Falling for the Guy Next Door

by Claire Robyns

  Her arms dropped from around him. Her lips trembled slightly. Her eyes locked on him. And her hand came up to deliver a stinging blow on his cheek.

  He grunted, stepping back.

  “Don’t you ever, ever do that again,” she said hoarsely, putting a hand to his chest and shoving.

  He didn’t budge. He’d already moved as far back as he intended to go. “We are not done. I taste it on your lips. I feel it in your body. I see it in the way you look at me. I read it all over your face.”

  “Okay. You win.” Her lips drew into a firm line. She shoved again.

  He still wasn’t moving. He also didn’t feel like much of a winner.

  She rolled her eyes skyward and kept them there. “I’m not over you. I only have to anticipate your touch to melt at the corners.”

  “Then what the hell’s the problem?”

  She brought her gaze level with him. “The problem? God, Jack, do you honestly not know or do you just want me to spell it out?” Her voice rose in barely restrained fury. “Smugglers Inn. That’s the problem. You want to know why I couldn’t even spend one night in your bed? Because I couldn’t stomach the thought of waking up to a re-occurrence of the morning after.”

  Jack stared at her. “I thought we’d settled this.”

  “Clearly not.” She folded her arms. “We have to be over, Jack, because I can’t be in any relationship, however short, spicy or honest, when I fully expect you to bolt in the middle of the night. Or wake up with a major case of regrets. I have no idea when I’ll say the wrong thing that sends you off without looking back to say goodbye.” She uncrossed her arms to jab him in the chest. Her anger blazed into him. “There, you pushed and pushed and now you know. And even after all that, you’re like a fever burning up inside me.”

  “You think I don’t want you just as badly?” He grabbed her poking finger, pulling her hand to his chest. “I’m not ready to move on, not until this thing between us has run its natural cause. And I don’t believe you can either.”

  She gave a small laugh. “That makes so much sense, it’s almost frightening.”

  “Moving on?”

  “Where your aversion to one-night stands stems from. Leaving behind any unfinished business would only hinder your relentless journey forward.”

  Jack had no argument with that. “Megan, I’m sorry about that night at Smugglers Inn. I never meant to hurt you like that and I won’t do it again. I’m not going to bolt in the middle of the night, or disappear without a decent goodbye. I swear.” His hand curled around hers, tugging her a little closer. “But if you can’t believe that, then I won’t push anymore.”

  She looked at him for the longest moment, then her mouth curved into a smile. “You really mean that, don’t you?” Her teeth dragged at that lower lip as her gaze warmed into his. “What is it about you, Jack Marlin, that you always make everything feel right, even when I’m not sure it is?”

  Chapter 11

  Megan abandoned her own plan and adopted Jack’s. It just made far too much sense for her to discount. It had always worked for him, right? Kept him moving on, and on, with no regrets?

  A week later, she woke up to find Jack propped on his elbow, his gaze a warm caress on her face. She loved the sight of him like this. Bed tossed hair, the sensual depth in his gaze and that lazy grin. The sheet skimmed his hip and left the rest of him exposed to her appreciative eye and humming hormones. Stubble shadowed his chiselled jaw and the things he did with that; the sensations he stirred right through to the bone as he worked tantalising kisses over her breasts and down her belly. Desire tingled along her skin and softened every muscle.

  That’s when the first doubt set in. The theory was simple enough. In practice, she was starting to realise that the more time she spent with Jack, the more she wanted him. And secret hope trailed in after the doubt. What if the same was happening to Jack? She squashed it immediately.

  This particular morning, his hand came out to her, knuckles grazing beneath her chin. His gaze was filled with sexy intentions, and more, emotions that delved far deeper than either of them would ever admit to.

  “I need to go up to London for a day or two,” he said, his thumb moving over her cheek with tender strokes.

  The warmth of desire left her blood, leaving her skin chilly and her muscles tense.

  “I’ll be back on Thursday.” He slid lower down the bed and brought her into his arms, their legs tangled and the evidence of his arousal pressed to her belly. “I want to take another look…” He pushed the tendrils from her throat and brushed a path of sensitive kisses along the line of her jaw. “…at the physical space of Art de Natique…” His kisses trailed down her throat and whatever he was doing with his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone burned straight through her tension and reset her body to the languid desire of moments ago. “…and set up some meetings…” His thigh nudged up further, rubbing whorls of ecstasy at her core as he started a slow, rocking motion that dragged a sizzling friction at every point of contact. “…with their printing labs…”

  “Jack,” she groaned, her nails digging into his back as pleasure threaded her veins and blurred his explanation. “As much as I’d love to hear…”

  He came over her, settling between her thighs and silencing her words and thoughts with an intense look that penetrated to her soul and whispered promises she knew he’d never fulfil. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered except this moment, this day, and hopefully a handful of tomorrows.

  Jack left for London the following day and she threw herself into plotting a brand new story and finalising the arrangements for Isobel’s hen party. She spoke to him a couple of times each day, and the text messages streamed between them endlessly, but it became more and more difficult to pretend that everything was fine while she was entangled in Isobel’s happily-ever-after. More and more difficult to disguise the ache in her heart when the wayward thoughts slipped through. When Kate did this for her one day, Jack would be long out of the picture. A distant memory. He’d have to be, because right now she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else ever.

  Which was silly, she kept reminding herself. She was a one-guy woman. Always had been. But she’d moved on from broken relationships before and regardless of what she could or couldn’t imagine now, it didn’t mean she’d be stuck on Jack forever. She pushed the ache aside, tried not to think how it became harder to budge each time, and concentrated on the task at hand.

  The venue was a nightclub on the outskirts of town that held a themed Rocking Eighties evening every Thursday. She’d ordered their outfits online a couple of weeks ago, black leather cat suits for her and Kate and red leather for Isobel. Their outfits had already been delivered and, thankfully, everything fit perfectly. The invitations sent out had requested the other girls to dress in all black, leather or otherwise. The red leather would not only set Isobel apart from the pack, but the colour looked amazing with her strawberry blond hair.

  Their private chill room came with the choice of one entertainment, the last thing on her to-do list, and Megan’s lips twitched as she rolled the mouse down the list of options on the club’s website and hovered over Stripper. But she couldn’t. She’d chosen the venue and the outfits because she wanted Isobel to let her hair down this once, throw her reserved nature to the wind and discover a wild side. A strip show would take that too far. She didn’t want Isobel feeling too uncomfortable about the proceedings to relax and enjoy herself. Instead, Megan selected Karaoke and submitted her choice through the online reservations form.

  Thursday afternoon, she was standing by the window in her office, watching as the black Land Rover pulled up.

  A swell of happiness bloomed in the region of her heart and swept through her from head to toe. In that moment, she realised that at least some of the despondency attacking her while he’d been away was doubt. A part of her had been waiting for the phone call to say he’d received an exciting proposition that would take him to one of the far flung corners of the w
orld and he’d swing around her way next summer or thereabouts.

  Jack unfolded himself from the driver’s side and glanced up at her window as he straightened. His grin was instant, pressing a groove into his cheek and muddling the arrogant lines of his face.

  Her pulse hiccupped and, finally, she admitted how much trouble she was in. She was in love with this man. Utterly and irrevocably in love, as she’d never been before. She had been for a long, long time. Definitely as far back as January and that night at Smugglers Inn.

  She’d thought he’d nipped her heart and shredded her pride, but she’d got that the wrong way round. He’d nipped her pride and shredded her heart when he’d discarded her so easily the morning after.

  If Kate were here, she’d be chiding Megan about taking that risk. Baring her heart and soul for the dream. But she’d only chase him away, and for what? Her and Jack couldn’t work. She couldn’t even keep the faith for one short trip to London. Their history was chequered with fights, anger and misplaced good intentions. Their future would be a tug of war between his need to roam and her desire to stay put.

  Coward. It wasn’t just a thought. It was an imaginary whisper and it had Kate’s voice.

  What was the worst that could happen if she confessed her love and stopped faltering at the hurdles? Megan shook off the temptation.

  She might be in love with him, but love wasn’t logical. Love wasn’t practical. Love couldn’t glue their rocky relationship together.

  And love, she admitted, was possibly the most destructive force on earth. She had to risk all, confess her feelings and take a chance on love. Or she had to walk away. But she couldn’t find the strength inside her to do either, and what did that say about her? She made decisions like this every day for her characters, but it sucked in real life. There was too much at stake, the risk was too big, and a mistake couldn’t be fixed by hitting the backspace key.

  Love, she also discovered as another week passed, couldn’t be contained and couldn’t be put on hold. And yes, the thought hadn’t escaped her. If she said nothing, did nothing, maybe her and Jack would just carry on as they were. Maybe he’d simply forget to leave. But every day, every touch and every look, every shared moment, left her wanting more.

  She was a coward, but she was also ripe for some of Kate’s theories when the night of Isobel’s hen party arrived. Both Kate and Isobel were supposed to come get ready at her place, but Kate turned up alone.

  “Ian’s come down from London,” Kate explained. “He pulled up outside just as we were leaving.”

  “He knows the party’s tonight.” Megan’s nose wrinkled at the only conclusion she could draw. “God, I hope he hasn’t come to read her the riot act about having too much fun.”

  “I’d like to see him try.” Kate chuckled.

  “So would I, actually.” Megan’s eyes lit with humour. For all Isobel’s protests, her blood ran blue down to the last chromosome when challenged and she didn’t take kindly to anyone interfering in her life.

  “I said we’d pick her up on the way.” Kate flung her suit bag from her shoulder to the bed, bent over to unzip it and froze as a loud crash reverberated through the house. She came back up and raised a brow at Megan.

  “That,” Megan said, laughing, “was probably the demise of my office wall.”

  “He’s tunnelling a quick-entry route?” Kate’s smile resembled a Cheshire cat that had just died and ended up in double-thick cream heaven. “Maybe it’s just me,” she said, swinging her arms to encapsulate the main bedroom, “but I’d have started in here.”

  “He’s not bashing in the wall.” Megan rolled her eyes. “At least, not on purpose. He’s partitioning his guest bedroom and converting one half into a darkroom. A truckload of stuff arrived yesterday.”

  Kate rushed forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t you see? He’s nesting.”

  “Nesting?” Megan repeated dully, then her eyes widened. Her heart beat a little faster. “Nesting.”

  “Settling in,” Kate confirmed with some vigorous nodding. “He’s here to stay.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Megan took a deep breath to slow her pulse. Nothing to get excited about here, nothing to clutch onto except straws made of wishes.

  “You’re being purposely dense.”

  Megan looked at her, willing to consider the possibility. How long had Jack been here? Three weeks? A month. And now he was building his own darkroom. She’d assumed it was just for his London exhibition, that he was eager to start experimenting with his ideas. And it was that, of course, but he was also settling in. He was making himself a home, even if it was just a base to be used in between his travels.

  She smiled, shook her head in disbelief, and then her blood warmed with happiness for him. He deserved this. A place to rest. A place in this world to call his own.

  “He’s staying for you,” Kate said.

  “I hope not.” And Megan meant it. She wanted this to be Jack’s. His peace, regardless of anything else.

  “You have to tell him,” Kate huffed. “Tell him how you feel and don’t—” She jabbed a finger at Megan. “Don’t you dare deny how much in love with him you are.”

  Megan hesitated, but it was a relief to share her feelings with someone and since it couldn’t be with Jack, Kate was the next best option. “I wasn’t going to.”

  Kate’s jaw went slack, then firmed with a grin. “He loves you, too.”

  Megan wasn’t convinced of that, but then she didn’t think it really mattered either way. She wasn’t sold on the concept that love would be enough to keep him here. That love was enough to fill and seal as many cracks as their history had created. “I guess.”

  Kate threw her hands up. “Are you two going to grow old playing guessing games or are one of you going to say something?”

  “Maybe,” Megan said, giving it some serious thought for the first time. Kate’s enthusiasm was contagious. She made it all seem so simple, so possible. “Meanwhile, Izzy’s waiting for us and I’m dying to see the look on Ian’s face when she steps out in red leather.”

  In keeping with the rock-chick theme and skin-tight leather, they frizzed their hair as wild as it would go and lined their eyes with thick kohl. Kate kept her hair loose, but Megan swept hers into a side ponytail that didn’t do much to tame the frizz.

  Megan knocked on Jack’s door before they left. He took one look at her and made an appreciative noise.

  She struck a pose. “You like?”

  “I like,” he growled. His gaze raked over her with unconstrained lust. “Give us half an hour,” he said to Kate, sweeping Megan into his arms and dragging her across the threshold. He kicked the door shut, with Kate standing outside on the porch.

  Megan wriggled free, giggling. “You’re such an animal.”

  His hands landed on her waist, and took a slow amble over her curves, pulling her closer at the same time. His mouth came down in a crushing kiss that knocked the breath from her lungs and claimed every sense. When he released her, his eyes were as dark and stormy as a moonless winter night. “I don’t care what time you get home, I’ll be awake and waiting. Don’t change before you come over.”

  “You do know Finn, right?” The boys were going for drinks, and Finn was a true Irishman when it came to a good night out. “Want to bet I’ll be awake and waiting first?”

  “Not for long.” A grin tugged at his jaw. “Give me a call, okay?”

  “And you’ll come running home?”

  “Always.”

  “Enjoy your evening,” she said, reaching on her tiptoes to brush a quick kiss over his lips and then turning from him before they really did leave Kate waiting outside for half an hour.

  Jack grabbed his keys and walked out with them. He knew she was the designated driver, and said in parting, “If you want to join in the fun, give me a call—”

  “You don’t give up.” She wiggled her brows at him.

  He looped an arm around her waist and spun her to face
him. “Seriously. I won’t drink tonight, just in case.”

  They made it to Isobel just before seven. The sun was still high, a fat orange hanging over the ocean. Only a narrow road separated Isobel’s cottage from the beach. The tide was high and a strong southwesterly wind whipped the waves into frothy white horses to their left. To their right, the cottage door stood wide open and Isobel sat on the top step of her porch.

  Her head came up as Megan parked alongside the road outside the front gate. She stared at them, elbows on her knees, rocking her thighs back and forth. A bottle of white spirits dangled from her hands between her thighs.

  “Why didn’t we think of props?” Kate said.

  Megan grinned as she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Are you ready?”

  Isobel nodded, jumping to her feet. The leather cat suit clung to her lithe form with the kind of grace only Isobel could pull off. She looked absolutely stunning and Megan’s grin widened. Isobel was going to eclipse the lot of them tonight, but that’s exactly what she’d planned. Her hair was caught back into a high ponytail and was that…? Black eyeliner, thick streaks painted down her cheeks?

  “Oh, I’m ready,” Isobel spat out, the uncharacteristic harshness jolting both Megan and Kate in their seats. She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long swig, then smeared a hand across her mouth as she came down the two steps from her porch. “I’m so ready for that two-faced, conniving, back-stabbing…” The insults petered out as she flung her head back.

  “Role play?” Megan asked nervously.

  “Ian.” The way Kate said it, the name was as derisive as any of Isobel’s insults.

  “Oh, God!” Megan slammed out of the car and raced up the short path as fast as one could in five inches of stiletto heels and leather boots that capped her knees.

  Isobel, meanwhile, was no longer swigging from the bottle. She’d kept her head back, her face turned up to the sky, and had up-ended the bottle over her mouth.