In his defence, they’d been trapped in a cosy room for the night, a winter storm battening down the hatches outside and heat crackling off a log fire inside.
Her mouth opened in protest, then closed without a word. Some of the fire left her eyes. Her lips softened a fraction. She was thinking about relenting, but not without an inner struggle.
“It’s only dinner,” he said, recalling all the unresolved shit between them. He could at least attempt to go after her with more finesse than a hormonal teenager. He didn’t want another one-night-stand that ended in disaster. For what he had in mind, he’d need a couple of weeks of long summer afternoons and even longer summer nights. “You need to eat.”
“Only dinner?” A frown pulled her brows and tugged at the edges of her mouth. “It smells like a truce to me.”
Amusement quirked his mood. “Would that be a rosy scent or skunk?”
“Things have been a bit crazy between us lately.” Laughter fed into the creases of her frown. “Okay, dinner, but not tonight. I’ve already got plans.”
Any plans that involved Kate, Finn or Isobel was always an open invitation along the sentiment of, ‘the more, the merrier.’ He waited another heartbeat, but there was no offer forthcoming. His amusement dried up. “Intimate plans?”
She rolled her eyes. “None-of-your-business plans.”
He took a deep breath to push down the wave of anger he had no claim to. “I disagree. After the way you came on to me last night—”
“After the way you turned me down flat last night,” she cut in, her voice cool and even, “why don’t we just agree to disagree?”
“A lot went on before I turned you down and none of it was flat.”
“You know what I mean.”
His jaw clenched. They’d gone from lazy summer nights of endless pleasure to Megan dating another man in zero seconds. How the blazes had that happened? He rubbed his jaw. Pushed a hand through his hair. “Do I look like a man who knows what you mean?”
Green flashed in her eyes as she wrenched her body away from the car. She threw her hands up, then shook her head on a long-suffering sigh.
“You know what? You—me—” She brought her hands down to her side and stalked off in a huff. Halfway to the kitchen door, she spun back around, pointing a finger in his direction. “You look like a man who doesn’t know what he wants, Jack. That’s what.”
His gaze raked over her, starting at that plush lower lip, over the Lycra imprint of her breasts and down onto the best set of legs in the South West Peninsula.
“Oh, I know what I want.” He didn’t hold back the hunger and need that thickened his blood and heated his gaze. She’d have to be a blind stone to miss the desire pulsing off him. She could go on that date, but she’d do so with her eyes wide open on what was waiting at home. “I’m just considerate enough to think twice before I take it.”
“And I’m not?”
“I never said that.”
Fists curled at her side. “You didn’t have to.”
There were a good couple of yards between them, but he took a further step back and put a hand out. What had her so riled up now? He’d never accused her of taking— Wait, had she been serious?
“Does this have to do with what you said last night? Of me being afraid you’d wake up sober and want more than I was willing to give?” She hadn’t just been venting, then. She’d actually thought that. And not just last night, he realised. “Megan, that was never it. You deserved more than I was able to offer. There’s a difference.”
She managed to take offence to that as well. “How about we pretend I’m a fully functioning adult and capable of making those decisions for myself?”
He winced at the stinging delivery, then again as she stomped inside and slammed the kitchen door hard enough to rattle the eaves. She made a fair point, though. He’d already had the same argument with himself and lost.
She was entitled to enjoy a fling. She didn’t need lowered inhibitions to enjoy sex for the sheer hell of it. She wanted to burn through the passion.
He was fully onboard with any and all of those decisions and he intended to make sure she knew that before she went on her lousy date. He started forward.
The kitchen blinds drew up and the window flew open. Megan stuck her head out, cheeks mottled red and eyes blazing. “I’m about to make myself a percolated coffee. Do I need to ask permission, Jack, or is that just for wine and sex?”
Her head disappeared and the window slammed shut.
He checked his watch. It wasn’t yet ten in the morning. Maybe he’d give her a couple of hours to calm down first.
At eleven o’clock on the dot, a canary yellow Lotus pulled up. The deep-throated purr of twin engines had actually twanged at his groin, sending him outside onto the porch. He put his back to the wall and folded his arms. Hot damn, driving a car like that took a close second to sex.
Then it hit him. Jack’s mouth hardened as he watched Megan’s date step out. The man ran a hand through copper-gold curls that hung down to his shoulders as he turned to lean over the low roof. Flash bastard.
A door clicked shut beside him. Megan tripped down the steps, wearing a strappy sundress with a tight bodice and a floating skirt that ended mid-thigh.
“Gabriel, hi,” she called out, her voice full of bubble and sparkle. “I’m ready on time for a change.”
“I never complain about waiting on a beautiful woman, Megan.” His thick Italian accent rolled her name into the sound of an exotic appetiser.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Gabriel tipped his sunglasses up and grinned, teeth a brilliant white against his dark complexion. “I live in hope.”
Megan’s laughter rang out, full-bodied and carefree. He hadn’t heard her laugh that openly since…since… Jack stepped deeper into the shadows cast by the ornamental balcony above, frowning at the happy scene.
The sports car growled to life, tires spinning up loose stones and dirt as it sped off.
If he really were as considerate as he’d told Megan, he’d let her go. He’d pack his bag and be gone before she got back from wherever Lotus man was taking her.
Except, she used to laugh that way with him. And it was his body she’d wrapped those gorgeous legs around last night. His hard-on she’d ground into with those soft, delicious moans.
I want you, she’d said. All of you. Jack, please… Didn’t that count as begging?
Despite her protests, he knew Megan well enough. She might be thinking of enjoying sex for the sheer hell of it, but she’d never slip directly from his arms into another man’s. That wasn’t in her nature. Besides, it was eleven in the morning. What kind of date was that anyway?
He marched inside and grabbed his phone from the hallway table.
She answered on the third ring. “Jack? Is something wrong?”
So, she’d finally stored his number. Or memorised it. Either option was enough to put a smile on his dark mood. “You left without saying goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” The line went dead.
He hit the speed-dial button.
“What now?” she snapped.
His smile deepened. “Just letting you know you have my permission to have fun.”
A snarl came down the line. She was definitely rolling her eyes.
He ended the call before she could. Why should Lotus guy get the sparkling, laughing Megan? Let him see what it was like to be on the wrong side of that temper.
His smirk held some satisfaction, but not enough. Jack made his way upstairs, determined to finish the selection of photos for the portfolio. He needed a goal to get him through the afternoon. When the prestigious gallery had called, offering a collaboration to exhibit his photography alongside the abstract metal sculptures of a well-known artist who specialised in wildlife forms, their excitement had rubbed off on him.
Hours later, he had a respectable pile of possibilities. Mostly digital and a couple of film prints. The prospect of getting his hands dir
ty in developing chemicals thrilled him. While he appreciated the wonders of technology, nothing beat the magic of watching a photograph being born beneath his capable hands.
The only thing he missed about not having a permanent base was not having his own darkroom. Still, he had access to some first-class old-fashioned developing studios—friends he’d made in the field along the way—all he had to do was choose the continent that took his fancy. As soon as he was ready to leave Corkscrew Bay.
He packaged up the photos with notes on his vision for the scale, aspect and mood on each, and set the bulky envelope aside.
It was past six and Megan was still out with her friend. Unease stirred in his gut. He refused to acknowledge the cause as anything other than hunger. He grilled a rib-eye steak, tossed a salad and planted himself in front of the telly. He flipped through the channels until a DIY survivor show caught his interest. This particular episode had been shot off-trail in a Congo jungle, which led to thoughts of Megan’s barbs about his next project and his visits never out-staying three days.
He often spent longer than three days in a place, obviously. For work. Never for pleasure. Never for family. At the age of seven, Frank had become his guardian, but the farm had never been home.
Home had been a variety of boarding schools and, as he grew older, whichever holidays the odd school buddy invited him to tag along with. Usually abroad to fascinating locations. Those holidays had given him the scent for wanderlust, and more. The interludes within the bosom of real families had centred him, balanced his isolated independence with true friendship, borrowed love and bonds of trust. In the small doses he could handle. As far as he was concerned, he’d always had the best of both worlds.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he was drifting awake to the growl of a mechanical panther.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the television screen. He took a minute to adjust his vision, then left the sofa to peek through the front window. Hoping to see the Lotus turn up some more gravel as it sped away. What he got was Megan leading the way up to the porch and inside, with Lotus guy a step behind.
Chapter 6
“I won’t be a second, the boxes are in my office upstairs,” Megan said as she stepped into the hallway and set her bag down. She glanced over her shoulder. “Unless you’ve got time for a coffee?”
Gabriel checked his watch. “Coffee will be great.” He closed the front door and followed her into the kitchen on a yawn.
“I’ll make that a double espresso, shall I?” She grabbed the espresso pot from beside the stovetop and filled it with water. “Wouldn’t want you falling asleep behind the wheel.”
“Ah.” He placed a hand across his chest. “Your concern is touching.”
She giggled. “I’m more worried about you crashing your latest toy. Now that would be a tragic loss for humanity everywhere.”
“She is a beauty, no?”
Megan turned to lean against the counter and folded her arms. “You really are a little boy, aren’t you?”
“Not so little, Megan.” He gave a wicked grin. “Or so the ladies tell me.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. A day out with Gabriel Santini had been just what she needed. She’d known him since before his self-promotion and marketing books had rocketed up the charts and he’d always been good for a laugh. She hadn’t even given Jack a—well, not more than a handful of thoughts.
Once she’d waded through the mist of anger, the underlying context was rather heart-warming. Everything Jack had done, everything he’d said, added up to him being protective. Cute.
Problem No. 1: he was trying to protect her from herself. Not so cute.
Problem No. 2: he was also trying to protect her from himself. That just made her want to hurl herself onto the floor and kick and scream. Just like the child he seemed to think she was.
Her phone rang from down the hallway. “Excuse me.” She skipped from the kitchen to dig inside her bag. Speak of the devil. Tender emotions swirled with anger and frustration. She couldn’t do this now. She hit the end-call button and pretended she’d missed the call when Gabriel raised a questioning brow. She tossed her phone onto the counter and pulled two mugs from the cupboard.
Gabriel yawned again. “I’m getting too old for these road-trips.”
“You love being the centre of attention,” she scoffed. He was doing a series of seminars around the country to promote his current book, Every Contact Counts. She’d gone along for the dinner and chat afterwards to catch up with Gabriel, not the marketing advice. Although she had to admit he was good. She’d come away on a buzz. When he’d offered to hand out some of her publisher review copies at his next seminar, she’d snapped up the opportunity.
She was frothing milk for her cappuccino when a new message pinged. She concentrated on her frothing.
“You’ve got a message on your phone,” he observed.
She sent up a prayer of thanks when the espresso pot whistled. “It can wait.” She poured two inches of syrupy coffee into each mug, stirred a heaped teaspoon of sugar into one and took a deep sniff. “This always smells so divine.” She pushed the mug into his hands.
“And then you go and ruin it with that…stuff,” he groaned as she filled her own mug to the rim with frothed milk.
She stuck her tongue out at him. Had just put her mug to her lips, when another message pinged on her phone. She glared at the offending object.
“Are you sure you don’t need to get that? It could be an emergency.”
Mentally flexing the tension from her muscles, she set her mug down carefully. “I suppose so.”
What’s going on there? She scrolled down to the second message. Stop torturing the poor man and send him home.
“Megan, is everything okay?”
“Perfect.” She unclenched her jaw to smile at Gabriel.
She hit the reply button. Some men happen to love my brand of torture.
Any brand of foreplay is torture if it ends up going nowhere.
Her gaze flashed to the wall between their kitchens. But no, if Jack had an ear pressed to the wall, he’d know there was no foreplay going on at all. He was guessing. Worse, he honestly believed she was too friggin’ straight and narrow to take that foreplay to its natural conclusion.
She could scream, kick and bludgeon him over the head, but he’d never wrap his mind around the fact that she could actually want—might actually enjoy—crave, with every sexual fibre that pulsed to the burning heat in her veins—to have him over her, deep inside her…trailing sensual lips down the sensitive skin of her throat, pausing to lavish attention on her nipple before sucking it to a throbbing peak, rocking into her, pushing her higher…
She moved her eyes to Gabriel. Released her lower lip from the gnawing grip of longing. Had she moaned out loud?
His brow was creased in concern. “Is the news bad?”
“No, um, no…” She swallowed with some difficultly and shrugged. “A friend, that’s all, in a fluster about… Oh, you know.” She flapped a hand at him. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Another message. Gabriel sipped on his coffee, his eyes on her. She smiled harder, took a deep breath and looked down at the phone clutched tightly in her hand.
You’re not going to do anything.
An order or an observation? With Jack, it could be either. Only he could act like a possessive boyfriend while pushing her away. For her own good. To pad his precious China doll in case she broke into teeny weenie pieces from a night of unattached sex. And yes, she wanted more from Jack. But she also knew she couldn’t have it. She was willing to take what she could get. For as long as she could have it. Jack didn’t have the right to decide how little or much she was allowed to compromise.
She tapped on the keypad. You sure about that?
Yes.
Well, she hadn’t actually bludgeoned him over the head. Yet. Maybe that would do the trick. She closed her fingers over her phone and beckoned Gabriel t
o follow her out the kitchen.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said in a low voice, directing him to the sofa furthest from the dividing wall.
“Why are we whispering?” he asked in a whisper.
“My neighbour is very, very nosy and the walls in this room are very thin.”
His voice rose to a normal level. “Do you always have to whisper?”
“Shhh.” She leaned in slightly. “I’m going to run upstairs to fetch the books.”
He started to rise from the sofa. “Let me help you carry—”
“No!” she whisper-yelped, pressing him down again. “My office is a total mess. A private sanctuary. I don’t let anyone up there.”
A strange look came over his face.
“Relax, finish your coffee and I won’t be long.” She backed away, whispering, “Try not to move too much.”
Halfway up the stairs, she paused to send her message. We’re going upstairs now for some carefree, adult fun. I’m not fragile. I’m a woman and I have needs that don’t come attached to a string of expectations.
There was no reply. She didn’t expect one. He’d probably swooned or something. But if she knew Jack, and she believed she did, he was tripping up the stairs right now, if only to prove himself right.
Inside her bedroom, the door softly closed, Megan crossed the room and pressed an ear to the wall. She waited a moment, then sent her final text of the night before turning the phone off. Please do not disturb.
The muffled ping of a new message notification filtered from the master bedroom on the other side of the wall. Busted! She tiptoed away from the wall before flipping from covert tactics to baby elephant stomping. She put some music on, dialled up the volume and flopped onto the bed. Rolled over onto her back, arms flung out, and closed her eyes.
Not so smug now, hey, Jack? Maybe this would teach him to think twice about his dictatorial consideration next time she threw herself at him. Which she wouldn’t, of course.
Falling for the Guy Next Door Page 6