For the First Time (One Strike Away #$)

by Mary J. Williams

  Murphy adjusted a knob on the CB unit until the reception on his end lost the crackling noise.

  "I understand, Zeke. But I can't speak for Jordyn."

  Mick's Garage wasn't set up for high-traffic business. Like many of the year-round area residents, Mick had moved here to get away from crowds. He ran a small operation designed to help pay the bills and keep him occupied when he wasn't involved with his first love. Fishing.

  Once in a blue moon, outside forces tried to challenge Mick's laid-back philosophy of life. But he never wavered.

  "You know Mick," Zeke chuckled. "Unless somebody's dying, he has one speed. Slow and steady. He's sorry, but he can't keep his promise. Jordyn's SUV has moved down his list of priorities."

  "How far down?"

  "Day after tomorrow. Maybe the next. But to give Mick credit, he almost sounded contrite."

  "I'll bet," Murphy sighed, smiling at the irony in Zeke's voice.

  "If she wants, I'll drive Jordyn wherever she wants to go."

  "Seattle?"

  Zeke paused. "Two hours there. Another, driving through traffic. Jesus, I hate traffic. What the hell. Been a while since I've been to the city. I can stock up on some things instead of ordering off the internet."

  Murphy should have been grateful for Zeke's offer. Instead, he felt a wave of resentment. Uncalled for, to be sure. But resentment rarely made a hell of a lot of sense.

  "I can take Jordyn wherever she needs to go."

  "Right," Zeke scoffed. "You're a bigger hermit than I am. When was the last time you left the mountain?"

  "Just because I don't leave doesn't mean I can't." Murphy's resentment turned to borderline anger. Again, for no logical reason. "I'm not in prison. I can come and go as I please."

  Zeke had once dealt with the entire U.S. Navy, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and three different presidents. He'd become an expert at calming a myriad of personalities. Which made one prickly neighbor a piece of cake.

  "Calm down, son. Leave or stay. Makes no never mind to me. I made an offer to help out the lady. The ball is now in your court."

  "Great. Fine." Murphy rubbed a hand over his face. "Thanks, Zeke. I'll let you know."

  "You do that. And, Murphy? Take care."

  Shamed by his surly behavior, Zeke's parting words were like a punch in the gut. Murphy would apologize the next time he saw his neighbor. I'm sorry plus a bottle of aged Kentucky bourbon should do the trick. Zeke wasn't a man to hold a grudge.

  "Lunch is ready."

  Well, shit. Slowly, Murphy swiveled his chair toward the basement stairs. Jordyn stood at the bottom. Had she heard? And if so, how much?

  "Neither you nor General Townsend should worry about getting rid of me," she answered Murphy's question. "I'm perfectly capable of finding my own ride home."

  "Jordyn—"

  "If you wanted me to go, all you had to do was ask." Her expression cool as ice, Jordyn turned and marched up the stairs.

  "Son of a bitch."

  In three long strides, Murphy crossed the room. Taking the steps three at a time, Jordyn just beat him to the top.

  "I don't want to get rid of you."

  He would have grabbed her arm. Forced her to look him in the eye, if she weren't dishing up two bowls of steaming-hot soup—calm as you please. Jordyn didn't look angry. But the way she gripped the ladle, her knuckles white, told a different tale.

  "I planned on leaving with the tow truck driver. One night. Remember? We agreed. I do not go back on my word."

  Murphy didn't remember her making any promises. Wisely, he refrained from pointing out her error.

  "I'll call my brothers. If one can't come, I can count on the other." Jordyn set the bowls on the table, followed by a basket of warmed bread.

  "Jordyn—"

  "I don't want either of them driving these roads after dark. So, I guess I'll have to stay another night. Is your guest room free? Or I could sleep in my wrecked SUV. Should be safe enough."

  "Jordyn!"

  Murphy finally raised his voice enough to get Jordyn's attention. The slap of his palms against the countertop didn't hurt.

  "What?"

  What indeed? Suddenly, Murphy didn't know what to say. His first impulse? Blurt out that she was welcome to stay. As long as she liked. A few days? A week? A couple of months. Since he didn't know where the thought came from. And he certainly couldn't predict Jordyn's reaction to such an outrageous suggestion, Murphy took a deep breath. All the while, she impatiently tapped her foot.

  "I'm not angry," Jordyn said before he could think of a sensible response.

  "You could've fooled me."

  "Could I?" Jordyn seemed surprised. "My family and best friend can read me like a book. But you don't know me very well, do you?"

  "No." And much to his regret, he never would.

  "For your information, when I'm embarrassed, I tend to push. Or shut down. Neither response lasts long."

  "Embarrassed." Murphy frowned. "Why?"

  "Because when I overheard that the tow truck was delayed, I was happy. Thrilled. Another day or two with Murphy. Yippee!"

  "Ah."

  "Exactly." Jordyn took her seat, motioning for him to join her. "You like your solitude. In a pinch, you put up with me. I wanted to stay even though I knew you hadn't signed up for an extended houseguest. Hence, I'm embarrassed."

  Murphy didn't know whether to laugh, or grab Jordyn and take her to bed. Picking up his spoon, he decided bed could wait—at least until after lunch. And he was afraid Jordyn would take his laughter the wrong way. So, he settled on option number three.

  Calm and matter of fact. With a side of teasing.

  "First? Hence? Really? Who uses that word?"

  "I do." Jordyn's lips twitched as she ate a spoonful of soup.

  "Fair enough. Second? I would have accepted your anger as justified. You didn't tell me you were embarrassed. Or why. Are you always so honest?"

  "Yes. Most of the time." Jordyn met Murphy's gaze, her eyes a clear, honest green. "Don't you feel better when you tell the truth? I know I do. Lies churn in my stomach like a bad piece of fish."

  An interesting simile. Descriptive. Murphy knew exactly what she meant.

  "Not saying something isn't the same as lying."

  "I suppose." Jordyn tilted her head, considering. "For me—most of the time—the sick feeling is the same. I sleep better when I'm honest. And, believe me, I treasure a good night's sleep."

  Murphy wondered if Jordyn knew how wonderfully refreshing she was. Probably not. If she did, the knowledge would change her. And he liked her just the way she was.

  "Don't get me wrong. I can lie," she informed him as he cleared the table. "I've told a whopper or two in my day."

  "I believe you." Murphy took her hand. "However, I prefer the truth."

  "Me, too." Jordyn let him lead her across the room and up the stairs. "Where are we going?"

  "Honestly?"

  Grinning, she nodded.

  "To bed." Murphy shut the door behind them, giving Jordyn a gentle push onto the down quilt. "If we only have another day or two, I don't want to waste a single minute."

  When he joined her, Jordyn wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Honestly?" She laughed when he growled yes, biting the side of her neck. "Neither do I."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  JORDYN OPENED HER eyes to a darkened room and lay for several seconds asking herself why she wasn't still dead to the world.

  The bed didn't feel strange. Not anymore. After all the time she'd spent here. After all the sexy, toe-curling, orgasm-inducing things she and Murphy had done on this very mattress, she felt completely at home.

  She hadn't awakened because she was in a strange bed. Jordyn spent so much time away from home she could conk out almost anywhere—for hours on end. No, her problem wasn't where she was, but the fact she found herself alone.

  "
Murphy?"

  Nothing. Complete silence. Then she remembered the puppy. Murphy probably took her outside. Close your eyes, Jordyn urged herself. He'll wake you when he returns. She snuggled into the covers, smiling when she imagined how. Kisses to start. Then? The sky was the limit. Murphy was a talented and creative lover. Lucky her.

  With a groan, Jordyn rolled onto her back. She could try, but she knew her efforts were futile. She slept alone often enough. With the time flying by, while she had the chance, she wanted to slumber resting in Murphy's safe, strong arms.

  "Does wanting his body next to mine make me needy?" she asked herself as she rolled out of bed. Then gone ahead to answer. "No. I'd be crazy not to take advantage of the situation."

  Jordyn slipped on her robe before she left in search of her wayward host. On the way by, she grabbed her clip from the dresser, scooping her hair into a topknot.

  In the hallway, she stopped, frowning when the faint sound of music caught her ear. Intrigued, she followed the audio trail down the stairs and to her right.

  Murphy had never volunteered to give her a tour of this side of the house. And she had been too occupied to ask. Next to a bank of windows stood a single door. No wonder her curiosity hadn't been piqued. Off to the side, the entrance to the room was almost invisible, blending in so well with the oak-covered wall.

  The music—unmistakably Sweet Child of Mine—blasted through the thick wood. Unless a burglar with a penchant for Guns N' Roses—and the desire to get caught—had broken in, Murphy was doing something behind the door.

  The polite, well-mannered thing to do would be to retrace her steps, crawl under the rapidly cooling covers, and wait for him to return when he was finished doing whatever. However, when Murphy's deep, wonderfully true baritone joined in just as Axel Rose hit the chorus, Jordyn laughed, knowing nothing short of a wrecking ball would move her.

  Again, knowing she was wrong to do so, Jordyn turned the knob. Just a quick peek. Holding her breath, she opened the door a small crack. What she saw was such a shock, her eyes widened, and she forgot everything else. Including the fact that she was supposed to remain invisible.

  Jordyn didn't burst into the room. She walked. Turning in a circle so she wouldn't miss a thing.

  "Holy crap."

  Paintings. Big. Small. And every size in between. Row after row leaned against the walls. From the colorful to the somber. Abstract to portraits so lifelike, Jordyn felt at any second the subject might walk off the canvas.

  Wanting—needing—a closer look, she moved into the room. Even when the music stopped, Jordyn's attention didn't waver.

  "I don't recall hearing you knock."

  Jordyn didn't turn as Murphy's voice broke the silence. Her back to him, she smiled. His tone was laced with irony, not anger. Though if the price of admission to his personal gallery were his outright fury, she would have paid. Gladly.

  "If you wanted privacy, you should have locked the door," Jordyn responded as she bent to look at a breathtakingly vivid sunset. "Or kept the music to a dull roar."

  "The noise woke you?"

  "The empty bed woke me."

  Jordyn turned her head, ready with a teasing quip. Something about his big, bearlike body and the heat he generated. But one look at Murphy and the inside of her mouth turned to dust.

  Murphy wore a pair of light gray sweats that rode low on his hips—and nothing else. His hair was pulled back, fastened at the back of his head haphazardly as if his only concern was to get the mass out of his way. Bare chest slightly damp with perspiration—glistening. Bare, muscled arms. Bare feet.

  Jordyn stared at Murphy, licking her lips. Oh, my, oh, my. The man was a sight for any pair of sore eyes.

  "A bit hot in here." She tugged the collar of her robe, surprised when steam didn't rise from her body.

  Murphy nodded toward the stone fireplace where blazing flames danced. Wild. Free. Much like the man who stood before her.

  "I guess time got away from me." He opened one of the many windows, letting in a bit of fresh, pre-dawn air. "Inspiration can hit at the strangest moments."

  "I'm sorry I interrupted," Jordyn said with all sincerity. "I was drawn by the music. But I never expected to find…"

  "A crazy painter?" Murphy let out a self-deprecating laugh, rubbing at a bit of paint on the back of his hand.

  "You aren't a painter." Slowly, Jordyn circled the room. "You're an artist."

  "Come on. Artist is a bit of a highfalutin word for what I do."

  Despite Murphy's words, Jordyn could see he was pleased by her response to his work.

  "How long have you painted?"

  "When I was a kid, I used to draw all the time. Then, other things got in the way. I lost interest. And the inclination. About two years ago, I suddenly had some time on my hands."

  "And all these paintings are the result?"

  Murphy shrugged. "As I said, I had the time."

  "Has anybody but me seen your work?"

  "I paint for my own pleasure."

  "But you should have a show. I know some people," Jordyn said with growing enthusiasm, the scene of Murphy's triumph already forming in her mind. "I could—"

  "No."

  "But—"

  "Jordyn?" Emphatic, Murphy shook his head. "No. Painting is a sort of therapy if you will."

  "Not really." However, Jordyn knew how to take no for an answer. Yet, she couldn't help but ask, hoping he would expound. "Therapy?"

  Something shuttered behind his eyes.

  "What I do in here is private. Only for me."

  "Until tonight." Jordyn teased.

  Murphy's lips curved—almost reaching smile status.

  "If I'd wanted company, I would have left the door open."

  With a wave of her hand, Jordyn dismissed his statement as ridiculous.

  "I grew up with three siblings. One of the first lessons I learned? If you want privacy? Lock. The. Door."

  "Where I grew up, we knocked before entering a room."

  Jordyn snorted. Not the most attractive sound, but she couldn't help herself.

  "Were you an only child?"

  "Yes."

  Nodding, Jordyn tried not to laugh. And failed. Miserably.

  "You think my parents spoiled me?" Murphy asked, eyebrow raised.

  "Do you deny they did?"

  "No." When Jordyn laughed, crowing with victory, Murphy held up a finger. "Let's get something straight. My parents were—are—loving and supportive. They are also two of the best people I've ever known. I don't think they were any more indulgent than most mothers and fathers. They set ground rules. Established boundaries."

  "I'm sure they're wonderful, Murphy." As she placed a hand on his arm, a twinkle in her eyes. "I'll bet you were a beautiful baby."

  "Beautiful?" Murphy laughed at the idea.

  His blue eyes? His smile? Jordyn stood by her assessment.

  "Parents dote. I'm sure yours weren't any different.

  "Perhaps they did spoil me—a bit," Murphy conceded. "However, I turned rotten all on my own."

  Jordyn frowned. Suddenly, their teasing banter had taken a serious turn. Rotten? Murphy? She couldn't reconcile the notion to coincide with the man standing before her. Memories—deep, dark, and personal—clouded Murphy's clear-blue eyes.

  To get to the point where he would share his secrets would require time. And a level of trust they couldn't forge in two short days. So, Jordyn didn't ask. She simply smiled, determined to pull Murphy from his somber thoughts.

  "Will you show me what you're working on?" Taking his hand, she tugged him toward the easel. "What could be more appealing than your bed—filled with a warm, willing woman?"

  Jordyn pointed at herself. And winked. Broadly. Murphy chuckled. Exactly the response she'd hoped for.

  What she hadn't expected was for him to show her his work in progress. Jordyn knew several artists. They were fanatical about never letting anybody get the sl
ightest glimpse until the project was completed to their satisfaction.

  To her delight, Murphy had no such hangups.

  "Leaving you alone in bed wasn't easy. Except, you with me the entire time." He turned the canvas. "My inspiration."

  Delight turned to surprise. Then wonder.

  "Me?"

  Murphy stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Leaning close, he whispered, "You. What do you think?"

  Jordyn didn't know what to say. The woman in the painting bore a striking resemblance to her, lying with her hair tousled, a sheet draped over her breasts, legs bare. Toes tipped with her current favorite color—a bold, bright scarlet. Yet, Murphy had given her a quality—a light from within—she didn't think she possessed. Artistic license? Or was this how he really saw her?

  "You flatter me," Jordyn breathed.

  "The line of your jaw? The curve of your shoulder?" Murphy placed a kiss on both. Jaw, then shoulder. "Not quite right. However, now that my model is here in the flesh so to speak, I can remedy the problem. What do you have on under your robe?"

  "What do you have on under here?" she countered as she reached back, her hand encountering the warm, firm skin of his stomach before her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

  "Question answered." Murphy let out a low moan. He peeled the material from her shoulder, his hand cupping her bared breast. "For us both. Take off your robe. Let me paint you. Please?"

  "I will, if you will."

  Murphy chuckled. A happy sound void of darkness, Jordyn noted with satisfaction.

  "Historically, the model is nude, not the artist," he pointed out.

  "Can't we write our own rules?" Jordyn asked as she turned. The heat in Murphy's gaze made her heartbeat quicken.

  "I like the way you think."

  In a flash, Jordyn was naked. Murphy dropped to his knees, his mouth bringing a gasp to her lips.

  "I thought you wanted to paint me." She threaded her fingers through his hair. Holding him close.

  "I will." Murphy looked up as he licked his smiling lips. "Later."

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  MURPHY HUMMED A random, upbeat tune as he raised a sharply honed axe above his head. Thwack. In one fluid motion, he cleaved the piece of wood in two. He stooped, picking up the pieces, tossing them into a growing pile near the back door.