by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan
His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her lower lip with a cruelly familiar gesture.
“We have unfinished business,” he said in a low voice that sent a shiver of longing through her.
She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It wasn’t just his voice that made her shiver with longing.
It was the way his dark gaze concentrated on her as if she was the most important thing in the world. And how his lips twitched when she walked into a room. And how he insisted that she let her hair down because he claimed he loved her unruly curls.
“I thought our business ended after you used me to spy on my roommate.” She pasted a humorless smile on her face. “Unless you hope I have another friend who has a brother who is a serial killer?”
He flinched even as his expression hardened with a fierce determination. “I’m here for you, Meg,” he said. “For us.”
She gave another shove against his chest, this time managing to break free of his hold. Or, more likely, he allowed her to escape.
Glaring into his lean face, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “There is no us.”
“Not yet,” he agreed. “I understand I have to earn my way back into your life. But I never give up when I have a goal.”
“I’m not a goal. I’m a woman who was stupid enough to fall for a liar who used me to climb the FBI ladder of success.” Blinking away tears, she turned to stare at the secondhand furniture she’d used to fill the small living room, hoping to give it a cozy atmosphere. She’d even tossed a few rugs on the worn hardwood floor. What a joke. “Tell me, Dylan, did you get a promotion when you brought in your perp?”
“I quit.”
She stiffened at the soft words, jerking back to meet his steady gaze. “What did you say?”
“I handed in my resignation,” he told her, his expression impossible to read. “Unfortunately, it took awhile to make sure I tied up all the loose ends on my cases and turned them over to my fellow agents. That’s why I couldn’t follow you right away.” His hand lifted, as if he intended to touch her, only to drop when she took an abrupt step backward. “And of course, I knew you would be grieving the loss of your grandmother. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Why would you resign?” she demanded before she realized what she was doing. Hastily she lifted a hand. Dammit. She wasn’t going to be lured into whatever game he was playing. “No, don’t answer,” she told him. “I don’t care.”
His lips parted, as if he was going to insist that she listen, then he gave a small shrug.
“Fine,” he conceded, his hands on his hips. “We can discuss it later.”
Ignoring just how damned delicious he looked with his Henley stretched over his broad shoulders, and how his long legs showed to advantage in the faded jeans, she waved a hand toward the large bag that was tossed on the sofa.
“I’m not discussing anything with you,” she snapped. “Grab your things and get out.”
“No.”
She blinked at his stark refusal. “This is my house.”
“And I have a contract that says I’m allowed to live here.”
“Lisa Barnett has a contract,” she corrected in sharp tones.
In the dim light, he suddenly looked dangerously ruthless. This was the man who’d always lurked beneath the sophisticated image of a corporate lawyer.
“And she sublet the place to me,” he said. “A perfectly legal option.”
Was it? She didn’t have a clue.
No doubt she should have had a lawyer draw up the rental agreement, but she hadn’t wanted to pay the outrageous fee. Now she truly didn’t know what was legal and what wasn’t.
“Fine,” she said between clenched teeth. “Then I rescind the contract.”
He stepped toward her. “You’re willing to repay the money that was given to you as a deposit?”
Shit. Meg bit her lower lip. Of course she couldn’t give the money back. She’d not only spent the deposit, but she’d charged several purchases for the shop in anticipation of the monthly rent.
“Damn you,” she muttered.
Sensing her capitulation, Dylan allowed his expression to soften. “I’m not the enemy, Meg.”
“No, just a liar and a user.”
A muscle in his jaw clenched, but he kept his voice soft…persuasive. “Give me three months, angel. If you still want me to leave—”
“I will,” she interrupted.
“If you still want me to leave, I will,” he continued, ignoring her assurance. “No arguments. Do we have a deal?”
Meg clenched her hands. The last thing she wanted was this man living in her house. Even if it was a separate apartment. Just the sight of him was enough to make her heart clench with pain.
Still, until she could consult with a lawyer, she couldn’t be sure if she could legally kick him out or not.
And that was the only reason she wasn’t calling 9-1-1, she fiercely told herself.
“Do I have a choice?” With one last glare, she swung around and headed for the door.
“Meg, wait—”
“Welcome to Holly,” she muttered, not glancing back as she stepped into the cold night air. “I hope you get frostbite.”
* * *
The urge to charge after Meg and insist that she give him a fair hearing was nearly irresistible. Dammit, he’d turned his entire life upside down to give them a chance at a future. Not to mention driving across the country with barely any sleep. Now she’d refused to even listen.
It was only years of training in self-discipline that kept him standing at the window to watch as she crossed the driveway and climbed the stairs to the covered porch. Waiting until she was safely inside and the lights turned on, he pulled on his leather jacket and left the apartment. He’d already picked the locks on her back door to search for any signs of an intruder in her house. He’d also been on the lookout for anything of value that might tempt someone to try and frighten her away.
He’d found nothing of interest. No, that wasn’t entirely true, he admitted with a small grimace.
He’d discovered that Meg had a true gift for turning a house into a home.
The property had clearly been neglected for years, but inside, the floors were polished, with bright rugs adding a dash of color. The furniture was carefully restored and cheerful pots of flowers filled the air with a rich scent. And the cheery Christmas tree and decorations had reminded him of something off a postcard.
It was a place that invited a man to walk inside and stay…
He’d also discovered that it was laughably easy for anyone to break in. There were a dozen windows and four separate doors that could be forced open with nothing more than a screwdriver.
Now he made a slow sweep of the yard, paying close attention to the newly fallen snow that would reveal any footprints. He was rounding the far side of the house when he noticed the shadowed figure standing next to his truck parked in the alley.
Silently he circled to approach the intruder from behind, a humorless smile stretching his lips as he caught sight of the sheriff cruiser in the street. He’d been intending to pay a visit to Brad Fulton. It seemed that the man had saved him a trip.
Narrowing his gaze he studied the lawman’s crisp uniform and shiny badge.
Even at a distance he could see the man was a serious bodybuilder, with bulging muscles and a thick neck that made Dylan wonder how he buttoned his shirt. His hair was dark and buzzed close to his head, and his features clean-cut.
Dylan scowled. Damn. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected the sheriff to be one of those timid, scrawny guys who hid their cowardice behind a gun. Instead he was staring at an All-American stud who’d no doubt been the star quarterback and Homecoming King.
The knowledge annoyed the hell out of him.
Moving forward, he took fierce pleasure in watching the man jump in surprise as Dylan suddenly appeared from the dark.
Petty? Hell, yeah. But he didn’t care.
“Is there a problem, officer
?” he drawled, leaning against the side of his pickup.
The man took a slow, deliberate inspection of Dylan, his jaw tightening at the long hair and leather coat.
“That your truck?” he at last demanded, his hands on his hips as if he wanted to draw attention to the gun holstered at his side.
Dylan hid a smile. He had a bigger gun hidden beneath his jacket. Along with a bigger badge.
“It is,” he admitted, holding out his hand. “Dylan Cain.”
The sheriff ignored his outstretched hand. “Why do you have it parked here?”
Dylan shrugged. The man didn’t want to be friends? Fine with him. “Because I just rented the rooms above the garage.”
“You?”
“Yep.”
The man’s suspicion only deepened. “Meg told me it was some female writer who rented the apartment.”
Dylan felt a pang of jealousy. Had Meg turned to this man for comfort since her return to Holly? Perhaps even more?
Whatever their relationship, it was about to come to an end.
“Plans changed,” he said.
Far from satisfied, the sheriff glanced toward the main house. “Where’s Meg?”
“Inside.” Glancing to the side, Dylan caught sight of Meg’s silhouette in a back window. Which meant she was standing in the kitchen. “Cooking our dinner,” he continued, taking pleasure in the outrage that rippled over the man’s perfect face.
“Our?” he growled.
Dylan offered one of those smiles that men exchanged when they talked about a woman who was currently sharing their bed.
“Meg and I are friends,” he said, just in case the beefcake was too stupid to pick up the hint. “Very close friends.”
“Bullshit,” Brad snapped. “If you were so close then she would have told me about you.”
“Are you sure?”
Moving like a bulldozer, Brad Fulton shoved Dylan aside and headed toward the back of the house. Dylan frowned as he followed in the man’s wake, not liking the ease the sheriff had in avoiding a loose stair that led to the back porch. Or his lack of hesitation as he lifted his hand and rapped on the door.
This wasn’t his first visit to the house.
A few seconds passed, and Dylan was pleased when the curtains twitched. Meg at least had the sense to check and see who was outside before she was pulling open the door. On the other hand, he didn’t like the knowledge she was willing to trust the sheriff.
Not until he could knock him off the suspect list.
“Brad.” She offered a strained smile, brushing back a curl that’d come loose from her braid. “I didn’t expect you this evening.”
“I drove by and saw a truck with out-of-state plates parked at the side of your house,” the man said, his brows snapping together as Dylan easily slipped past him to join Meg in the doorway. “With all that’s been going on lately I thought I should check it out.”
Meg went rigid as Dylan wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulders, but surprisingly she made no effort to push him away. Which told him that she wasn’t nearly as eager as the lawman to reignite any old flames.
A tightness in the center of his chest eased. He didn’t trust Brad Fulton. Not by a long shot. But he no longer battled the urge to punch him in the face.
“That was kind, but not necessary,” Meg was murmuring, her attention focused on her unexpected guest.
The sheriff jerked his head in Dylan’s direction. “Who is this guy?”
“I told you.” Dylan tightened his hold on Meg, tucking her against his body. Instantly he was surrounded by the scent of warm cookies and seductive woman. Without warning, he was hard and aching. God almighty. Was there anything more intoxicating? “We’re old friends. Isn’t that right, Meg?”
There was a tense silence before she was speaking through clenched teeth. “We knew each other in Vegas.”
Brad’s cheeks flushed with a dull color. Clearly he was battling his own urges to do a little face-punching.
“What’s he doing here?”
“That’s really none of your business,” Dylan said before Meg could respond.
Fulton sent him a furious glare before returning his gaze to the woman wrapped tightly in Dylan’s arms.
“Meg?”
She licked her lips. “He’s renting the apartment for a few weeks.”
“And that’s it?”
“Again. None of your business,” Dylan stated in stark tones.
The sheriff muttered a low curse, leaning toward Meg. “Can we talk in private?”
Dylan felt Meg shift back. She didn’t want this man touching her. Good. There was a decent chance that Dylan would find himself locked in jail if he actually saw the two of them together.
“Maybe some other time, Brad,” she said, softening the rejection by reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. Dylan gritted his teeth. “It was a long day and I still need to go back to the shop and clean.”
“Why?” Brad asked the question that was on the tip of Dylan’s tongue. He was beginning to suspect that Meg worked far too hard. “I thought Ester was helping at night?”
“She went to Raleigh to finish her Christmas shopping,” Meg explained. “She’ll be back by the weekend.”
Wanting to be alone with his woman, Dylan took the simplest route to get rid of the unwelcomed intruder. Tilting back his head, he took a deep sniff. “Do I smell something burning?”
“Oh, crap. My cookies. I have to go.”
Meg tugged away from his arms and scurried back into the kitchen. Brad stepped forward, only to come to a sharp halt as Dylan moved to block the entrance.
“Good night, Brad,” he drawled. “Next time call before you come by.”
Moving back, he deliberately shut the door in the man’s face.
Chapter 3
Meg pretended that she hadn’t heard Dylan slam the door shut on Brad.
It was easier than forcing herself to reprimand him for daring to interfere in her life. After all, she wasn’t really sorry that Brad was gone. She liked her high school sweetheart, but any feelings they’d once shared were over. At least they were for her.
Brad couldn’t seem to get the message. Maybe now he would accept that she truly wasn’t interested.
And there was a tiny, renegade part of her that relished the sizzle of tension that clutched at her stomach as Dylan strolled across the tiled floor to lean against the counter.
The house had always been essentially a female domain. Meg’s grandfather had died when she was just a baby, and her grandmother had never invited men into her house. But while Dylan should have looked ridiculously out of place in his leather jacket and rugged biker appearance, he instead looked utterly at home.
Of course, he was probably trained to blend in to whatever surroundings he was in, she bitterly reminded herself.
With an effort she slowed the frantic beat of her heart as she busied herself with grabbing a hot pad and pulling the baking sheet out of the oven.
“Snickerdoodles?” Dylan murmured, sucking in an appreciative breath. “My favorite.”
She sent him a scowl as she dipped her fingers into the bowl of sugar and cinnamon to sprinkle the mixture on top of her cookies.
“I make them for my customers, not unwanted houseguests,” she informed him.
Completely ignoring her warning, Dylan reached to grab one of the warm cookies before she could halt him.
“Yum,” he breathed with blatant pleasure, demolishing the cookie in two bites. He reached for another, only to chuckle when she smacked his hand away. Denied his treat, he leaned against the counter, standing close enough to wrap her in the intoxicating scent of his spicy male cologne. “What made you open a flower shop?”
She sent him a startled glance. How had he known? Had he seen the name on her van? Or had he done his research before coming to Holly?
Then she gave a shrug. It didn’t really matter. If Dylan wanted information, he had the means and the skill to get it.
“I worked at a greenhouse during high school, and the owner’s wife showed me a few things about creating bouquets and arrangements,” she said. It’d taken her over an hour to drive to the greenhouse, but she’d loved being surrounded by the rich scent of earth, and watching the plants grow. Someday she hoped to buy land on the outskirts of town and grow her own flowers for the shop. “And my gran taught me how make the various crafts I sell in the store.”
He studied her with that unwavering focus that’d always made her feel like she was the most important person in the world.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. Although she’d enjoyed the bright lights and fast-paced lifestyle of Vegas, there was something intensely comforting in being home. “I enjoy working with the customers and it’s satisfying to be my own boss.” She grimaced at the stack of bills on her desk. “At least most of time.”
Clearly capable of sensing her concern, Dylan tilted his head to the side. “It must be expensive to start a new business.”
“I’m scraping by,” she said, her pride refusing to admit that each day was a struggle.
“I assume that’s why you decided to add a tenant?”
She grabbed a spatula to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack. “It was actually Kristen who suggested that I rent out the rooms.” She glanced toward the man who was currently standing in her kitchen as if he belonged there. “That’s the last time I ever listen to one of her ideas.”
Unexpectedly his brows drew together. “Don’t ever doubt that she is devoted to you, Meg.”
She blinked in surprise. “I know.”
Without warning, Dylan was plucking the spatula from her hand, tossing it aside. Then, gently turning her to face him, he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“And that she wants what’s best for you,” he continued, his hands spreading to press against her lower back, urging her against his hard body.
Excitement seared through her, butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. It’d been like this since the first time he’d touched her. The explosive sexual awareness. As if he triggered something deep inside her that no other man could reach.
It was thrilling, and terrifying, and so addictive that she didn’t know how she’d survived over the past months.