A Word with the Bachelor

by Teresa Southwick

  Finally he said, “There’s not much to say.”

  “I disagree. I’ve told you practically everything about me, but you’re a mystery.”

  “You know all there is to know about me.”

  “Hardly.” She glanced around the kitchen. It was functional, serviceable, but without any cozy pictures or touches that were evidence of this being a home. “I know that you wrote a bestselling action-adventure book. You were a member of army Special Forces, Ranger Battalion. And you have a weakness for strange-looking dogs.”

  The dog in question padded into the room and looked at his dish then up at Jack. Staring at the animal he said, “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.” But something flashed in his eyes. Anger? Hurt?

  Regret?

  “Does that mean you’re not married now? Or that you’ve never been married? Because you know what they say about a man your age who’s never been married.” She shrugged, hoping he would fill in for her.

  “My age?” One dark eyebrow rose.

  “Seriously? That’s what you got from what I just said?”

  “You implied I’m old.”

  She shook her head. “Either you’re deliberately missing the point or you’re dense as dirt.”

  “I don’t think so. You specifically said a man of my age.”

  “Who’s never been married,” she reminded him.

  “What do they say?” he asked, suddenly pretending to be interested.

  “That there’s something really wrong.” She had the sense that he was enjoying baiting her. “You know what I think? You’re focusing on minutiae to avoid answering my question.”

  “You could Google me.”

  “I have.”

  “Should I be flattered that you went through the trouble?” He was laughing at her.

  “Trouble? That I was trying to find out more about you because we’re working together? Or the fact that you’ve quite successfully managed to not reveal any personal information for public consumption?”

  He moved farther into the room and leaned his back against the granite-topped island. “Why do you want personal information?”

  “I just do.” She wasn’t going to tell him it was because she needed a good reason to put the brakes on this crush she had going on. Plus, the more he dodged, the more determined she was to get the truth. “So, have you ever been married? What possible reason could you have to avoid answering that question?”

  “I’m a private person.”

  “You used to be but not anymore. Not since your book hit the bestseller lists and stayed there.”

  “Drip, drip, drip,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re like water on a rock, wearing it down.”

  She lifted her chin. “I like to think that’s one of my best qualities.”

  “It’s good.” Jack’s gaze dropped to her chest and the glitter was back in his eyes. “But not your best.”

  He didn’t miss much so she was pretty sure he could tell that the pulse in her neck had just gone from normal to racing. There was only one way to interpret those words and that look. He moved closer and she held her breath, hoping that he was going to kiss her. Heat from his body warmed her skin when he stopped right in front of her.

  Their shoulders brushed and gazes locked. Sexual tension crackled in the air between them and seemed to push the pause button on everything around them. Was it now? Surely he would touch his mouth to hers now.

  Then he looked up and over her head, shattering the moment. He reached into the cupboard behind her and said, “Do you want coffee?”

  Erin blinked and managed to answer in the affirmative, but for as long as she lived she would never know how she did it. She stepped sideways and let him get out mugs and pour coffee into them.

  Mug in hand, he headed for the doorway. It was as if that click between them had never happened. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “I’ll start breakfast.”

  “Good. I’m starved.” He stopped and sent a look over his shoulder.

  Then he was gone and Erin could breathe again. If anything positive had come out of what just happened, it was that she had a little bit more information about him. No girlfriend and no marriage meant he was single. A bachelor. Available. And he hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to kiss her. There was only one conclusion to draw. He wasn’t interested in her.

  Maybe thinking he was attracted had been her imagination. All her concentration on the writing process had her subconscious creating character motivation where there was none. But tell that to female hormones all revved up with no place to go.

  From now on she was going to dress like a bag lady. That was her best quality.

  Chapter Five

  After breakfast Jack went to his office and sat behind his desk while the clock ticked ever closer to the 9:00 a.m. status meeting. The truth was that his status was tipping into chaos and confusion. When he saw Erin in those workout clothes, he felt as if he’d been sucker punched. The tight pants left almost nothing to the imagination.

  It was the almost that really tied him in knots because he didn’t want to imagine. Erin Riley was trim, taut and tempting. More than almost anything he wanted to touch her bare skin and taste it, too. And take her—

  There was a knock on the door and he braced himself for her pert and perky personality. “Come in.”

  She did and assumed her position in the chair facing his desk. “Ready to get to work?”

  “Raring to go.” And work had nothing to do with it.

  “Okay. Let’s talk about the book.”

  “Is it really necessary to remind you that there is no book?”

  “I meant the already published one,” she amended.

  Geez, he never knew what to expect from her. One minute she was innocent and vulnerable, the next showing off curves that would test the willpower of a man trained to resist even the most aggressive interrogation techniques. She kept him off balance and he didn’t like being off balance. Any more than he liked her attempt to find out personal information. What in the world had made him tell her to ask whatever she wanted to know? He regretted that as much as seeing her in those skintight yoga clothes.

  “Jack?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you with me?”

  “Yeah.” He sat forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “I just don’t see how discussing High Value Target is going to help with this book.”

  “You never know what will trigger a creative leap forward.”

  Since he had nothing to show for all the time he’d put in, what did he have to lose? “Okay. What about it?”

  “I reread the book.”

  “Why?”

  “Besides the fact that I was having trouble sleeping—”

  “Wait.” He held up a hand to stop her right there. “You thought my book would put you to sleep?”

  “Of course not. I was just trying to put that awake time to good use. And I really enjoyed it the first time, Jack.”

  “Then why the second read?”

  “For ideas.”

  “And?” he persisted.

  “Let me tell you what I did and didn’t like.”

  That got his full attention. “There was something you didn’t like?”

  “I’m a tough crowd. An English teacher always is.” She shrugged. “Critiquing requires a delicate balance. It’s just as important to highlight what works as what doesn’t.”

  “Okay. What did you like?”

  “The hero.”

  It was hard to keep from grinning. Jack had based Mac Daniel
s on himself. After retiring from the military he’d read that journaling helped put into perspective things you were trying not to think about. That’s how the book had started in the first place. For Ms. Tough Crowd to like him felt damn good.

  “So, you think Mac works.”

  “Incredibly well,” she said. “Men want to be him and women want to be with him. That’s why there’s such crossover appeal and the book did so well.”

  This critique thing wasn’t so bad after all. “What else did you like?”

  “The action was realistic and suspenseful. It makes the reader feel right there—in the moment. When Mac slaps another magazine into his pistol, you can practically hear the sound of it.”

  Jack didn’t have to hear it; he would never forget that distinctive sound. “Good.”

  “Clearly you know your protagonist and his strengths. Also his weaknesses. It’s incredibly appealing that he’s well-rounded. But—” She crossed one leg over the other, apparently pulling her thoughts together.

  The movement completely destroyed his ability to think clearly. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her legs. Or eject the image of black spandex outlining the luscious curves and tanned skin of her calves just before he took off those tight pants and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  If his editor had really wanted him to concentrate on the project, she could have sent someone older. And not pretty. Better yet, a guy. How was he supposed to concentrate when all he wanted to do was leap over the desk and kiss Erin? He was feeling creative, all right, but it had nothing to do with writing his book and everything to do with what they could accomplish in the sack.

  “Since you didn’t ask, I guess you don’t want to hear the but,” she said.

  “No one ever wants to hear the but. Worst word in the English language. It always goes something like this. ‘Everything’s fine, but you lost your job. The decor is beautiful, but the food sucks. You’re going to live, but the leg has to be amputated.’ No one wants to know what comes after the but. Guaranteed you’re not going to like it.”

  “You’re right. Of course. And remember this is only my opinion.”

  “But—” He filled that word with as much sarcasm as possible.

  “Mac is well-defined and the action is compelling and believable. But the secondary characters are one-dimensional, a little clichéd. Take the villain—”

  “I did. Or Mac did. Took him right out.”

  “Fairly spectacularly, too. But the guy was all evil weasel with no redeeming qualities. No one, even the bad guys, is that simple. They had parents, possibly siblings or significant others. Children. All of that shapes them into the person they are.”

  Although Jack didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. In war it was more black-and-white. You took out the guy trying to take you out. Survival. As simple as that.

  “Okay.”

  “And remember, the hero is only as heroic as the adversary he faces.”

  “So the stronger and more formidable the bad guy, the better Mac looks.”

  “Exactly.”

  The smile she gave him was like a slice of sunlight riding a rainbow straight through him. “Good point.”

  “Real people have flaws, a gray area. They’re human. The baddie might be completely in love with an innocent, vulnerable woman yet he can do despicable things.” Harley stood, got out of his bed and walked over to her. She reached down and scratched his head, then laughed when he rolled onto his back and exposed his belly to be rubbed. “Could be that he has a soft spot for animals.”

  “Or the villain is a woman.” He had a lot of material from his ex to channel into a character like that.

  “Speaking of women—” She stopped and met his gaze. “There wasn’t a real woman in the story.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “They were either like robots, completely unemotional and too sticky sweet. Or overly emotional and hysterical. There was no middle ground.”

  “Give me a for-instance,” he said defensively.

  “Okay.” She thought for a moment. “Got one. When Mac breaks up with Karen, who’s been waiting for him to come home from Afghanistan, and she starts punching and slapping him, that seemed out of character for someone who’d been so patient.”

  “She was ticked off at being dumped. But he didn’t want to lead her on.”

  “And rightfully so. But because she was so long-suffering and colorless it didn’t feel real.”

  “What would have been right? In your opinion,” he said defensively. In his case, he’d been the one dumped and the only blows had been on the inside, where they wouldn’t show.

  “She might cry. Struggle to hold back tears. Try to talk him out of it. Or let him have it with words. But she probably wouldn’t attack him physically.”

  He wasn’t ready yet to concede the point even though his gut was telling him she was right. “It could happen.”

  “But probably not.” She gave him a wry look. “Your response makes me wonder if you have issues with women.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Maybe you don’t like them.”

  “I like women just fine.” And that was the truth. But he wasn’t very good with them. If he was, he’d have sensed his wife’s detachment before she made the distance real and permanent.

  “All I know is that you don’t have a girlfriend and you’re not married. Maybe you’re gay.”

  “I’m not.”

  “And in denial,” she said.

  Just a little while ago he’d taken the high road and passed up the opportunity to show her he liked women just fine. But during that second or two in the kitchen, when he’d reached into the cupboard for a mug, he’d accidentally brushed against her. That barest of touches had sent his blood rushing to points south of his belt.

  In spite of what she thought, he knew a little something about women. He knew when one would melt against him if he kissed her. And that’s exactly the way Erin had looked in that moment when their bodies had touched.

  “I know exactly who I am,” he said. “And I don’t have issues with women.”

  “If you need help with the female point of view, I’d be happy to provide feedback.”

  “I don’t need help understanding women.”

  “Really? Then you would be the first man in history who didn’t,” she said pertly. “Look, Jack, all I’m saying is that you can make your characters do whatever you need them to, just give them a backstory to support the behavior. Readers want real characters, get to know and root for them.”

  “Understood.”

  “Maybe Mac Daniels needs a love interest. A woman, or man,” she said with a grin, “who will tell him the things he really doesn’t want to hear. Someone to keep him honest. Because right now he really has nothing to lose and it means the stakes for him are pretty low.”

  “I need to get to work.” He took a sheet of paper from the printer. “And I have some serious things for you to research.”

  “Right.” She stood and took the paper. “Later, Jack.”

  He watched the sway of her hips as she walked to the door and didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she was gone and he let it out.

  Had she been pushing his buttons to get him to open up?

  Off balance. There it was again. And he had another reason to regret missing the opportunity to kiss her. Besides the fact that he still didn’t know how she would taste, she was accusing him of pitching for a different team.

  If he hadn’t so adamantly and, let’s face it, obnoxiously, told her on the very first day they met that he wouldn’t sleep with her, he would gladly show her how much he liked women in general.

  And her in particular.

  * * *

  Jack had barricaded himself in th
e office all day and actually got some decent pages written. Although he wasn’t ready yet to admit that his editor had been right to send Erin, the chip on his shoulder was wobbling.

  He glanced at his dog, sitting in the bed and looking long-suffering and loyal. “Walk?”

  Instantly the animal hopped up and eagerly trotted to the door, waiting patiently for Jack to save the work and shut down the computer. He turned the knob and let the dog precede him outside and down the stairs. A view of towering mountains and pristine blue lake was, literally, a sight for sore eyes. And the fresh air felt great.

  He jogged down the path after Harley and saw Brewster Smith outside the marina store. The sixtyish man had a full head of silver hair and a beard to match. Come to think of it, he’d be perfect for a mall Santa. Jack normally walked by but today he stopped.

  He stepped onto the wooden walkway and under the awning over the store’s entrance. The older man was moving racks of sale clothing and summer clearance merchandise back inside. “How’s it going, Brew?”

  “Good.” Blue eyes assessed him. “You’re looking better.”

  Jack wanted to ask better than what, but wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. Then curiosity got the best of him. “Better than what?”

  “Before Erin showed up.”

  “I have to admit I had a productive day. It feels pretty good.”

  “A fruitful day’s work is good for the soul,” the man said. “And that cute little writing coach you got there doesn’t hurt, either. She’s a piece of work.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Jack wondered how the other man knew that she was a piece of work. “Does she come down here?”

  “Every day,” Brew confirmed. “Darn near talks my ear off.”

  “That sounds like her.”

  “But it’s worth it because she makes the best buttermilk spice muffins I ever tasted.” The other man pointed at him. “And if you tell my wife I said that I’ll deny it.”

  “I won’t breathe a word of it.” But Jack felt the same way about her cooking. Her muffins were really good. “And you’re right. Erin Riley can be a challenge.”

  The older man’s silver eyebrows drew together as he scratched his beard. “What’s wrong with her?”