Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  If not, he would eventually meet a woman who made him feel the same things Sadie did, who wanted the same things he did out of life. A home. A family.

  He smelled her first, the familiar light scent reaching him on a breeze, on a sigh. Walking toward the house, he lifted his head like a wolf sniffing for his mate. She was here, standing by the kitchen window, wearing one of her flowing skirts and a short jacket over a floral-print top.

  He didn’t slow, couldn’t even look at her.

  She stepped forward. “James—”

  “Don’t.” Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t remind me of what I’ve lost, what I’ll never have.

  He lifted boards, set them on his shoulder and took them to the truck. Damn her. Damn her! Why did she have to come back? Why did she always have to come back? When he returned to the house, she was still there, Zoe sitting by her side.

  “They should’ve sent your final paycheck to your mother’s house,” he said, wanting—needing—her gone.

  “I didn’t come for my paycheck,” she said quietly. She sounded nervous, looked so beautiful it hurt just to breathe. “I came for you.”

  “Don’t,” he repeated, harsher this time, and she flinched. Good. She’d better goddamn well flinch. “I’m not yours to come back for, so why don’t you do what you’re best at and just leave?”

  This time when he took the boards to the truck, she followed, her steps quick, the ends of her hair lifting. “James, please, just hear me out—”

  “No.”

  What did she want from him, blood? He picked up his pace, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

  She hurried to block him. “James, please.” He almost ran her over, but she scooted out of his way. “Please. Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  “If I say yes, will you promise to leave after that?”

  “I swear.”

  She looked like hell. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red with dark circles underneath. He should find satisfaction in that, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. “Fine. Five minutes.”

  He checked his watch, then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the back of his truck, sat on the tailgate.

  She swallowed hard and began to pace. He forced himself to look somewhere over her head, anywhere but at her. “Did you ever...” She inhaled deeply and started again. “Did you ever tell yourself you wanted something only to realize later that what you really wanted you had all along?”

  He took a long drink. Put the cap on. “No.”

  She smiled softly and it broke his heart. “Of course not. You’ve always been so...comfortable in your own skin. I’ve always admired that about you. Envied it.” She stopped pacing and stood before him, twisting her hands together at her waist. “You see, I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought that living a life defined by traditional roles and normalcy, I guess you’d say, would somehow make me disappear when all I’ve ever wanted was to stand out.”

  She stepped closer, her eyes pleading, her voice soft. “But with you, I always stood out. You always saw me as someone special. As someone worthy. That meant something to me. Means something to me. More than you’ll ever know.”

  He felt himself soften. He hardened his heart. “Glad I could help your ego.” He tossed the empty bottle into the back of his truck. Checked his watch again without really seeing it. “Time’s up. Goodbye, Sadie.”

  He brushed past her, told himself that the sheen of pain in her eyes wasn’t real. That she wasn’t hurting, couldn’t be hurting nearly as much as he was.

  “You saw the real me,” she called. “From the time we first met, you’ve always accepted the real me, and I was so stupid, so blind I couldn’t even see it. And when you kissed me on your birthday, it was like...God, James, it was like coming home. It was like I knew, finally, where I was meant to be for the rest of my life, and that scared me.

  “I’m not as brave as you are,” she went on, persistent and, if her tone was anything to go by, determined. “You were right when you said I was a coward. I am. But I want to change. I want to be brave, but more than that, I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you.”

  Her words were like a knife to his heart. “If this is one of those let’s-be-friends speeches, I’ve heard it before. I’m not interested.”

  She hurried over to him, blocked his way so he couldn’t pick up any more boards. “I don’t want to be your friend. I mean, I do. You’re my best friend, but I want to be more than that. I want to be your lover and your wife. The mother of your children and the woman you grow old with. I want to be the one who brings color into your world and into that brown house of yours. I want to get a dog, a friend for Zoe, and teach them both how to play dead and I want to spend my days working at a job that I love that fulfills me creatively, my weekends making your house our home and my nights in your arms. I want,” she continued, her voice shaking, her eyes wet, “to have your babies and dance with them in our living room and make love to you after they’re put to bed. I want to be your life, your future. Please, please say you still want that, too. Please forgive me and I promise I will never, ever hurt you again.”

  Could he believe her? Could he afford not to? James wasn’t sure. All that he was sure of was the truth shining in her eyes, the hope he saw on her face. It was the same hope trying to build in his chest. Hope he couldn’t deny.

  He lifted a hand, trailed the tip of his finger down her cheek. “I want that, too,” he whispered.

  She shut her eyes. “Thank God.”

  And she leaped into his arms and kissed him, a kiss filled with promise and friendship. But most of all, a kiss filled with love.

  * * * * *

  Look for the next book in the IN SHADY GROVE series by Beth Andrews! Coming in December 2013 from Harlequin Superromance

  Staying at Joe’s

  By Kathy Altman

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHAPTER ONE

  THINK OF IT as just another pitch. One more client to woo. Schmooze and booze. Deal and seal. Nothing new here, Allie.

  Except they weren’t in a high-end restaurant. He wasn’t a client. She wasn’t sipping wine. And she’d never been so bone-deep desperate.

  Nor so ready to rely on bondage and torture, should the whole schmooze-and-booze thing end in an epic fail.

  Though the thought of duct taping Joe Gallahan did cheer her immensely. She rolled her shoulders up and back, wiped her palms on her linen pants and stepped into the open doorway of the motel room. And blinked.

  She’d never seen him in jeans. Two years of working together and three months of dating and she’d never seen him in anything with the slightest resemblance to denim. He’d never been the casual type. Not when it came to clothes, anyway. Then again, it had been nearly a year since he’d left—of course he’d changed. She had, too. Just...not as noticeably.

  He stood with his back to her, in a sweat-stained T-shirt and faded, paint-spattered jeans. A pair of scuffed boots added to the construction worker look she was having a hard time wrapping her brain around. And his hair—once kept regularly trimmed—had now grown so long that the shaggy ends flirted with his shoulders.

  She inhaled deeply and the thick, sharp smell of paint made her wish she hadn’t. She fought the urge to cough. A cough would giv
e her away. A cough would mean she couldn’t change her mind.

  As if she even had that option. Her pulse kicked up and her fingertips tingled. Easy, Allie. Too much at stake to chicken out now.

  At least he seemed sober.

  She straightened her spine and moved into the room, watching as Joe pushed the roller up and down the wall in the classic W pattern. The muscles of his back and arms alternately bunched and relaxed. Allie dragged her gaze away from his body, annoyed by flashes of erotic memories.

  More than his appearance had changed. It seemed that he’d learned a little DIY somewhere along the way. Or had he always known how to do this home repair stuff? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d surprised her.

  A hot flush of resentment bubbled up and prickled across her skin. If it weren’t for Joe Gallahan she’d be back in urban Virginia, less than six miles from the nation’s capital, sitting behind a gold-etched nameplate advertising her hard-earned position of “Account Executive.” And collecting the paychecks to prove it.

  Instead she was still a PR rep, stuck with this ridiculous assignment in oh so cozy Castle Creek, Pennsylvania, hoping she wouldn’t get paint on a blouse she couldn’t afford to replace and preparing to plead with a man she’d just as soon tie up, slather with honey and roll onto a colony of fire ants.

  Then again, she was lucky she still had a job. Though sending her off to meet with her ex-lover put her boss next in line for the whole fire ant thing.

  Stroke by stroke, a thick coat of pale blue covered a hideous shade of green. Allison’s stomach lifted then dropped, like a roller coaster cresting that first big hill. He wouldn’t be happy to see her—which at least put them on equal ground.

  “Hello, Joe,” she said.

  He went still. The paint roller remained suspended in the air, the muscles of his forearms suddenly pronounced. He turned, slowly, his expression as inviting as his ramshackle, middle-of-nowhere motel. He stared at her and she stared back, fighting the urge to grab handfuls of his shirt and shake the stuffing out of him while screaming, Why?

  He moved before she did, thank God, bending down and balancing the roller across the paint tray. When he straightened, his hands went to his hips in a familiar “I’m waiting to be impressed” pose.

  “Allison Kincaid,” he said.

  Silence, except for the low-pitched hum of the fan blowing the fumes toward the open window. Her gaze roved his face. The start of a beard darkened his jaw—yet another difference between this version of Joe and the clean-shaven, designer-suited marketing shark she’d known a year ago. Her throat closed again. If she was having a hard time reconciling the two, Tackett would, too.

  Which promised a whole new set of complications. Damn it. Her neck muscles went tight. No matter their history, she had a job to do. A job to keep.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”

  Forget “woo the client.” What she really wanted to do was kick his arrogant ass all the way back to Virginia. She risked another inhale, and willed her voice to remain steady.

  “Tackett sent me,” she said.

  His laugh was immediate and harsh. “The answer is no.” He pulled a tool from his back pocket, squatted and pried open a can of paint.

  She didn’t blame him for saying no. She didn’t want him to say yes. But she had her orders.

  She ventured farther into the room, heels clunking across water-stained plywood. “You don’t know the details.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “You should hear this.”

  “You should leave.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure, it is.” He finished pouring paint into the tray and with his fist thumped the lid back onto the can. “Turn around. Walk out the door. Get in your car. Drive away.” He stood, his gaze narrowed. “Don’t come back.”

  “Joe.” She passed her keys from one hand to the other, the jingle a taunting echo in the near-empty room. “I wouldn’t be here if my job didn’t depend on it.”

  “Then maybe you need another job.” He snatched up a bottle of water, gave the cap a vicious twist. “How long did it take you to drive up here? Five hours? Six? To ask a favor of me? On behalf of Tackett? You’re out of your mind.”

  “You’re not the only one here with a grievance.”

  “You have a grievance? Do what I did. Quit your job. End of grievance.”

  “Can we at least talk about Tackett’s offer?”

  “Not interested. Go home.”

  “Won’t you at least—”

  “Go. Home.” He took a swig of water, the plastic crackling in his grip. She glared at him, half hoping he’d choke. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but she’d figured after all this time he’d feel some remorse for what he’d done to her. Instead he was still fixated on what had happened his last few weeks at the agency.

  Tackett had told her to apologize. Fat chance.

  “Tackett and I had good reason for what we did,” she said. “Surely after all this time you can accept that.”

  “I’m not having this conversation. I don’t want to talk about the agency or Tackett or any lame-ass offer he sent you to make. Unless you want to pick up a paintbrush and dig in, you need to leave.”

  “Just give me a chance to change your mind.”

  “And how do you plan to do that? Wait. Let me guess.” He set the water bottle on the ladder and with one swift motion pulled his shirt over his head. “You and me, slick. Right here, right now. Remind me how convincing you can be.”

  Heat slapped at her cheeks. Her knees felt loose. He was unbelievable. She was unbelievable. While part of her loathed his over-the-top he-man tactics, another part couldn’t help admiring the hard, sculpted plane of his bare chest.

  Shame sidled in, jacking her chin high. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  “Once upon a time it was all you had in mind.” He balled up his shirt and tossed it aside. “Let me guess why you’re here. One of my former accounts is launching a campaign and he’s asked for me as lead. Tackett smelled big money and picked you to play fetch, said if you didn’t bring me back to Alexandria you could kiss your Christmas bonus goodbye. Am I right?”

  “This isn’t about a bonus,” she said carefully. His scorn made it easy to keep her gaze from straying south of his. “This is about my job.”

  He shot her a look that was pure disdain. “When Tackett decided to filch my biggest clients, you backed him instead of me. At a time when work was all I had left. And you expect me to hook up with the agency again? Screw that.”

  Hook up. Screw. She’d smirk, if only her lips would cooperate. “You know darned well we were trying to—”

  “Give it up, slick.”

  “At least now I know for sure why you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her keys gave a furious rattle as she clasped her hands behind her back to keep from yanking at her own hair. “You’re actually going to pretend you don’t know?”

  “Know what, exactly?”

  “What you did.”

  “Why don’t you remind me?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. Another time, another place, and she’d have started to drool.

  “You cost me my promotion,” she said, letting the resentment ring loud in her voice. “And you almost got me fired.”

  * * *

  JOE SCOWLED. What the hell was she talking about? “Want to run that by me again?”

  “Tackett found out about you and me. Want to know how?”

  Judas Priest. Joe exhaled. He already knew how.

  “Danielle Franks told him,” she said, her tone not quite casual enough to hide the bitterness. “And you know how he feels about fraternization. So Danielle got the promotion he’d promise
d me.”

  “And you’re here because you think I told Danielle.”

  “I’m here because Tackett sent me to bring you back to handle a client who won’t work with anyone but you. The company needs you for two months, tops. The fact that you lost me my promotion is the reason I offered to scrub every toilet in the building in exchange for Tackett picking someone else to ‘play fetch.’ Obviously he didn’t accept my offer.”

  Okay, that hurt. Which pissed him off even more. That son of a bitch Tackett was too damned clever for his own good. No doubt the old man figured Joe would jump at the chance to “reacquaint” himself with Allison Kincaid. Instead he wished she’d kept her pretty little materialistic ass back in the city.

  “I’m sorry for what happened,” he ground out. “But not sorry enough to go back.”

  “What a surprise. Some things never change, do they?” She shook her head, eyes dark with disgust. “No one mattered but you. Your clients, your projects, your schedule. Everything else came in second. Then something doesn’t go your way and bam! You’re gone, and the rest of us are left scrambling to meet your commitments.”

  “Didn’t go my way? My brother died.”

  “And that’s why you’re hiding out in this hellhole? Because you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Joe set his jaw. Was it wrong to be so damned angry he wanted to put a fist through a wall—preferably one he hadn’t already painted—and at the same time be so incredibly turned on by the hints of nipple he could see through her blouse? He stomped over to where he’d lobbed his shirt, snatched it up and stomped back.

  “If you think I told anyone about us, you don’t know me.”

  “Exactly the point I tried to make a year ago.”

  Another direct hit. She’d learned a lot from her boss. Still, she had it right. He owed her. Hell.

  “Fine. I’ll give Tackett a call.”

  “And tell him what? That I can handle the client myself? You think I didn’t try that? Mahoney made it clear. He doesn’t get you, he gets another agency.”