He didn’t leave her begging. In one movement, he had her propped against the car door with her legs wrapped around his waist and his erection grinding heat straight through the layers of her cotton trousers and his thick denim.

  His mouth crashed down on hers once more and her hands pushed through his hair, grabbing for purchase against the wave of lust swelling from her core. He worked the top buttons of her shirt loose and slid the lacy edge of her bra beneath her breast, his thumb thrumming whorls of agonising pleasure over her exposed nipple. His tongue plunged hard and deep in possessive strokes that mimicked the slow rocking motion of his hips that dragged friction between her thighs. A hot ache spread wild and fast. Too much. Not enough. The same fever pulsed in his veins. It was in the urgency of his deep exploration and his ragged breaths when he pulled out to alternate with slanting kisses that caught and tugged at her lower lip.

  This was what she’d wanted. What she’d needed for so, so long. To tingle, crash and burn…burn for him.

  Suddenly a wall of laughter, music and chattering slammed into the piece of night they’d stolen for themselves. Jack’s next slanted kiss slid all the way off her lips as he pulled away.