by Jill Jaynes
* * *
For the past couple of evenings, Maggie had gone over to Culhane’s place after dinner to have him look over the draft of the next Gazette edition. On more than one occasion she wanted to be like Karma and curl up in his lap and purr, but restrained herself. She even kept her touchy-feely hands and knees to herself. Dammit, so did he. Had his interest cooled?
Apparently not. She danced around her tiny bedroom. Last night he asked her out to dinner at The Lily Pad bistro. Maggie had a date. A real date. Now was the time to spend an extra minute or thirty on her appearance. She blow-dried her long hair, upside down at that, until the blood pooled in her brain. She left it loose because she’d had a dream of Culhane sensually running his fingers through it. She wore a short, sky-blue skirt, dynamite blue striped t-shirt with a V-neck that showed a teasing hint of cleavage. Maggie ran a blush of lipstick across her lips and test-kissed them.
Take that, lady-killer Culhane.
At least she wouldn’t have to worry about the paper tonight. She ran out of time, so she’d arranged for Noah to come to the office later and pop in the front page Bikini Babes feature story she just finished, do some final edits and run copies for morning deliveries to the local stores and eateries. It was just precautionary in case she got food poisoning or got run over or Culhane whisked her away to his lighthouse lair for a night of hot sex. All equally improbable, but you just never knew. Had she read too much into his announcement that his cold was gone?
Her cell phone tinkled with a text message. Culhane was outside. She grabbed a white shawl and her purse and floated down the stairs. When she saw him her pulse jitterbugged. He wore khaki pants with a tropical Magnum PI-inspired shirt. He’d sort of shaved. Oh, yes, he wore that stupid wig and those mud-colored contacts, but even as Nick Carraday he jingled her bells.
She took the arm he offered.
He paused to gaze at her. “You look…”
“Awesome? Gorgeous? Delectable?”
“Yes.”
“Ditto.”
He smiled at her as they walked the short distance to the trendy marina shops and to Lily’s. “For a pair of writers, we sure are short on vocabulary.”
“Okay, here’s something I’ve always wanted to know. How do men actually shave yet leave a constant five o’clock shadow?”
“It’s a secret art form.”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie was a sucker for the ruggedly handsome, shadow-jawed type.
Feeling the strength of his arm in hers and bumping hips heated her skin. She slipped the shawl from her shoulders. The ocean was quiet but the gulls squawked as the last of the fishing boats drifted in for the evening. A squadron of pelicans in precise formation soared low over the row of shops and dropped out of sight behind them. The competition for fish scraps would be fierce.
The Lily Pad was crowded even at 7:30 on a weekday. After all, it was almost July and the tourist season had begun. But, surprise, Culhane had made a reservation. They were shown to a table at the back and soon were enjoying glasses of pinot noir after ordering the special of the day, abalone with ginger butter sauce. So, he’d noted she’d loved abalone when they talked about the ad for the local Barrell Abalone Farm. It took more than a day’s advance planning if you hoped to enjoy the delicacy fresh. He’d thought about asking her out before yesterday. Interesting.
“I’m glad it’s hopping in here. No one pays attention. Half of them are on cells.” Culhane hunched over, but there was no way a guy like him could make himself small and inconspicuous.
“Wait till next week. There’ll be more crowds. The TV show Bikini Babes starts filming at the beach for the summer. At last, something fun for the paper every week.”
“I’ll have to stay out of their way. I’m sure I know some of the crew.”
“We’ll have to find you a better disguise. Maybe a large old lady with a widow’s hump.”
He laughed. Maggie thought he’d best tone down that smile. Signature Culhane.
Their food arrived all steamy and savory. Culhane took up his fork. “You know, I’ll be only too happy to work on the Bikini Babes stories with you. Especially sorting through the photos.”
“I’ll bet. You didn’t get to see the announcement story I just finished writing.”
“Only saying.”
Darkness had fallen by the time they finished eating. He suggested a stroll along the marina. When he took her hand, Maggie felt like a teenager on a first date with her crush. Hyper-driven nerves and excited anticipation had her keyed up. A nighttime party cruiser full of tipsy tourists caused the docked boats of all sizes and social status to bob in its wake. They stopped to watch as the happy sounds and festive lights disappeared around the cove.
Culhane turned her to face him, taking both her hands. “This is a beautiful place.”
She nodded. Maggie felt the railing at her back. He’s going to kiss me. Just be cool. Be cool.
When he bent and covered her lips with his, cool evaporated in the heat. She closed her eyes, tasting coffee and the chocolate sundae they shared. Her two favorite flavors on lips to savor. And she did. At some point he dropped her hands and put his arms around her waist to pull her closer. She moved her hands to his broad shoulders, deepening the kiss. Maggie’s brain ceased to think. She gave in to the swirling, swooping sensations arcing through her, the excited stirrings, the toe-curling arousal. She pressed her body against his. Strong, warm, hard. She couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
His fingers were in her hair, lifting, sifting just like her dream. Delicious goose bumps erupted on her skin.
Culhane whispered against her lips. “Maggie, come back to my place.”
Hmm, his place. Maggie’s brain cells chugged into gear. She opened her eyes. Oh, his place. “I—okay.”
He laughed. “Are you sure? ‘cause you don’t sound sure.”
His eyes were watering with a slight redness in the corners. “You need to take out your contacts.”
He gave her a quick hug. “That, and I have wine. Really nice wine.”
Culhane looked boyishly eager when he lifted his brows and cocked his head to the side. Maggie could hardly resist. What had she said about improbable? Happens sometimes. He held her hand as they walked the length of the marina and the walkway to the Moonlight B&B. Maggie didn’t think her feet touched the ground once.
Chapter 5
Carter evaluated his appearance in the mirror. Dead animal on head: check. Itchy contacts somewhere on eyeballs: check. Did he really just put on such an ugly green t-shirt? Must have. He was on autopilot this morning. He got zero sleep last night after walking Maggie home at 1:00 a.m. and here it was 6:00 a.m. He was headed to the Honey Bee for a killer coffee and a New-York-style bagel.
Ah, Maggie.
They’d barely made it through the door last night before the clothes came off. Maggie’s body—curvy and soft and willing—had felt so right in his hands. He was no Boy Scout, but when it came to safe sex, he made sure he was prepared. In bold Maggie fashion, she helped him put on the condom, and made the action a killingly sensual experience for him. Making love to her was like mainlining paradise.
They never did get to the wine. Maggie didn’t want to spend the night. Fine, he guessed. The streets were empty when he walked her home. The kiss at her door—mind-blowing and full of promise—had him hot all over again. Somehow he sensed that the promise was temporary. She gave herself completely on a physical level but seemed to hold back a piece of her personal self as if she didn’t want to invest mind and soul along with body. Maybe he thought she was remote because she wasn’t all cuddly afterwards. Didn’t want to spend the night with him. Was she protecting her heart? Did Maggie think of this—this thing between them as just a summer affair?
Didn’t he?
Karma curled around his legs. He bent and picked up the cat. “Karma, all I know is I can’t think straight in the morning until I have my coffee. Let’s go.”
Carter set the cat down outside the door, sho
oing her off to do her mousing. If he could whistle, he would’ve whistled all the way to the Honey Bee. Maggie Muse gave him a definite lightness of being. He was writing again, had his mojo-flow back.
The place was empty at this hour except for Chloe, who served him his Arabica and bagel with cream cheese right away. He added a Gazette to his bill and sat his usual table by the window. He was eager to read this new edition, see what she did with his suggestions. He laid it on the table. His face stared back.
“What the—”
The huge headline read “Carter Culhane Lost and Found.”
He scanned the article, reading about how celebrity gossip circles wondered where he’d disappeared to, his disguise, and how he’d chosen Moonlight Cove, how the famous New York Times best-selling author had lost his muse, and on and on.
Goddammit, Maggie. Carter closed his eyes. A dull throbbing started in his temple. It was nothing compared to the ache lodged near his heart like a near-fatal bullet. She’d done it. Gone ahead and run her article to sell bloody newspapers.
It wasn’t that now everyone would know who he was and his peace would be shattered. It was her—betrayal. Yes. Betrayal. This hurt more than, well, more than the 368 rejections of his first book. That’s why she seemed to hold something back, why she insisted on going home. She didn’t want to be with him when he saw the paper.
Carter stood on stiff legs. He left the Honey Bee and his coffee and bagel. He had arrangements to make. Might as well return to New York and hope his Maggie-less muse went back with him. He knew the hurt would. Against his better judgment, he had fallen for the sparkly newspaper girl.
* * *
Maggie chomped on her buttered toast—well done with a little char, just the way she liked it. She checked the coffee maker again. Still dripping. She hadn’t remembered to set it last night when she’d come in. Now she had to wait.
It was no wonder she didn’t remember. She was sure she’d lost a few brain cells between dinner with Culhane and her place at 1:00 am. Jeez, she’d never been like that with a man before. But no one had turned her on like Culhane. Her need was fierce and powerful and seemingly unquenchable.
Maggie smiled. Culhane was up to the task. Her body warmed all over again. His hands and lips were capable and experienced and did masterful things to her body. At first, they both were all hot and frenzied, throwing off clothes, sinking to the plush carpet. Later it was the soft tangle of sheets, the pleasure-pain of sweet, drawn out lovemaking, the moans, the sighs. She only hoped her unsophisticated style satisfied him. It sure seemed to. Again and again.
He seemed surprised she didn’t want to spend the night. Oh, she wanted to. But waking up beside him in the morning, both of them languid and sleepy-eyed, bed-head hair and tangled limbs, seemed so—intimate. Like lovers. Real lovers. Weren’t they casual summer flingers? She was sure Maggie Henderson was just an amusement for him while he was here. An a-MUSE-ment. She laughed at her play on words. She would treat him the same. That had been her plan right? Maggie was afraid her feelings went way beyond casual.
Coffee done, Maggie grabbed a cup and headed downstairs to the office. She wanted to see the final printed edition that Noah had put to bed last night. He’d been a quick study on the publication program she used. She had every confidence in him that the early vendors had their copies already this morning and the on-line subscribers had access so they could enjoy Bikini Babes with their breakfast. Maggie grabbed a copy from the stack by the door. And froze.
Oh. My. God.
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.
Oh. My. God.
No. No. No.
Her heart crunched into a tight bristly ball. An elephant sat on her chest. Can’t breathe.
Culhane.
How? How did her lousy first draft about Culhane get on the first frickin’ page? Any page? Gah! It was full of stuff she had no intention of using.
That bristly ball worked its way up to her throat. “Noah, what did you do?” She squeaked out the words.
Maggie grabbed her cell and placed a call. It rang and rang. “Pick up, Noah.”
“Hello?” His sleepy voice whispered through the line.
“Noah, it’s Maggie.” Her own voice held an edge of hysteria. Calm down. Calm.
“Oh, hi, Mags. What up? It’s only, uh, 7:30.”
“Um, okay.” She could finally take a deep breath. “Where—why is there a story about Carter Culhane in the paper?”
“What? That’s the story you said to fix and put on the first page.”
“I—no. I said Bikini Babes. The one I sent from my laptop.”
“You said to print the big story—you emphasized big. And attached was the Carter story. And man, I have to tell you, what a big story. I left you a text message kinda late.”
Maggie tried to get her chaotic thoughts in order. Text message. She hadn’t heard it. He’d probably texted her between stupendous orgasms.
Big. She thought he’d get it. Big, as in big boobs. Girls in bikinis. Weren’t girls and sex all seventeen-year-old boys thought about?
The one I sent. Omigod. She didn’t. Did she? Did she send him the Culhane story instead of the Babes story? She rushed to her laptop on the desk and brought up the attachment. There he was. Culhane, so handsome, so rich, so—furious if he sees this.
“Noah, get up. Go to every vendor that gets first deliveries. Grab every copy. Rip it out of people’s hands if you have to.”
“Why, Mags? Did I—”
“My fault. Just hurry.” She clicked off and rushed through the retraction process for on-line subscriptions.
Her heart thrashed in her chest. This is what panic feels like. Don’t panic. Maybe he slept in because—well, because I overworked him. She had his cell number but decided calling was cowardice. She had to go see him in person.
Maggie rushed out the door and plowed right into Leonard. He was nothing but skin and bones and thinning hair. She sent him flying. “God, sorry, Leonard.” She gave him a hand up. “Gotta run. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hurried out to the sidewalk and heard him call after her, “I sold the place, Maggie. But I gotta tell you—”
“Great,” she tossed over her shoulder as she crossed the street. Great? She was screwed.
Karma was outside Culhane’s door. Maggie took a second to compose herself while she petted the cat. She felt the rumbly purr under her fingers. “At least you’re glad to see me.”
She knocked. Nothing. Rang the bell. Oh please, oh please, don’t let him be at the Honey Bee. Reading. She knocked again.
“Go away.”
Those two words were like a slap in the face. Her heart skittered and fell to her toes. He’d seen it. “Culhane, let me in. Let me explain.”
She tried the door. Unlocked. She entered the room just as he came out from the bedroom dressed in blue jeans and collared shirt, carrying a duffel. His hair was mussed, his real hair. In those few seconds she pictured them in bed, her fingers in his hair, clutching and pressing, her body arching into his.
He stopped and stared at her with those incredible eyes. His jaw tightened. “You have nerve. Gotta give you that.”
He set the duffel down beside his laptop case. He was leaving. Her heart shattered. She hadn’t realized just how much she cared about him until this moment. She couldn’t lose him. Not like this. “I didn’t intend to publish that article, Culhane. It was just a draft. Noah—”
“Blaming Noah? Isn’t he like, sixteen?”
“Seventeen, but—”
“Maggie, you told me you were doing a story. My mistake was believing you when you said you’d ask my permission first before publishing it.”
“I was going to, but Noah went ahead and put it in.” Maggie went to him and touched his arm. He took a step away.
Culhane blew out a breath. “I could sue, you know.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “But I won’t. You don’t have the money, anyway.” He laughed a bitter laugh. �
�I hope you sell a ton of newspapers.”
He turned his back on her and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him. He called, “I’m in a hurry. I have a plane to catch in Santa Barbara in two hours.”
Her cue to get lost.
Maggie wanted to either curl up in the fetal position or flail her fists against the bedroom door. Neither would get her the result she wanted. She headed out the door and down the walk. She stumbled on the rough path, swiping tears from her eyes. No crying. She’d shed a gazillion over the old ex-almost-fiancé. And what was Culhane? A boyfriend? Lover? One-week stand?
He had just become another ex.
Maggie reached the office and realized she’d left in such a hurry she hadn’t locked the door behind her. Soon this would be her ex-office, her ex-home. Too many exes in her life. Noah had been there and left little piles of Gazettes, each pile marked with where he’d grabbed them. Maybe no one but Culhane had seen the article. Didn’t matter. She fell into the chair and it shrieked in protest. A large, hand-scrawled note sat on the desk in front of her. “I’m so sorry! Noah.” She would have to call him. It wasn’t his fault; it was hers. All hers.
She pushed her hair back with both hands. Holy cow, what a mess! How had she looked to Culhane? A wild woman, and not in a good way like last night. Her pulse settled to a steady rhythm even though her heart was achy-breaky. She’d killed whatever it was they were going to have together as surely as if she’d tied a cement block to the relationship and thrown it off the dock.
Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed away the tears that insisted on welling up. She’d have to salvage this edition and get it out there or she’d be in a worse financial mess. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before diving into the computer. She removed Culhane’s story and put Bikini Babes on page one, fiddled with the photos of the boobilicious star, Scarlett Royale, and double-checked the rest of the edition.