“Great to meet you, Abe. Yes, everything’s great. Your house is lovely.”
Abe nodded. He took a step back. “You have a good vacation now. The person who booked—Margaret, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, she booked for two weeks. But if you want to add a few days, that’s no problem. I don’t have anyone lined up for the next month. If you need anything in the meantime, just visit.”
She peeked inside the basket, and when she looked up, he was halfway down the path.
“Thank you!” Ally called after him. He kept walking, but his hand rose in a wave.
That’s breakfast sorted. A crusty loaf of bread, a packet of butter, a hunk of cheese, and a glass bottle of milk nestled in a gingham cloth. She padded back to the kitchen to investigate further. A bottle of red wine. She held it up, and examined the label. Not a bad one, either. A packet of ginger cookies. And down near the bottom of the basket, a box of chocolate truffles.
“Thank you, Abe.” She made coffee, and fixed herself a thick sandwich.
Glanced at the round wooden kitchen clock hanging on the faded yellow wall. Ten-fifteen. She rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept so late. At home, the sound of traffic woke her early. She cracked a window. Birdsong. No rumble of cars, no wailing of ambulances or police cars. If she weren’t working, this would be a perfect place to kick back and relax.
She carried the plate and mug into the bedroom, and peeled off the robe.
What was she doing here, now she’d met Jace and discovered who he was? She could hardly continue with the assignment—it wouldn’t be a fair test considering…
She finished the sandwich, and followed it with a slug of coffee.
He’d thrown a wrench into her plans, for sure. She stripped off her pajamas, and wandered, naked, into the bathroom. She’d gone to bed last night, laid there thinking about him, and got up again to pace the floor, trying to tease out a solution. Whichever way she played it, this was a lose-lose situation.
The shower faucet was tight, it took both hands to turn it on, but at least there was good water pressure. She let it run for a few seconds, fingers trailing under the stream until it warmed up, then climbed in.
“Jace Carter.” His name suited him. She’d thought about him. Dreamed about the things they’d done that night, more than once. Her imagination had taken a few wild flights of fancy. Who was he? What did he do? She’d imagined all sorts of outrageous scenarios. None of them came close to the reality. And that reality had kept her awake. All. Fucking. Night.
He was young to have a seventeen-year-old son; he couldn’t be more than thirty-five, which meant he must have been a teenager when Rory was born. Crystal had said he was divorced. Had he been married when they had sex?
She soaped up, and stroked the lather over her breasts. There’d been no wedding ring on his finger. She’d checked. No mention of a kid. But he’d been the father of a teenager. She stuck her head under the showerhead. Did I cheat with someone else’s man?
She shook off the water streaming through her hair.
“It wasn’t my fault.” Jeez, when had things got so weird that she was talking out loud to herself?
There were extenuating circumstances, but she never, ever, condoned cheating. Scheming, biting, kicking, maybe. Cheating? Never.
She scrubbed water over her face.
That holiday season had been the worst in Ally’s life. For the first time ever, she’d spent Christmas alone—her father had moved out, and her mother took off to Mexico with friends rather than stay and mourn what she had lost in Portland. Belle spent the holidays with Lewis’s family. Neither of them extended an invitation for Ally to join them.
She could have spent Christmas day in bed, but wallowing wasn’t an option, so instead Ally’d cooked Christmas dinner with all the trimmings and tried to keep upbeat. Thousands of people spent the season alone—why not her too?
Eventually, the sadness of the situation overwhelmed her. The sole place set at the dining table. The silence. Opening presents, with no one to thank. Loading dishes into the dishwasher, then sitting in front of the TV watching holiday movies of families having fun, eroded the veneer of everything being okay to reveal the bitter truth underneath. She’d broken her family, and there was no chance she’d ever be forgiven.
By December twenty-seventh, she was climbing the walls. And when an old friend from college, Marcie, drunk-dialed at four in the morning—because Ally and Allan were easily confused in a chardonnay fog—she’d decided the phone call was an opportunity, not a P.I.T.A, and packed a bag.
She called Marcie the following morning. Reminded her of the phone call the night before, and told her friend that drunk dialing was never a good idea. Especially if you wailed, ‘I miss you, I need you. Come over. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Then shot the whole thing to pieces by adding: ‘I’m wearing my sexy panties…oh, I feel sick.’
“I’m glad it was you I called. Not Aunt Angela.”
Presumably, Aunt Angela was next in the address book.
“I need to get a grip.” Marcie exhaled loudly. “I know I should play it cool, give him time like he wanted rather than acting needy and frantic. We were due to go to a big party New Year’s Eve—now all I want to do is lie in bed with the blankets over my head and a full bottle of gin in my hand.”
Marcie’s plan was remarkably similar to Ally’s own.
“So your plan is to hide from the new year?” Just like mine.
“No.” Marcie sounded defensive. “I’m no coward. I’d love to shimmy into that party looking so fucking fabulous he’d be poleaxed with desire. But if I walk in there and he’s with someone else…” her words ended in a sort of sob.
They talked through it. There was no reason to suspect Allan had moved on—they’d had one hell of a fight, but no other person was involved on either side. Marcie’d said some things she didn’t mean; she wanted to apologize. A face-to-face meeting—preferably under mistletoe—while she looked her best, was the ideal solution.
“Will you be my wing-woman?”
Ally’d never been happier to strap on a pair.
Which is why she’d found herself in the arms of a stranger at midnight—that fateful night. And abandoned to her own devices, as Marcie and Allan saw in the new year in an X-rated party for two back at his apartment.
A sharp bolt spiked through her at the memory of the stranger’s mouth hovering mere millimeters from hers. His whispered words, asking her name.
Her response, “No names. No numbers. Just tonight.”
She grimaced. It had been the perfect come-on to a married man, a married father. In her desire to escape her miserable present for a few hours, she’d handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card. No names. No way of finding each other. No payback for infidelity.
“Shit.” She gripped the faucet, and struggled to turn it off. Then clambered out of the shower and grabbed a couple of towels from the rack. With one wound around her hair, turban style, and the other tightly wrapped around her wet body, she went back to the bedroom.
Ally tossed clothes from the suitcase onto the bed. Costumes. Clothes she’d never be seen dead in if she were being herself rather than the girl next door she’d come here to play. At the bottom were a couple of her regular outfits for her downtime, when she’d hoped to catch up with Belle.
She didn’t have to pretend anymore. She laid out black jeans, and black T with a silver skull on the front. She had to get a grip. Had to get over this.
Last night had been a series of shocks; Rory weaving in front of her car; Sophia’s scarred back; Jace Carter being the mystery man she’d never been able to forget; and to cap it all, being the man Crystal loved. In the midst of it all, Ally hadn’t put together the entire picture until after she left his home.
Once she had—she should have been repulsed. After all, she spent her life unmasking cheaters. She should have blocked him from her mind. But instead, she conjured him
up while she slept, assigning him a starring role in a lurid dream where they lost their clothes, and he showed her some inventive uses for handcuffs.
They’d talked about handcuffs that night—which must be why a pair starred so vividly in her dream—but had to settle for his tie instead. It was amazing what fun you could have with a wrought iron bedstead and a strip of fabric.
“Stop.” She pulled up her panties, then wiggled into jeans. There were more important things to think about than Jace Fucking Carter.
When she’d got back to the car last night, Sophia had gone, and even though Ally drove around for an hour, there was no sign of the girl. If Jace hadn’t been so intent on questioning her for ages, she could have caught Sophia sneaking away and talked to her in more detail about her options. The kid was in trouble. The wounds on her back weren’t fresh, but she hadn’t wanted to go home. Ally had to find her again. Had to help her.
She needed to talk to Rory Carter. Get him to spill. And avoid his father while she was doing it.
She finished dressing. Dried her hair. Grabbed car keys, and headed into town.
Teenage boys and diners went together like cookies and cream. Stakeout time.
FIVE
Wrong Carter.
And in these diner booths, nowhere to hide. She couldn’t even sink down on the seat without everyone in the place seeing her do it, and labeling her a crazy woman. She’d cased the place the day before. One way in—one way out. Trapped. Might as well enjoy the view.
There was no denying it; he was a devastatingly good-looking man. Nine months ago, he’d stolen her breath with one look across a room, and now her body’s reaction to him was no less potent. Last time, the thought that he may belong to another hadn’t even registered in her drink-addled brain. But this time she had no such excuse. She knew he was taken. And by whom.
She rubbed the back of her neck. Scrunched up her eyes to avoid looking at him.
Ah, hell. He hadn’t seen her yet. She snuck a long look. He was tall, easily topping six feet. Tiptoe tall—when she’d been in bare feet. His coffee-brown hair was longer now, curling at his nape, and falling almost over one eye—pirate style. He stood laughing with the girl behind the counter, and the deep dimples Ally remembered licking in a moment of desire-fuelled madness cut deep grooves in his cheeks.
Last night he’d been formally dressed in a suit and tie.
Today he wore jeans and a navy Henley that clung to his chest, defining his muscle tone. He hadn’t gained an ounce of fat since she’d seen him naked—if anything, he’d become more muscular, more toned. More man.
She sighed, and looked down at the table.
Rule two of honeytrapping: Never honeytrap anyone you know.
What the hell would she do? She could hardly continue with her mission now. Honeytrapping was based on the premise of accidental meetings. To find out how a man or woman might react when faced with the temptation of a total stranger. She would have to call Crystal and arrange another operative to take her place. She should have made that call this morning, but the question of just exactly how to break the news had made her hold back. She could hardly explain she couldn’t honeytrap Jace because she’d screwed his brains out in the past, could she?
Because the first thing her boss would ask was why she hadn’t revealed that fact the moment she heard his name. And admitting that she hadn’t known his name—that he hadn’t known hers—made both of them look sex-crazed and promiscuous. Which they were, but that was their business. Being professional meant not sharing about your sex life at work.
And if he’d been married back then, that made Ally exactly the sort of woman everyone in the office despised. The sort of woman who slept with a man without finding anything out about him.
If he’d had a wife back home while they cavorted in a rented hotel room in Portland, he failed Crystal’s test before she even met him.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
She looked up. Jace stood before her, indicating the empty seat opposite.
“No.”
He slid into the seat. “Good.” He looked freshly showered, with no trace of scruff on his jaw and his hair slightly damp. Just as she’d suspected, the navy top matched the color of his eyes as if it had been selected for him by an overpaid stylist. “I’ve been looking for you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so surprising?” He leaned his elbows on the table and stared into her eyes. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Is it suddenly hot in here? Ally swept her fingertips around the neckline of her T-shirt. She pushed her coffee cup away. “I don’t think we do.” She caught the waitress’s eye and signaled for the check.
“What’s your hurry?” His mouth curved in the smile that caught her eye the first time she’d seen him. The Big Bad Wolf smile. “You’re on holiday, right?”
“Right. But I still have things to do. You know.”
“I don’t know.”
Mary arrived at the table with the check on a small plate and placed it before Ally.
“Are you sure you don’t want something, Jace? The coffee’s good.” She winked.
“No thanks, Mary.”
Ally slipped notes onto the plate, grabbed her bag, and picked up her jacket. “Don’t let me stop you.”
She gave every indication of being desperate to get away—behavior that would have set any suspicious man’s internal radar shrieking. But this time she wasn’t escaping.
He tamped down the urge to take her elbow as they walked from the diner, and instead followed at a distance, not wanting to exacerbate the tension sparking in the air between them.
She looked different today. Hotter. Tight jeans. Goth T-shirt. Red lipstick. He tried not to check out her ass, but it was darned near impossible to resist.
Her hair bounced when she swung around. “Are you following me everywhere?”
“No, we’re going somewhere to talk.”
It was difficult not to be distracted by the challenge flashing in her eyes. She stopped on the sidewalk, hands on hips, chin tilted up as their gazes locked. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
What the hell is her problem? He’d given her no reason to behave as she was—as though he was dirt under her shoe she was determined to wipe off at her earliest convenience. Jace breathed deep. Honey, not vinegar. “I need to talk to you.” He stepped close, close enough to see the little flecks of gold that accentuated the green in her eyes. Close enough to breathe in the scent of her that he’d never forgotten, even after all these months.
She looked away. “We’ve talked about everything we needed to. Your son is home…” She shrugged. “We don’t have anything else to talk about.”
He took her elbow. “Five minutes. In my car.” He jerked his head to the car nearby.
“I’m in a relationship.”
The way she said it: defensive and dismissive, as though he was chasing her and his attention was unwanted, made him bristle. “I’m not trying to date you.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Or screw you either, for that matter.” Although now the thought was in his mind, he couldn’t help but imagine stroking his hands over her soft skin, tasting her mouth to see if that magical night they shared had been a one-off—or if he was looking back with rose-tinted goggles at remembered perfection.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth. Heat blazed through him, for she was feeling it too. Thinking the same thoughts he was, feeling the same pull.
Her teeth gritted. “Five minutes.”
He took her elbow and walked her to his car. Opened the door for her, then walked around the car to the driver’s seat.
Once safe from prying eyes, he turned to her. “You’re not in a relationship.” God knows how he knew, but the look she flashed him revealed the truth.
“No. I’m not.”
“So why lie?”
“I don’t want to get involved with you.” She crossed her arms. “You and I had our fun, and it was a long time ag
o. I don’t have any plan to repeat my mistakes.”
“It wasn’t a mistake.” He reached over and touched her cheek.
She couldn’t hide her reaction. The way she leaned into his touch, the darkening of her eyes told a different story than the words she’d spoken.
“That night was special. We may not have known each other’s names, but don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything.”
“We didn’t know anything about each other.” She jerked her head away. “I didn’t know, or even suspect, that you belonged to another woman. A woman you had a child with. If I’d known that, I never would have gone to your hotel room. How old was Rory then—sixteen?”
Ah. “No. He was fifteen, he just turned seventeen a month ago.” He reached for her hand. “If you’d allowed me to share information that night, I would have told you that I was a father. A single parent. Rory’s mother walked out soon after he was born, leaving me to bring him up when I was only a teenager.”
Her mouth gaped a little. On her, it looked cute.
“I don’t regret one minute of being his father. It’s been hard—but my mother helped me, looking after him while I went to college so I could provide for him. But believe me, being a dad affects dating potential.”
She frowned. Shot him a that’s bullshit look. “Don’t tell me you’ve been a saint, I won’t believe you. Did you and Rory’s mother marry?” Her hands clenched into fists.
“Yes—I was married for six whole weeks.” He sounded bitter. He wasn’t. He was relieved. Being with someone who doesn’t love you is shit on a stick.
Ally was single—now was the time to tell her he was in a relationship that might be getting serious. But somehow, the words wouldn’t come.
“When Rory was a kid, even taking a woman out for coffee was damn near impossible.”
“And getting laid even more impossible, I’m guessing.”
He nodded. “Rory went to stay with some school friends during the holidays the year we met. I was flying solo for the first time in years.”
The Fiancé Trap: A Honeytrap Inc. Romance Page 5