Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

by Erin McCarthy

  “Happens to the best of us,” Pops said.

  “Can the two of you—” go to hell came to mind, but Jack restrained himself. “Go get yourself a better lunch.” He pulled out a twenty and handed it to Pops, who waved it smugly in Austin’s face.

  “I get to hold the money again.”

  “That’s only ’cuz I can’t hold the money and push you at the same time.” Austin dropped his skateboard in Pops’s lap and grabbed the wheelchair handles. “How fast can we get this thing going?”

  Jack winced as they hit the door with the footrests on the chair, but they made it into the deli with minimal swearing and more speed than was probably advisable.

  But at least they were gone. Now if he could get Jamie to release his hand from her iron grip, he could exit, too, and let her talk to her father.

  Jamie was aware that Jack was trying to gently remove his hand from hers, but there was no way in hell she was letting him leave her. Her father was still just kind of staring at her, and she felt like at any given second her legs might give out. She needed Jack’s strength, support.

  “After all this time I can’t believe I’m looking at you,” her father said, shaking his head. “That you’re this close. You’re beautiful. And you look like me. Except you have your mother’s eyes. Expressive.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just smiled. This was his move.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted to protect the both of you. I loved you and your mother more than anything and I was just a damn coward, Jamie Lynn. Do you understand that? That I was weak, not that I didn’t care.”

  “I understand. And trust me, I know a thing or two about being scared.” She’d been putting Jack and herself through hell for the past two weeks for that very reason. An image of the night before popped into her head. Well, it hadn’t been all hell.

  “So things are going well for you? You like your job, living in New York?”

  “Yes. I love my job and I’ve been happy here. I have great friends and…Jack.” His hand squeezed hers.

  “You’ve got a good guy here, that’s for sure. Gave me his couch to sleep on when he found out I had nowhere to go. He called shelters all over town, but when no one had room, he just opened his apartment to me.” Her father turned to Jack. “And I thank you for that. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

  “I think if Jamie is forgiving you, maybe it’s time you forgive yourself, Jim, and start over.”

  That choked Jamie up. She felt the tears escape her eyes and start tumbling down her cheeks. Then suddenly she found herself caught up in her father’s arms, his callused hands patting her back.

  “Don’t cry, baby girl. It’s alright. We’ll make it alright.”

  He smelled the way she remembered. Like leather and Irish Spring.

  That was a good scent. And there were good memories, right there, pulled up out of her childhood memory.

  “Thanks. With both of us willing, we’ll definitely make it alright.” Jamie pulled back and saw Pops and Austin coming out of the deli with a large bag in Pops’s lap.

  “Did you get some lunch?” Jack was holding her hand, keeping her close to him, and it was a nice, warm, fuzzy-blanket feeling.

  She was surrounded by people who cared about her, and she had a darn good life.

  “Yeah. We got Reubens,” Pops said. “Bring on the cheese, I always say.”

  “Why don’t we go to my place and let Jamie and Jim talk a little more.”

  Jamie nodded. “There are a ton of things I want to ask you about, Dad.”

  Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be called Dad again.”

  “Hey, there’s like a really hairy dude dressed as a lady trying to get your attention,” Austin said, gesturing down the sidewalk.

  “What?” Jamie looked in the direction he was pointing.

  Jack squeezed her hand tighter and asked in puzzlement, “Isn’t that the nut job who was talking to you last night in the hall at the reception?”

  Of course it was. Beckwith was striding down the street, wearing a white sundress with Donna Reed pearls and waving at her frantically.

  “Jamie! Honey baby, we need to talk.”

  Didn’t they always. “What’s the matter, Beckwith?” She didn’t bother to ask about the dress. There was no telling.

  “You know this guy?” Jack asked in disbelief, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Allison told me you were probably here,” Beckwith called as he jogged the last few feet to her. Suddenly he drew up short. “Oh my gawd,” he said as he took in the group collected around her. “Who are all these men around you? And why is this one prettier than me?” he asked, pointing to Jack.

  Jack blanched. Jamie laughed. “Beckwith, this is Jack Davidson, Will Hathaway, and Austin. Just Austin,” she said in a James Bond imitation voice. “And my father, Jim Peters. This is Beckwith Tripp, professional psychic.”

  “Psychic? Dude, tell my fortune,” Austin begged. “But not if it sucks—just make something up if it sucks.”

  But Beckwith was whipping his hands around in a sort of feminine karate chop as if he were being assaulted. “Whoa, too many sensations. But this makes so much sense, sugar. Oh, oh, oh, this all makes sense. Sadness,” he said, pointing to her father. “Darth Vader, and prison.” His finger shot over to Austin. “Prison. Prison? Kid, you’re too young to be a criminal. You’d better straighten out. But you’re past, present, and future in Jamie’s karma. These two both have the tattoos, we’ve got the light hair.”

  Beckwith touched Pops’s shirt, causing the older man to swat at him.

  “Coffee. Food. Dang, I am so good.”

  She had no idea what Beckwith was talking about.

  “Too many men, Jamie. They were all blending together, mixing with my mojo.” Finally he reached over and patted Jack on the shoulder, almost knocking Jack into the street. “He is the one for you! Shit, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have sex with him for nothing after all.”

  While Jack sputtered, Jamie saw what Beckwith was trying to say. He’d seen them all in her destiny. Pops, Austin, her father. And Jack.

  “Oh, Beck.”

  Dang, she was going to cry. She’d chosen her destiny, and it was a good one.

  “I know, I know,” Beckwith said, looking triumphant. “Okay, people. Everyone.” He clapped his hands together loudly. “With the true gift of a psychic, I can tell these two crazy kids need time alone. Everyone but Jamie and Jack needs to scat.”

  “Can we go into the apartment?” Pops asked. “Or at least the lobby? My cheese is congealing.”

  “Sure, old man.” Austin pushed the wheelchair, and Beckwith walked alongside it, giving a minilecture on karma, and the inappropriateness of giving predictions for old people and kids. Jim had lit up a cigarette and was ambling along beside them, listening attentively.

  “What the hell just happened?” Jack asked.

  “I think my father and I made some headway.”

  “That’s great. But who was the guy in the dress? And do you think we can duck out and go hide at your place?”

  She shook her head and grinned. “Not a chance. They’ll find us. Beckwith’s psychic, you know.”

  “You really think he is?”

  “I know he is. He told me about you, remember. That you’d make me so happy other people would gag at the look on my face.”

  “Is it true? I make you happy to the point of causing illness in others?”

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  “Did he predict this?” Jack picked her up, held her right under her ass, enjoying the feel of her tight up against him. He wasn’t letting her go, ever again. “Marry me. I don’t want to wait, there’s no reason to wait when I feel this way.”

  She sniffled. “No, he didn’t.”

  She hid her head in his shoulder, and Jack felt a little panic rising. She wasn’t answering him. />
  “Marry me, Jamie, and tell me where to give my money. Help me find a new start, a new apartment that we can afford on our pitiful do-gooder salaries.”

  Then she lifted her head and said, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

  Jack spun her around, nearly taking out a chihuahua trotting by on his leash. “Yes! That is totally the right answer.”

  She laughed, her pert little nose lining up with his as she dusted a kiss across his lips. “I think so. And you don’t have to give away your money, Jack. I’m not that insecure, nor am I that selfish. You worked hard to earn that money, and you deserve to keep it and do whatever you want with it.”

  Jack put her on the ground, stunned. “Are you sure? I don’t want the money between us, Jamie Lynn. Seriously.” But he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he was glad. He kind of liked his cash.

  “I know you’re a good man, a generous man. You donate a ton of your time and mental resources to other people. I have no problem with you keeping what’s yours.” Sincerity shone in her eyes.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “And do you know, Jamie Lynn, that I have the feeling I was waiting to meet you?”

  She sniffled as he repeated words he’d spoken that first night they’d met. “I couldn’t agree more.” Then she grinned. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Beckwith’s going to want to be a bridesmaid.”

  Don’t miss this sneak peek at

  Shannon McKenna’s

  HOT NIGHT.

  Available now from Brava!

  Abby was floating. The sensual heft of Zan’s black leather jacket felt wonderful on her shoulders, even though it hung halfway down to her thighs.

  They’d reached the end of the boardwalk, where the lights began to fade. Beyond the boardwalk, the warehouse district began. They’d walked the whole boardwalk, talking and laughing, and at some point, their hands had swung together and sort of just…stuck. Warmth seeking warmth. Her hand tingled joyfully in his grip.

  The worst had happened. Aside from his sex appeal, she simply liked him. She liked the way he laughed, his turn of phrase, his ironic sense of humor. He was smart, honest, earthy, funny. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust herself this time.

  Their strolling slowed to a stop at the end of the boardwalk.

  “Should we, ah, walk back to your van?” she ventured.

  “This is where I live,” he told her.

  She looked around. “Here? But this isn’t a residential district.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “It will be soon. See that building, over there? It used to be a factory of some kind, in the twenties, I think. The top floor, with the big arched windows, that’s my place.”

  There was just enough light to make out the silent question in his eyes. She exhaled slowly. “Are you going to invite me up, or what?”

  “You know damn well that you’re invited,” he said. “More than invited. I’ll get down on my knees and beg, if you want me to.”

  The full moon appeared in a window of scudding clouds, then disappeared again. “It wouldn’t be smart,” she said. “I don’t know you.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he offered. “Crash course in Zan Duncan. What do you want to know? Hobbies, pet peeves, favorite leisure activities?”

  She would put it to the test of her preliminary checklist, and make her decision based on that. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. You’re a martial arts expert, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Aikido is my favorite discipline. I like kung fu, too.”

  She nodded, stomach clenching. There it was, the first black mark on the no-no’s checklist. Though it was hardly fair to disqualify him for that, since he’d saved her butt with those skills the night before.

  So that one didn’t count. On to the next no-no. “Do you have a motorcycle?”

  He looked puzzled. “Several of them. Why? Want to go for a ride?”

  Abby’s heart sank. “No. One last question. Do you own guns?”

  Zan’s face stiffened. “Wait. Are these trick questions?”

  “You do, don’t you?” she persisted.

  “My late father was a cop.” His voice had gone hard. “I have his service Beretta. And I have a hunting rifle. Why? Are you going to talk yourself out of being with me because of superficial shit like that?”

  Abby’s laugh felt brittle. “Superficial. That’s Abby Maitland.”

  “No, it is not,” he said. “That’s not Abby Maitland at all.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, Zan.”

  “Yes, I do.” His dimple quivered. “I know first things, second things, third things. You’ve got piss-poor taste in boyfriends, to start.”

  Abby was stung. “Those guys were not my boyfriends! I didn’t even know them! I’ve just had a run of bad luck lately!”

  “Your luck is about to change, Abby.” His voice was low and velvety. “I know a lot about you. I know how to get into your apartment. How to turn your cat into a noodle. The magnets on your fridge, the view from your window. Your perfume. I could find you blindfolded in a room full of strangers.” His fingers penetrated the veil of her hair, his forefinger stroking the back of her neck with controlled gentleness. “And I learn fast. Give me ten minutes, and I’d know lots more.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. His hand slid through her hair, settled on her shoulder. The delicious heat burned her, right through his jacket.

  “I know you’ve got at least two of those expensive dresses that drive guys nuts. And I bet you’ve got more than two. You’ve got a whole closet full of hot little outfits like that. Right?” He cupped her jaw, turning her head until she was looking into his fathomless eyes.

  Her heart hammered. “I’ve got a…a pretty nice wardrobe, yes.”

  “I’d like to see them.” His voice was sensual. “Someday maybe you can model them all for me. In the privacy of your bedroom.”

  “Zan—”

  “I love it when you say my name,” he said. “I love your voice. Your accent. Based on your taste in dresses, I’m willing to bet that you like fancy, expensive lingerie, too. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

  “Time out,” she said, breathless. “Let’s not go there.”

  “Oh, but we’ve already arrived.” His breath was warm against her throat. “Locksmiths are detail maniacs. Look at the palm of your hand, for instance. Here, let me see.” He lifted her hand into the light from the nearest of the streetlamps. “Behold, your destiny.”

  It was silly and irrational, but it made her self-conscious to have him look at the lines on her hand. As if he actually could look right into her mind. Past, future, fears, mistakes, desires, all laid out for anyone smart and sensitive enough to decode it. “Zan. Give me my hand back.”

  “Not yet. Oh…wow. Check this out,” he whispered.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He shook his head with mock gravity and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s too soon to say what I see. I don’t want to scare you off.”

  “Oh, please,” she said unsteadily. “You are so full of it.”

  “And you’re so scared. Why? I’m a righteous dude. Good as gold.” He stroked her wrist. “Ever try cracking a safe without drilling it? It’s a string of numbers that never ends. Hour after hour, detail after detail. That’s concentration.” He pressed his lips against her knuckles.

  “What does concentration have to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with everything. That’s what I want to do to you, Abby. Concentrate, intensely, minutely. Hour after hour, detail after detail. Until I crack all the codes, find all the keys to all your secret places. Until I’m so deep inside ya…” his lips kissed their way up her wrist “…. that we’re a single being.”

  She leaned against him, and let him cradle her in his strong arms. His warm lips coaxed her into opening to the gentle, sensual exploration of his tongue. “Come up with me,” he whispered. “Please
.”

  She nodded. Zan’s arm circled her waist, fitting her body against his. It felt so right. No awkwardness, no stumbling, all smooth. Perfect.

  Please turn the page for a preview

  of the next book in Jessica Inclán’s

  marvelous, magical trilogy,

  REASON TO BELIEVE,

  a Zebra trade paperback available now!

  Fabia cut off the communication and opened her door, quickly running down the hall and stairs and then pushing out onto the street. The temperature had dropped even more than the report had predicted, Fabia’s cheeks flushed from the slick slap of cold air. Rubbing her gloved hands together, she walked toward the man, slowing as she neared him.

  “Hello,” she said softly, blinking against the streetlight.

  He stared at her—no, past her—his face expressionless. His face was smudged with dirt, a deep, dark red scratch running from temple to jaw, one eye blackened. Blood swelled the skin under his eye and hung in a painful purple moon over his cheek. As Fabia moved closer, she realized that his hair wasn’t so much matted from the wet, dank air as from dried blood. There was a clear, perfect circle of reddish, broken skin around his neck, and she noticed now that the dirt she’d seen under his nails this morning was actually blood.

  Whatever had happened, he’d fought back. Whoever he’d fought with probably looked as bad as he did.

  “Are you all right?”

  The man turned to her, tried to look up, and then took a deep breath, his mouth trying to move. He was trembling, his arms tight against his body now, his black eyes filled with fog and sadness. Again, she tried to reach for his mind, but the iron wall was still there, planted solidly.

  What do you think? Fabia asked Niall without even meaning to.

  All that blood, Niall thought. Maybe it’s not his. Moyenne are messy murderers.

  He hardly looks capable of a right killing, Fabia thought.

  True. He didn’t do his level best, there. So he might be on the lam. Injured from the barbed wire he crawled under, Niall thought. Just call the police.

  Fabia stared at the man, ignoring Niall for a moment. Maybe she couldn’t read the man’s mind, but there was something about him. Something kind even in his quiet, painful desperation.