by Lia Riley
Being attracted to bad boys seemed exciting, except for the part where they were, well…bad. Dating one or two assholes was an unhappy part of a girl’s life, but her jerk record was unbroken.
She waited until they cleared the front porch steps before speaking. “They’re definitely suspicious.”
Beau deliberated a moment. “Yeah. But they’ll be too polite to ask questions.”
“Maybe to you.” Tuesday grimaced. A furtive movement caught the corner of her eye. Rhett and Pepper jumped back from the window, both pretending to be busy drawing the curtain, but holding the same string.
They crossed the street. Beau stopped at his bike and drummed his fingers on the curving metal frame. “Mind if I come in? I meant what I said about clearing the air.”
She considered his request. A frank adult talk would put the whole matter to bed.
No, wait. Scratch that. Not bed.
She ducked her chin, grateful for her long veil of hair, and let her gaze land across the street. In the big old house, Miss Ida May was visible through her front window, holding court in her dining room in front of an open laptop. Behind her leaned in the illuminated faces of Phaedra Fairweather and Lucille Munro. The three not-so-secret editors of the Back Fence were intent on whatever they were studying online. At least they were distracted from the events unfolding in the middle of Love Street. After the way Miss Ida May had eyed her earlier, Tuesday sensed they wouldn’t approve of her bringing Beau indoors after hours.
“Sure,” she said firmly, leading the way to her cottage. Her pace was brisk, a Manhattan stride, one that meant business. “It would be great to get on the same page.”
She opened her front gate with gusto. Yep, this chat would be easy-peasy. He’d come in. They’d agree this morning had been nothing more than a big mistake, and then she’d tell a joke that would make everything okay. After that they’d return to being nemeses.
Because they hadn’t had their first kiss. They’d had their only kiss.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday pushed open her unlocked front door and they stepped inside, staring at each other in the dark room. It was a look that went too long and felt as intimate as a caress. Of course she’d heard the old expression about being undressed with eyes. Well, Beau was doing a mighty fine job of stripping her bare.
“I’ll get the light.” She bent to flick on the side table lamp. Had he really come to talk? What if he was here because he saw the same things Philip had—the blond hair, the happy-go-lucky smile, her up-for-anything attitude—and assumed she’d be great for a romp but nothing serious?
She kept her chin tucked to her chest, arranging a stack of celebrity gossip magazines, keeping her face shielded behind a veil of hair.
What an idiot. Beau was probably after one thing. She didn’t need to play Twenty Questions.
He cleared his throat. “So here is what I’m thinking—”
“Let me guess.” She drew herself to her full height. “Because I kissed you, you think that I’m going to sleep with you?”
“Sleep with you?” Two bemused lines creased his forehead as his eyes flew wide open. “What are you talking about?”
Her cheeks scorched with embarrassment—talk about misreading the situation. Philip was eight hundred miles away and still his poison circulated in her veins. Beau wasn’t marking her as an easy lay. He wasn’t considering her, period. God, could she be more of an idiot?
She endured his inquisitive gaze, chin held high as he scanned her beet-red face as if it were tattooed with a map of the missing Redbeard treasure. “That’s not how I want you to think of me,” he said. “We don’t have much in common, but I respect you.”
She huffed a mocking laugh; it was that or climb the walls. Because like it or not, Beau Marino wasn’t a jerk. He wasn’t Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, but he wasn’t here to take advantage. Rather, he stood there like the portrait of a perfect Southern gentlemen despite those rather wicked low-slung jeans and the weathered leather jacket. She was the one with her mind in the gutter.
“Forget it,” she muttered. “You say north, I say south. You say left, I say right. I swear we could probably argue whether the Earth was round.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s an oblate spheroid.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The Earth. It appears round from space, but it is squished at the poles and swollen at the equator.”
She stared, openmouthed, as he took a step toward her. He was tall, but so was she. They stood nearly eye to eye, but he was broader. Hard-bodied. Male. Not the type to talk her ear off or go on and on with hours of mushy pillow talk. It took him a while to warm up, but he wasn’t shy. His quiet confidence settled something loose inside her. He’d never manipulate her to take advantage. But that didn’t mean he was safe. His serious gaze felt dangerous in another way, especially when it fixed on her mouth just so.
“Tuesday.” He stepped closer.
She slanted her mouth in a smile. “The Earth is squished and swollen, huh? That would have been a fun physical science class.” Humor was her only defense against this overwhelming confusion.
He shook his head but didn’t come closer. “We’re off point. Listen. I’m not in the habit of acting like I did in Madam Magna’s tent. Fuck it all…” He skimmed a hand over the top of his head, his features open, vulnerable even. “I haven’t kissed a woman since my wife.”
She hadn’t known about Beau’s Bermuda-living parents, but it was impossible to live in Everland for more than three days and not overhear offhand comments about his deceased wife, always accompanied by a headshake and a vague sympathetic comment.
In this moment he wasn’t the no-nonsense, confident leader, but a fellow lost soul. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “So very sorry.”
“Everyone is sorry.” He spit out the word like it was a vulgar phrase. “I don’t want pity. And I don’t deserve pity, trust me.”
“Then I won’t give it to you.” She dropped her shoulders. Not everyone had believed she was a conniving home wrecker in New York. Some friends had been sympathetic, and that had almost felt worse. She wouldn’t put him in the same position.
His phone rang again.
“Saved by the bell one more time,” she said with forced brightness. “Go ahead and take the call. I need to let my dog out. We can reconvene after and make a game plan for going forward.” That sounded very businesslike and take-charge.
Relief washed over his features. “Good.”
Now they’d talk over the afternoon’s mistake like two grown-ups, sweep the memory under the rug, and return to regularly scheduled mutual dislike. All would be right in the world. “Great. Feel free to take a seat.”
He gave her pink-striped couch and peacock-patterned throw pillows an impassive glance. “I’ll be out front,” he said, opening the door and disappearing onto the porch.
She helped her old Boston terrier hobble down the back steps and into the yard. J. K. Growling sniffed around a magnolia while Tuesday sank onto the stoop. A warm, buttery light shone over the side fence, separating her yard from Pepper and Rhett’s cottage. Jazz poured through their kitchen window, muffling conversation but not their laughter and the occasional dish clink.
Tuesday swallowed the unexpected upwelling of jealousy with a grimace. Her sister deserved every single bit of goodness that crossed her path. She didn’t begrudge Pepper anything, and yet sometimes it hurt. Because Tuesday had tried to play the game, and had gone all in on the idea of love, but unlike Indiana Jones in front of those hundred goblets, she’d chosen unwisely. Now she had a past more checkered than most checkerboards. Why were all the men she dated jerks? How could her asshole detector be so broken?
The what-ifs could stretch to the moon. What if she hadn’t been so desperate to be liked?
It wouldn’t have been so easy to be manipulated for starters.
What if she had questioned the unsettled feeling she’d gotten whenever Philip had made a g
lancing reference to his supposedly ex-wife?
What if she’d walked out after he’d put her down, rather than ignoring his sob stories about a troubled childhood?
God, she’d let him play her emotions like a fiddle. Saying how his wife had broken his heart. That he was alone. Wounded. That Tuesday was the only person who’d ever made him feel whole. She was special. A talent. No, they couldn’t go out together. He didn’t want to share her. What they had wasn’t for the world. It was just for each other. If she could be smarter. Prettier. Skinnier.
Different.
First he’d invited her to read for him at his apartment after they met in the elevator when she was on her way to work at a birthday party on the floor above him. He’d held the door and asked for her number. When she’d gotten in the elevator she’d squealed. Of course she’d heard of casting-couch auditions, but it wasn’t like that. He actually had her read. Praised her performance. Called her his budding star.
It took two to have a dysfunctional relationship. Her, the victim.
And him, the asshole.
He’d groomed her, flattered her, dazzled her until she couldn’t see that she was being led down a dark path by a guy who got off on abuse and humiliation. A spider who spun his web around her so delicately, so lightly, that she never knew she was trapped until he’d sucked her almost dry. She’d been with her share of jerks, but Philip was special, a class all his own. He drained her of self-worth, of confidence, of love.
And afterward, when she was nothing but a husk, all she could do was stare in the mirror at herself, as if maybe if she looked hard enough she’d see the answer to the biggest why of all…
Why had she chosen to fall for a man like that?
She stood and tilted her head back. No breeze from the coast tonight. What she wouldn’t give for a bit of autumn coolness to temper the overwarm dark. Or air-conditioning.
A deep voice drifted over the roof. Beau. On the phone. Working as always.
But the lost feeling on his face, how to reconcile it with the clipped, masculine take-charge tone.
“Tomorrow’s no good. I’m booked solid,” he said in his usual curt voice. “I have time Friday, a half hour at noon.”
Friday? It was only Monday. His days were that packed?
He made a disgusted sound. “I don’t give two shits what Discount-Mart says. I’m not in a hurry. Happily Ever After Land means something to this town. Any potential closure needs to be considered from all angles.”
Closure? She froze, her heart forgetting a beat. Discount-Mart, the chain store? What was going on?
“The Tourism Commission paid us a visit today. If they support Everland for their Coastal Jewel campaign, then I’d be hard-pressed to advocate for the park’s closure. It’s a little tired, but it provides historic value to the town.”
He went quiet a moment. Something wet rubbed over the back of her knee, and she squeaked. J. K. Growling’s nose. She’d been eavesdropping so hard that she hadn’t heard the old girl lumber up the stairs.
The tenor of Beau’s voice changed, increasing in speed. “Listen, man. I can’t talk. We can meet Friday. All right. ’Night, Humph.”
It was wrong to eavesdrop, and now the evidence was inadmissible. She couldn’t say anything without sharing it had been overheard.
And first she had to figure out what was going on. Because no one would close Happily Ever After Land. She set her shoulders. The real world was a hard place. Good guys—and gals—could lose. Undeserving villains could win the day and never pay for any of their vile deeds.
That’s not the way this story would end. The park existed as a place of hope, of simple joy and happiness. Once upon a time, she hadn’t been able to save herself. But no longer.
This princess would kick some dragon tail and take names.
Chapter Ten
Beau hung up and went back inside Tuesday’s dollhouse cottage. Humph Miller had been relentlessly self-serving as usual—no surprises there—but the million-dollar question was which option would be best for Everland? Keeping Happily Ever After Land and continuing to pursue a long-game tourism and revitalization strategy, or pursuing immediate results with the Discount-Mart deal but risk losing the unique small-town ambience?
Humph’s big fat carrot about supporting a bid for higher office didn’t factor into his decision. The reason people were disenchanted with politics was because of corruption, the idea that values could be bought and sold. When he first ran for mayor he promised himself that if the role ever clashed with his ethics or beliefs, he’d find another occupation. That was the biggest problem with career politicians, those who began to see it less as a calling and more as a paycheck. He might be able to do more good in Washington, DC. But he’d lose being grounded in his community. Being anchored to the real work of government, its power to improve individual lives.
He sank onto the pink-and-white-striped couch, taking in the overwhelmingly feminine room, from the peacock-patterned throw pillows, to the tiny curios, to the vase of yellow roses, lilies, and sunflowers, to the rhinestone tiara hanging from the coat hook. The whole atmosphere was light and delicate, contrasting with the black leather furniture and dark, muted color scheme of Belle Mont Manor.
A floorboard creaked. Tuesday hovered in the doorway, and he swallowed thickly. In addition to deciding on the best outcome for Everland, he needed to figure out one here, too, between them.
“What happened this morning,” she said crisply. “It was a mistake.” She spoke nothing but the truth, but that didn’t erase the sting.
“You’re a great kisser,” he blurted, addressing her pink-painted toes. Shit. Where did that come from?
Her cheeks flamed. “Um, thanks?” He liked her little blushes. That was the problem with Tuesday; she was addictively adorable. Her guileless gaze might conjure strong protective instincts, but it took only a good long glance at her clear eyes to spy the strong-willed spirit that dwelled inside.
This was a woman who could kick ass and take names if the situation required.
Both versions were appealing—the innocence and the strength. Too damn appealing.
“You’re my best friend’s fiancé’s sister. This is Everland. We’re going to see each other like it or not.” Did he like that idea?
Her face softened a fraction. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Can we call a truce?”
An emotion crossed her face that he couldn’t begin to decipher. “I’m not sure.”
“What can I do to make you sure?” He squinted, regarding her more carefully. Tension rolled off her in waves.
She opened her mouth, but ran her hand over her lips as if to shove the words back inside. “Let me get back to you on that.”
He wrinkled his brow. Something was up. Her gaze shuttered like windows before a hurricane. But it was hard to think rationally while she daintily chewed the corner of her lip.
“How about we call it a night, okay?” She avoided his glance.
No. It wasn’t okay, but it would have to be. He liked this about Tuesday, seeing her set boundaries and take charge of a situation, steering it to how it could better suit her. She had such a strong sense of self, personality poured out of her, a raw, vital energy that was heady to be around.
What if she wasn’t all show? What if she was just that great?
He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge his heart from his throat.
Those were questions that were safer to ponder from afar.
“I’ll see myself out.” He rose and turned for the door, but she was at the end of the coffee table, blocking that route. He stepped right only for her to follow suit, not anticipating his move. They ended chest to chest.
“Sorry. Let me go the other way,” she said, but he’d already done it.
They stood closer still. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth.
Her head tilted back and she regarded him through hooded, hazy eyes. Before he could finish thinking “fuck it,”
the choke hold loosened on his self-control. Their lips tangled, a slow, tender, mutual assault, and there it was again, the ignited chemistry, white-hot and right.
Whatever they couldn’t manage to speak they shared now, tasting each other’s frustration, fear, hope, loneliness, and desire. A small, wounded part of himself brushed against hers, and the pain was sweet. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth; he’d never get his fill of her lips.
“This is a bad idea.” She pushed him down on the couch and landed in his lap, legs straddling his hips, her dress hiked high, baring her satin-smooth thighs. When she leaned in to resume their kiss, she rocked against the thick heat in his pants and didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in harder with a breathless, “Oh God.”
They froze, sharing breaths, pressed hard, close and aching. He skimmed her shoulders, let her hair tickle his fingers.
“I’ve seen these kinds of situations before,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. “In movies.”
“Glean any valuable insight?”
“The couple always decides to sleep with each other.”
“That a fact?” he rasped. Maybe he should give movies more credit.
“It’s always this shtick about how sex will help them get out of each other’s system.” Her laugh held a mocking note. “As if that’s ever going be the case. It’s the worst trope ever.”
“Why?”
“Attraction doesn’t always lead to good places. Been there, done that. Nope. Nu-Uh.”
“Spoken like a princess from Happily Ever After Land?” he teased.
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Attraction blinds people to reality.”
She had him there.
Her expression grew more bashful. “And it just so happens that I’m attracted to you.”
He winced as she shifted her weight. He was so hard it hurt. “I seem to be in a similar conundrum,” he ground out.