She wore a skimpy white top that skimmed the curves of her breasts. No bra. If he stared hard enough, he might just make out the outline of her… Hell! This was Piper the Pest with a capital P. He wasn’t going to leer at her chest, no matter how alluringly she dressed or didn’t dress. He wasn’t going to look at her bare midriff or the way her hips flared into her shorts. He certainly wasn’t going to look at her long, tanned legs. And he most certainly wasn’t going to think about her full breasts pressing against his chest or her kissing him.
He narrowed his eyes. “You were following me.”
She shrugged a delicate shoulder and one of the thin straps of her top slid down her arm. “I’m so busted.”
Piper had always known how to get under his skin. Always knew how to say the most irritating things.
Jack fought the urge to push the strap back where it belonged, and instead folded his arms over his chest. “Why were you following me?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Obviously. When she avoided a direct answer to his question, his pulse rate shot up. Simply an excess of adrenaline. Surely she still couldn’t be such an impossibly irritating brat, could she?
She raised her hands innocently. “What?”
Already she had him speaking through gritted teeth. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Your mom told me you were back, and I thought you might take me up for a ride. I arrived to see your engines fail and you dropping out of the sky like a dead duck.” She flung her arms around his neck. And brushed his mouth with hers again. “I thought you were a goner.”
“Nope.”
She retreated half a step before he figured out how to react to her second kiss. She meant nothing by it. She’d always been as friendly as a stray puppy.
But his body wasn’t reacting as if her hug was simply friendly. And his mind was stunned, his brain temporarily off-kilter, no doubt due to the fact that his circulatory system had erroneously sent all his blood to anatomical regions below his belt.
Down, boy. This one’s not for you.
She scowled at him. “I should have known you were simply pulling some fool stunt.”
“You were worried about me?”
Piper rolled her eyes. “I sure would have hated to see all that pretty machinery crash and burn.”
She still hadn’t told him the real reason she wanted to see him. The stubborn girl had grown into a stubborn woman. And she was all woman.
You shouldn’t even look at her that way, Jack.
Even if she hadn’t been the most annoying girl-child on the planet, even if she had grown into a woman who could knock his socks off, even if she was still single, the Pest and Jack Donovan together would never happen. They were like a Cuban sandwich with corned beef—they didn’t mix well. Try to lump them together and they both got indigestion.
By-the-book Piper was a straight arrow. She’d never cheated in school. Never lied to her parents. Always came in by curfew. Didn’t drive over the speed limit or run yellow lights. He’d bet a month’s pay she hadn’t tasted alcohol until she’d turned twenty-one.
He’d heard she’d become a cop, and he could imagine her writing tickets for jaywalking. Piper saw things in black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. For her there were no gray areas and no moral dilemmas. She was one of the few genuinely good people he knew—probably why he found her so damn exasperating.
Nope, she wasn’t for him.
After last night’s disaster with his parents, he had promised himself he would move into a hotel on the beach and spend the remaining days of his vacation with a warm, willing babe who wanted nothing from him except a good time. He should go home and pack.
However, if he did, he’d miss the sunset.
“How about a beer and a grouper sandwich?” he asked.
PIPER PAYNE HAD HAD a crush on Jack Donovan from the moment she’d first seen him twenty years ago. At age five, she hadn’t known it was a crush—she’d just known the boy next door was really, really cool. He rode his two-wheeler bike faster than cars drove down their neighborhood street. He’d mastered skateboarding with barely a skinned knee. He climbed the huge granddaddy oaks in the backyard as fearlessly as any squirrel, but most amazing of all, he didn’t care what anybody thought of him.
Piper had never met anyone as wild or self-sufficient as Jack. In turn he’d shocked, amazed and fascinated her with his daring stunts and reckless behavior. And no matter how often his parents or teachers punished him, his irrepressible spirit could not be squashed.
He never seemed to study. He rarely did his homework, but usually passed by acing his exams. A star athlete, he played soccer and basketball and was on the swim team. Other guys idolized him and girls started calling him for dates when he was twelve. She’d thought the girls were silly and the guys dumb.
Piper’s parents had taught her to take satisfaction in working hard and achieving success. And, in turn, she took pleasure in pleasing authority figures. Following the rules was easy for her—a good thing, since her mother, who was a cop, and her father, a computer science professor at a nearby college, didn’t miss much. She’d liked the praise that came with being told that she was a good kid and a model student. There was nothing wrong in growing up responsible. Nothing cool about drinking and driving or having sex in the back of your parents’ minivan.
Still, she vividly recalled the day Jack had left home. The day he’d turned eighteen, his mother had neatly packed up his belongings, set them on the front porch and told him to leave. Defiant, Jack had spun off on his Harley, leaving the packed bags behind. She’d heard later that he had joined the navy, then some kind of high-tech paramilitary group, and over the years she’d occasionally wondered if he would ever come home.
His timing couldn’t have been better. Who would have thought she’d ever need Jack Donovan’s help?
Piper had majored in criminal justice at the University of South Florida. Following in her mother’s footsteps, she’d attended the police academy and become a police officer. Six months ago she’d made detective.
Until recently, the only deficiency in her life, her only failure, was not finding the right man. She’d had a teenage crush on Jack and had once thought she’d lose her virginity to him. He’d been the coolest guy in town. A bad boy. Forbidden. But he’d left town before she was ready. And later not many guys were interested in a cop. But she couldn’t blame her single status solely on her career choice. Even in college she’d had higher standards than most women. As a result she was still a virgin.
A twenty-five-year-old virgin with a ruined reputation. The irony wasn’t lost on her. If she hadn’t been so angry, she might have cried. She’d worked too hard to make detective to give up her career without a fight. She might be despondent, but no way was she ready to eat her .38. However, she didn’t know how to track an enemy without one lead.
The people she’d counted on to help her in the past were her police family. Thanks to her being fired over the false charges against her, she could no longer go to them. She needed someone she could trust. Her feelings toward Jack were complex and unexpected. She was beginning to realize that she wanted more than his help—she wanted the comfort of his arms around her. But first things first. She had to tell him about her problem.
The Pelican Shack was frequented by the locals. Known for its grouper sandwiches, fresh oysters on the half shell and icy beer, the restaurant also boasted a fabulous view of beach, Gulf and spectacular sunsets. The sky, slices of orange and patches of purple, framed a huge orange sun dipping into the sea.
Their conversation had been awkward and sporadic. Stops and starts about the weather, the changes in the city, including the increased traffic and the brand-new roundabout the city was about to demolish, but nothing personal. When she’d set out to find Jack, asking him for help had seemed like a good plan. But now she realized that asking for his assistance was harder than she’d thought it would be.
Jack paid the bill, leaving the
waitress a ten-dollar tip. In some ways he was the same old Jack, full of flash and hard to nail down. And yet she sensed, she fervently hoped, that with the years had come maturity. The old Jack would have demanded—before he’d ordered dinner—to know why she’d tracked him down. The new Jack had learned patience—either that or he simply didn’t care one way or the other. He was still hard to read, keeping his thoughts close and his feelings closer.
She’d blown her opportunity to bring up her plea for help during dinner.
“How about a walk on the beach?” she suggested.
“There’s no place you have to be? No one waiting for you?”
When she shook her head, he politely took her elbow as she stood. That was new, too. This new Jack had manners, polish. He was no longer the teenage boy who’d tickled her until she’d gone home in a huff, no longer the boy who was so skinny he needed a belt to hold up his jeans.
Age had made him more handsome. The tiny lines around his eyes added charm. His years with the SEALs had broadened his chest, but his hips were almost as narrow, his jeans tighter than tight. And his dark blue eyes reflected the integrity, courage and honor that she recognized from her work as a cop.
Almost satisfied that she’d found the right man to ask for help, she now had the task of getting out the actual words. Where to start?
Just say it.
With the sun setting, many beachgoers headed indoors, leaving them almost alone on the beach where the powder-white sand was some of the finest in the world. She and Jack strolled along in relative privacy and silence.
Ask him. He can only say no, and she’d be no worse off than she was right now.
She’d saved a few pieces of her roll, and she tossed them to the seagulls.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“I tracked you down because—”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Feed the seagulls?”
“Look.” He pointed to a kid on a surfboard. Only, the kid wasn’t surfing—not exactly. He wasn’t relying on the waves for his momentum, but on an odd-shaped kite attached to a towrope. Pulled by the kite and wind, the kid was surfing toward the beach at about thirty miles an hour. And when the wind gusted, boy and surfboard soared into the air.
She tossed the last of her bread to the birds. He must be a fanatic to still be out on the water after sunset. While she estimated that he had another forty-five minutes of light before darkness set in, everyone else had left the water. “Looks like a great way to break your neck.”
“Wow.” Jack halted, his expression filled with fascination and delight. The kid performed some kind of daredevil aerial maneuver, then shot toward the beach. She should have known Jack couldn’t resist anything fast and dangerous.
Maybe he hadn’t found that maturity after all. In one afternoon he’d turned off the engine of his chopper and could have crashed, he’d sped down the highway like a race-car driver and he’d put a gun to her head—not exactly the actions of a mature and responsible man. Perhaps she’d made a mistake in thinking Jack could or would help her, and she no longer regretted her hesitation.
But he hadn’t totally forgotten her. He stared at the kite surfer, but spoke to her. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“Never mind.”
There was no point in talking to the guy when he was so clearly captivated by a potential toy.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” She’d solve her own problem. Somehow.
Jack kicked off his shoes and waded into the surf. As the kid reeled in his kite, Jack snagged the surfboard and struck up a conversation. “I’ve surfed and wind sailed but I’ve never—”
“You want to try?” The kid stopped winding in the kite’s rope.
She should never have put all her hopes in Jack helping her. She’d been wrong about him, only imagining a new maturity. He was as eager to try that kite-flying surfboard as a kid with a new toy.
Jack was already taking off his shirt and tossing it on the beach when he hesitated, glanced at her over his shoulder. “You sure there wasn’t something you wanted to ask me?”
She shooed him on. “Go fly your kite, Jack.”
Chapter Two
Jack had lost track of time while he’d learned how to kite surf. The timing was tricky, but the airborne freedom had been glorious. When he finally dragged himself back to the beach almost an hour later, Piper was gone.
He refused to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her on a date and abandoned her. Yet curiosity gnawed at him.
Why had she tracked him down?
She could have told him over dinner. She’d had a chance to speak her mind then. Or she could have waited on the beach for him….
As Jack pulled into his parents’ driveway, he glanced next door—just in time to see a flash of red hair before Piper turned out a light on the second story. A bedroom light? He couldn’t be sure. Her folks’ house had burned to the ground about a year ago, and they’d rebuilt, so the layout was unfamiliar.
What was she doing living with her parents?
He shouldn’t be wondering about Piper. He should go inside, pack and move to the hotel. Forget he’d run into her. Forget she’d kissed him. Twice. Forget how terrific she’d felt in his arms.
Not all of his memories of Piper were bad. At age fourteen, when he’d broken an arm and leg after crashing his minibike, he’d come home from the hospital expecting to find his precious bike long gone. But Piper had liberated his bike from the Dumpster where his father had tossed it, carefully saved all the parts and hidden it in her garage.
That didn’t mean he owed her.
He also recalled a scrumptious meal of doughnuts that she’d smuggled to him after his folks had sent him to bed without dinner for stealing the family car to take a joyride. He’d been ten.
She wasn’t all Pest.
He stared at the upstairs window, wishing he had his nightscope binoculars. Was she staring back at him?
Why couldn’t he shake the connection? Almost as if she’d shot out a spiderweb to draw him to her, he had the strongest compulsion to join her.
Disgusted by the fact that he couldn’t seem to ignore her, couldn’t get her out of his mind, he hesitated. Piper might be all grown up, but he still thought of her as a kid. Yet no kid had such lush curves, and he was no good at applying the brakes—a dangerous combination. He should stay away. But she’d started to ask him something just before he’d gotten caught up in the kite surfing.
So what?
Just pack. Head for the beach. He didn’t need any complications to spoil his vacation.
Jack wrung out his wet shirt and slung it over his shoulder. Ten minutes and he could be gone.
So why were his feet taking him across the yard toward the Payne house? He’d climb the old oak tree, just look in her window and make sure she was okay. Then he would go.
He kicked off his shoes, preferring to ascend with bare feet. Hand over hand, Jack pulled himself up until he was even with the second story. Massive branches easily supported his weight. He reached the room where he’d seen her, tried to peer inside.
And couldn’t see a blasted thing.
Compelled to make sure she was okay, he lifted the window sash and climbed over the ledge. At the click of a gun’s hammer cocking, he halted—half in, half out of the window.
He spoke softly. “It’s me. Jack.”
She flicked on a lamp, filling the room with a soft golden glow. “Is there something wrong with our front door?”
“Piper.” Her mother called from down the hall. “Who are you talking to—”
“I’m fine, Mom. Go back to sleep.” Piper set the gun on her dresser and then shut her door. “Mom’s a light sleeper.”
Jack finished climbing inside and closed the window. “You’re still up?”
“Duh.” She wore a white T-shirt that stopped at midthigh and showed off her tanned legs. She grabbed a robe and wrapped it around her, then be
lted it tight. “What are you doing here?”
He had no idea.
But he didn’t want to leave. The room smelled like Piper, fresh and clean with a hint of feminine musk. And it was full of girly things—her purse on her dresser, a picture frame of her and her parents with a card sticking out of the top that said, “I love you.” A nightstand with a pink powder puff in a heart-shaped box. Lacy pillows had fallen from the bed to the floor as if she’d tossed and turned and couldn’t get to sleep.
“Jack?”
He threaded his fingers through his still-damp hair and came away with flecks of salt. He needed a shower, a shave and a change into dry clothes. “You never told me why you tracked me down.”
“So that gives you the right to sneak in my bedroom window?”
“I don’t hear you screaming for help.”
She drew her brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you want me here.”
She sighed. “You were always rash and reckless. When did you become delusional?”
“I thought you were a cop, not a psychiatrist,” he countered.
“I’m not a cop anymore.” Pain flared in her eyes and then subsided to ashes. “I was fired.”
If not for that revealing glimmer of agony in her eyes, he’d have figured she was kidding. But the stark expression on her face told him she’d spoken the truth.
“What happened?”
She shrugged and motioned him toward the window. “Go away, Jack.”
“You didn’t come to see me about a job, did you?”
“Of course not. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I’m hardly qualified to work in some paramilitary operation.”
“Well, since you didn’t track me down to take advantage of my finely cut and totally built body—”
“Not hardly.”
“And my ravenous male appetites—”
Saving the Girl Next Door Page 2