Men Like This

by Roxanne Smith

  Quinn had no intention of sending a reply. Surely, they didn’t expect one. What would she possibly have to say?

  Congratulations! Having a baby out of wedlock is the perfect cap on five years of adultery. Glad to hear you’re still fertile, Blake. After your refusal to give me a daughter for so long, I’d started to wonder.

  She left her office. Blake had ruined her mood for writing. She padded into her bedroom where she splayed out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Her husband had been indifferent to her for years. Appreciative glances from other men went unnoticed. Blatant advances were laughed off like a good joke.

  Enter Jack, a self-made man, an anomaly from a half a world away, and suddenly Blake wanted to sit up and pay attention? Well, it was too late. A few days in Jack’s company were enough to absolve her of any remaining affection for her ex-husband. A guy like Blake would never compare. He’d never be enough.

  She pictured Jack’s enchanting eyes and maddening grin. “Men like this are the cure for the Blakes of the world.”

  Men like this.

  A brilliant flash of inspiration hit her with all the intensity of a jetliner in free fall. She sat up fast enough to make herself dizzy and scrambled from the bed. She streaked across the hall to her office. “I have it. Oh, my God, I have it.”

  Men like this.

  Men Like This.

  Clementine Hazel had given her first romance a title.

  Jack returned to Quinn’s flat with a bounty of goods.

  She gave up her feverish writing for the far more interesting task of picking through his stuff. He struggled with several brown paper bags and a handful of magazines. She wholly ignored them in favor of the short, barrel-chested, black-speckled bulldog staring at her like she was the one out of place.

  “I meet the infamous Biscuit at last. Did you have to rescue the little guy from Vickie’s lair?”

  “Nope.” With everything piled onto the kitchen table, Jack brushed his hands together and propped them on his hips. “She wouldn’t let me have him in the flat after she moved in. One of those fine print things you don’t notice until it’s too late and you’ve already signed your name in blood.” Quinn didn’t miss the hint of bitterness in his voice. “He’s been staying with Mum.”

  Biscuit didn’t move much. He continued to regard her with perfectly round, liquid eyes. She scratched behind his ears and was rewarded with instant panting and a big dog grin.

  Jack sighed. “The rest, however, did require liberating.”

  An indescribable pang she refused to call jealousy swept through her. If anything, she was territorial about her muse. It was to be expected.

  Jack grinned as if reading her mind. “No one home. Made it a quick job. How was your day?”

  Quinn was disgusted with herself for being relieved. She picked up the first magazine in a stack. “Named my story. Received a really crappy apology from my ex.” She shrugged. “Nothing spectacular.”

  She startled. A photograph of her taken in the outfit she’d worn yesterday sat in the upper-right corner of the cover, Clementine Hazel printed boldly below.

  She dropped the magazine and picked up the next one. Jack’s wicked grin beamed at her from a left-corner inset. She flipped through to find the accompanying article, shocked at the sheer number of photos they’d accumulated over a few days.

  How were there so many? How could she be so utterly blind to them? She lived in L.A., damn it. None of this should come as a surprise to her, but she was still stunned to see so much of her life on public display, moments she’d assumed private among them.

  In one, Jack held a cab door for her while looking straight into the camera. He’d obviously had a little more practice at spotting the sneaky paps. A second photo revealed the two of them on a crowded sidewalk in Greenwich taken the night before.

  The article took up two pages. She swallowed. “Should I read this?”

  Jack sorted through his belongings. “If you’d like. It’s favorably written. You and I make such a darling couple they can’t bring themselves to hate us. I’m sort of an ass for cheating on Vickie, but the press loves you. How can they not? Look at you. You’re so clearly in love with me, it’s bloody adorable.”

  She elbowed him and slyly moved away to study their photo more closely.

  Jack had great posture. He stood tall but relaxed. Comfortable in his skin. His scruffy beard and worn leather jacket made him look severe even with a smile on his face.

  She chewed her lip. Did Ezra measure up?

  She tossed the magazine down and surveyed the rest of Jack’s pile. A guitar case sat on the floor alongside Biscuit’s dog dishes and a bag of dog food. A few personal items like cologne and a toothbrush.

  She looked up to find him eyeing her. “Dinner?”

  The photos in the magazine article flashed in her mind. Why not add a few new ones to the mix?

  Jack took them to his usual stomping grounds in Greenwich and introduced her to a small pub he promised made the best chip butty in England. Personally, french fry sandwiches didn’t do it for her, but who was she to argue against a local staple?

  After arriving home later that evening, Quinn discreetly checked her phone for messages. A missed call from Emily snagged her attention. She did some quick math and figured the call had been made around four in the morning on Cali time. She dashed into her room for privacy. In her hurry, she neglected to switch on the overhead light and dialed Emily in the dark.

  Her sister answered groggy from sleep.

  “Em?”

  “Quinn? Quinn, is that you?” She suddenly sounded wide awake. “About damn time! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called you in the last three days?”

  “Sixteen.” Quinn supplied the answer without hesitation.

  “Oh.” Emily paused. “Really? Sixteen, huh?”

  “Yes. In three days.”

  She harrumphed. “Well, it’s your own fault. I never imagined you’d avoid me like the plague in a time of crisis.”

  Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Emily continued. “I’m your big sister, aren’t I? You’re supposed to turn to me in times like these, not ignore sixteen of my calls. Feel free to catch me up.”

  She kicked her shoes off before feeding her sister’s curiosity. No sympathy, no concern. Plain old curiosity. “I wouldn’t go so far as to label it a crisis, Em. Being followed is a little creepy, but to tell the truth, I don’t really notice.”

  “You are living with that man! I don’t care what the Internet says, you were seeing Nicholas three days ago. What happened? And who in the hell is this guy?”

  “It’s Jack, and technically he’s living with me.”

  “Who the hell is Jack?”

  Emily hadn’t forgotten the infamous one-night stand any more than Quinn if her penchant for bringing it up on random occasions was any clue. “The Jack.”

  A pause. Emily’s voice lowered an octave. “One-nighter English Irishman Jack? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Is there another Jack?”

  Her sister let out a whoosh of air. It sounded like Superman springing into flight. “Start from the beginning.”

  She laid back on the bed and cradled her head with her free hand. Emily didn’t come close to the ideal confidante, but with Angie out of touch for the last several months, she’d have to do. “It started when Nicholas proposed.”

  Twenty minutes later the story had been told in full, each detail described, and every nosy question answered to the best of Quinn’s ability. She didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of news, but Emily surprised her.

  “Not everything you said adds up to Vickie’s claims.”

  Quinn jackhammered into a sitting position. “What’re you talking about? What interview?” There were no interviews in any of the magazines Jack had brought home. Vickie had only a single photograph in the whole spread.

  “I found it online. We’ve been on
constant Google alert since you went viral. I don’t even remember the site now.”

  Of course not. “Well, what did she say?”

  “You’re a demon. What else? You stole her fiancée. They were engaged. There was a photo of the ring, which is totally stunning, by the way, and you’re the home wrecker of the year. Well done, little sister.”

  “What? No. I’m a sweetheart.” She came to her feet. “The engagement isn’t news to me, but I had nothing to do with their breakup. Not in a hands-on way, at least. Vickie’s the one having an affair.” She shook her head sadly. “What a cheap trick.”

  Emily gasped. “Vickie was cheating? Why didn’t you say? That changes everything.”

  “It didn’t seem relevant.” Nor did it seem her business to discuss Jack’s personal issues. She’d been on the sharp end of bad rumors with Blake’s affair. When private matters became public, no matter how wide the circle, people spoke matter-of-factly, speculating and judging without a thought for the pain they might be causing.

  “Vickie’s been seeing her ex-boyfriend ever since she and Jack started dating. Some Italian guy named Vino. She confessed after she saw the photograph of Jack with me and jumped to the conclusion we’re having an affair.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that after what Blake put me through. I’ll never be the other woman, Emily.” Did her sister even know her?

  “Okay, so, he’s living there.” A slight pause. “But you’re not sleeping together.”

  “I’ll admit it sounds a little doubtful when you say it like that, but no. We aren’t.” As a woman, she felt duty bound to explain. “Not for lack of wanting. The fire is there, but I’m terrified of the flame. It was one thing to give in to temptation when I could walk away the next day. But Jack will be here tomorrow. And then what? I fall in love and have my heart broken twice in as many years when he eventually goes back to the supermodel he wanted to marry? No, thanks.”

  “Seems to me fate has tossed him right in your lap. I say go for it.”

  Quinn blinked into the darkness. “Really? That’s your advice? Jack is dangerous. In fact, he’s the single most dangerous man on the planet. It would take next to nothing to fall for him. He reminds me of what Blake was like in the beginning, all laughter and charm. Those things go away. Or worse, they become weapons. A man can hide a lot behind a wall of dimples and honeyed words.”

  “The beginning?” Emily scoffed. “You’re talking high school. Blake was a kid. He’s since grown into the man he was meant to become. Jack’s grown. He’s already the person he’s always going to be. What’re the chances he’ll suddenly morph into someone you don’t like?”

  “I don’t care about the odds. I’m not the gambling type. Besides, you don’t even like him.”

  “Hmph. I never said that. I didn’t approve of you living and sleeping with a stranger, but he’s not a stranger. He’s Jack, and you aren’t having sex with him.”

  “Nor do I have any plans to despite my big sister’s bad advice.”

  “But you like him.”

  Quinn dropped back onto the bed in an exasperated huff. “Yes, I do, which is exactly the problem. Like becomes love, love becomes need, and it’s when you need somebody that they’ll step on your face.”

  Emily tsked. “How do you win awards with analogies like that?”

  “I’m not at my creative best at the moment. Now, are you satisfied? I’m not a home-wrecking demon harlot.”

  Her sister issued a wistful sigh. “Actually, I’m a little disappointed.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. For the first time in a long time, Emily sounded like a real big sister. Quinn promised to do a better job of keeping in touch and ended the call.

  She stood from the bed and stopped short at Jack leaning against the doorframe. His form cast in shadow made his silhouette the only sign of his presence. He offered a meek explanation. “You left it open. Do you always phone people in the dark?”

  She didn’t answer. She replayed the conversation with Emily in her head and wondered how much of her personal sentiments he now had knowledge of. She thanked God for the darkness hiding her blazing cheeks.

  A long moment passed. “All right, well, I have a present for you. Tomorrow is spoken for. I’ve been quite the distraction, but I promise, after tomorrow, I’ll do better. I realize you’ve got deadlines and such.”

  She honed in on the most important thing. “A present? What kind of present?”

  “The kind you’ll like. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be much of a gift, would it?”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  He shifted to cross his arms. His tone went from playful to affronted. “I most certainly am not.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “No fun?” he repeated, incredulous. He reached over and flicked on the light. “I’m loads of fun. You’ll see.”

  She hoped her face had returned to its normal color. “I suppose we will.”

  “So we shall.”

  A gurgle of laughter escaped her as he disappeared from the doorway. She relaxed. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything.

  He popped back in. “And, Quinnie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s not always the case.”

  She sucked in a great gulp of air, prepared for the worst, and made the expected inquiry. “What isn’t?”

  “I didn’t catch the whole of it, but I picked up the gist, and you’re wrong. Those we allow ourselves to need won’t always step on our faces.” His concerned mask transformed into one of know-it-all disdain. “We’re simply too tall. Our toes, perhaps, but not our faces.”

  Chapter 10

  “Wakey, wakey.”

  Quinn peeled open one eye. Nope, not worth it. She pulled the quilt over her head and rolled away from Jack’s taunting song. “Hmph.”

  “English fails you this morning, but you don’t need it just yet. C’mon, up and at ’em, Quinnie.”

  “Go away.” She managed coherency only for him to ignore her anyway.

  “Not a chance.” He sat, undeterred, next to her on the bed. “I’ve made breakfast. With your American sensibilities in mind, I avoided the traditional English staples like fried tomatoes and beans. I even scrambled the eggs instead of frying them. There’s coffee.” He added this after a slight pause, probably since the mention of breakfast hadn’t brought around the desired results.

  Good call. She poked her head out from beneath the cover. “Coffee?”

  “Coffee.” He closed his eyes and said the word like a solemn promise.

  “Fine.” Her gruff response hid her pleasure. She could get used to a man who understood the gravity of coffee. That was exactly the problem. “Out. I need to get dressed.”

  He didn’t budge. “How can I trust you not to go back to sleep?” He crossed his arms as if to solidify the challenge.

  Quinn narrowed her eyes. Challenge accepted. She tossed the quilt aside in one quick, deliberate motion and scooted past him to throw her feet onto the cold wooden planks of the floor. She stood up and allowed Jack to take her in; thin white wrinkly top, tiny shorts riding high on her thighs, and the spectacular mess of tangles falling around her shoulders.

  His ever-present grin grew wider still. His gaze finally found its way to hers. “It’s going to be a good day.”

  She extended her index finger toward the door. “Out.” Please God, before she did something stupid like accidentally fall out of her pajamas.

  With him gone, she traded her skimpy outfit for fuzzy pajama bottoms and a large T-shirt. Usually she slept in less, but she didn’t trust herself to remain naked for any length of time with Jack in the house. Best to stay moderately decent at all times.

  She shuffled into the kitchen. “Mmm.” She moaned at the unmistakable scent of her most beloved breakfast essential. “Bacon. You could’ve gotten me out of bed with bacon.”

  “Does it work both ways?”

  She stared at him. “Did
you just ask if bacon would get me into bed?”

  He grinned and shrugged. “It’s American bacon, after all. Not really bacon, but I’m not going to argue breakfast with an American. You’ll never win, and I’d hate to dampen your spirits so early in the day.”

  She shrugged back. “Anything’s possible.”

  Jack laughed and pulled out a chair for her. “Bacon trumps coffee. Duly noted. Oh, speaking of, I’d have fixed your cup, but I’ve yet to master the exact science of it. What’s it, eight creams and seventeen sugars? Fifteen creams and nine sugars?”

  “Close enough.” She made a beeline for the platter of bacon resting near the coffeepot. She plucked the crispiest piece from the plate and glanced down to catch Biscuit’s imploring gaze traveling from her to the bacon and back. He licked his chops.

  How could something so ugly be so utterly adorable? She slipped the pathetic creature a slice and snagged another for herself. Jack caught her, of course, being the anti-archetypal male who paid attention, and they spent breakfast arguing over the wisdom of giving people food to pets.

  “Surely Biscuit’s ancestors ate pork.” She rinsed the last dish, dried her hands on a checkered dishcloth, and gave the room a sweeping glance. “So, where’s my present?”

  Jack stopped his lengthy narrative on nitrates and preservatives and laughed through his nose in a kind of amused snort. He pulled her into a quick embrace. “You’re impossible. It’s not one you unwrap. Get dressed; we’re going out.”

  Quinn disappeared into her room, buzzing from the feel of his arms around her. It had reminded her of something, that little hug. She deflated once it came to mind, and her buzzing high faded into a sense of defeat with a pinch of sadness. She did the same thing to Seth when he said something funny or clever. She should be grateful he hadn’t ruffled her hair.

  She couldn’t imagine Jack’s embraces with Vickie as the bubbly, smiley kind. No doubt they were probably very steamy and sensual. Quinn didn’t really do steamy. The word itself mostly brought to mind pot stickers and saunas.