The Pursuit of Jesse

by Helen Brenna

  “I’ll keep your tips in mind for the next room,” she said, spinning around and heading back into the bathroom. Good thing efficient wasn’t her objective as she glanced at Brian tracking paint all over the drop cloth when he walked to another section of bare wall.

  “Did we do something wrong?” he asked.

  “We’re doing fine, Bri.”

  “Jesse knows more about this than you do, Mom. You should listen to him.”

  Listen to him, indeed. She went back to trimming. About the time she completed outlining the room Brian finished rolling the last big section.

  “Has it been an hour yet?” he asked hopefully.

  Only about fifty minutes had passed, but she’d call it good. “You’re done. Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m going over to Zach’s.” He dropped the roller in the paint pan.

  “Be home by five-thirty for dinner. It’s movie night tonight, remember?”

  “Bye, Mom!” He zipped through the door. “Bye, Jesse!”

  “Bye,” Jesse called, his voice muffled by the walls.

  The front door had no sooner closed than rock music blared from the back of the house. Jesse must’ve turned on the radio. Although she wasn’t crazy about his choice of stations, she was glad for the distraction as she picked up Brian’s paint roller and went to work finishing up the bathroom.

  In no time, she’d finished the first coat. Jesse had been right on. The walls were going to need at least one more coat of brown, possibly two, but first the initial layer needed to dry. Her right arm, shoulder and hand were already aching. She was going to be hurting by the time this room was finished.

  “Son of a bitch!” Jesse’s epithet sounded through the wall followed by sawing, pounding and grunting. Whatever he was doing was not going smoothly.

  Curiosity got the better of her. She walked quietly—possible only because the new flooring Jesse had installed didn’t squeak—down the hall and through her bedroom. Peeking into the bathroom, she found him bent over attempting to lift away the old toilet. It didn’t seem to be budging.

  He tapped something down low with a rubber mallet, and then seemed to be getting ready for another try. A moment later, his quads tensed and the muscles in his back and on his arms bulged with the effort. He was a lot stronger than he looked in relaxed mode.

  He’d taken off his flannel shirt, leaving on a gray cotton undershirt. The short sleeves had ridden high up on his arms, revealing the edges of his tattoo, and she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the design. Did it mean something? Were those letters? Did the tat cover his shoulder? His entire chest? What she would’ve given in that moment for him to take off his shirt so she could see the whole thing. Would he look as good as she imagined? Would he feel as—

  “Need something, boss?”

  “What?” She started, feeling her skin flush with embarrassment. “Stop calling me that,” she said, recovering quickly.

  “Why?” He was watching her, his gaze intense as he clearly tried to figure out what was going through her mind. “You are my boss, aren’t you?”

  “Well…yes, technically, but…” She crossed her arms. “Do you need some help there?”

  He stared at her for a moment as if he were deciding whether or not to let her off the hook. Then, almost as if she wasn’t worth the effort, he turned back to his task. “The bolts are badly rusted. I can manage.”

  “I’m sure you can, but it looks like another hand might make that process more…efficient.”

  “Whatever you say.” He glanced up at her. “After all, you are the boss.”

  She narrowed her gaze.

  “All right, come here,” he ordered. “When I say go, whale on the bottom of the toilet with that mallet. Hit that sucker as hard as you can to dislodge some of that rust.” He glanced at her. “Ready.”

  She picked up the mallet and nodded.

  “Set.” His muscles tensed again. “Go.”

  She hit the porcelain.

  “Harder!”

  Winding up, she smacked it as hard as she could, breaking things free. Jesse jerked the unit up and off the floor, spilling some clean water out of the tank and onto his chest, but all she seemed to be able to focus on were his bulging biceps.

  “Open the front door for me, would you?” he grunted.

  She took off ahead of him as he carried the toilet outside and threw it in the Dumpster. He came back inside and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled off his wet shirt.

  On some level, Sarah knew she was gawking, but he was truly beautiful. His muscles were defined, but not overwhelming, and there was just enough black hair curling between his pecs and running down a set of six-packs to make him look real. And that tattoo. The look of it sent her over the edge. The black symbols swept up onto his shoulder and down onto part of his chest, swirling and looping in a design that was at once bold and fluid, artistic and wild.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted a man. Couldn’t remember what it felt like to need something this badly. But want and need were suddenly all she could think about. She wanted to reach out and touch. She needed to feel smooth skin, hard muscle. Man.

  Oh, no. No, no. Snap out of it!

  She glanced up and found him watching her.

  His eyes smoldered as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You know…it’s interesting,” he said softly. “But one of the things I was worried about when I walked out of prison was people judging me before knowing the facts. They’d take one look at me and all they’d see was a criminal. So far on Mirabelle the person who’s done that more than anyone else is you, Sarah.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “You think you’re justified, don’t you? You think you know me. You think you know who I am.”

  “Oh, I know you, all right.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then who am I?”

  “A man who couldn’t make a commitment to save his soul. The life of the party. The ladies’ man. Just ask Sherri Phillips.”

  “Sherri, huh?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Jealous?”

  “Not on your life. You can screw around with whoever you want whenever you want.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, Sherri and I had a onetime fling my first night here on Mirabelle. She was more than happy with a no-strings-attached arrangement. And she’s fun. Which is more than I can say about some of the inhabitants of this island.” He narrowed his gaze. “But then, it’s not really me you’re mad at, is it?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “No, Sarah. You’re mad at yourself. Because you can’t decide whether to tell me to hit the road or…strip me naked.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” He smiled as he stepped toward her. “You’ve got a thing for bad boys, don’t you, boss lady?”

  She held her ground, lifting her gaze to meet his. He was so close she could feel the heat of him on her face. If he reached out to touch her she had a feeling she just might let him touch anywhere he wanted.

  Instead, he leaned in, his hands still at his sides, but his face closing in, his lips only inches from her cheek. If he’d pressed her, if he’d shown an ounce of force, she’d have pulled away in an instant. Instead, his slow, smooth movements disarmed her. She couldn’t move. She could only breathe. His lips hovered over her mouth. She closed her eyes. Waiting. Waiting.

  Kiss me. Kiss me, dammit!

  As if reading her mind, he moved infinitesimally closer. The touch of his lips against hers was unexpectedly as soft as a feather, so light it was almost as if she imagined his touch. She wasn’t even sure she could technically call it a kiss. She tilted her head, hoping to feel the pressure of his lips, or—God help her—the heat of his tongue.

  That’s when he chuckled, soft and low, the sound vibrating through her. “You know what you are, Sarah?” he whispered against her lips. “You’re a very beautiful…very seductive…hypocrite.”
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  As he pulled back, shame swept through her. The look of smug satisfaction on his face was enough to make her want to haul off and hit him. “I could fire you for that.”

  “Go ahead. I dare you.”

  He was right and she was so, so out of line. An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to open her mouth.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He spun around, stalked back down the hall and into the bedroom. A moment after the door closed, the volume on the radio pumped up. His message was loud and clear. He’d not only shut her out of the room, but out of his head.

  She couldn’t blame him. She was a hypocrite. She wanted Jesse Taylor with a need that threatened to consume her, but he was as wrong for her as wrong got. She’d worked too hard building a life here on Mirabelle to let a man, any man, ruin it. “I won’t let me ruin it, either,” she whispered.

  JESSE LEANED BACK against the wall in the bathroom and let the beat of the bass guitar pounding over the radio thrum through him. With any luck, the waves of sound would dispel the white-hot need burning him up from the inside out.

  When he’d first come into the house and found her painting the bathroom, dressed in faded jeans and a tight T-shirt, his heart had started pounding so hard, he’d had to stand there for a long moment before attempting to speak. It was the first time he’d seen her looking so…natural, so relaxed, so approachable, and his reaction to her, more than anything, had pissed him off.

  Then when he’d been so close to her that he could smell her very skin, paint mixed with a light powdery scent of flowers, he’d almost lost it. Flowers. Always, she smelled like blooming flowers. Roses, lilies, carnations, fuchsia, all mixed together. It was the femininity of the scent that had got to him, snuck right in and grabbed him by the groin.

  Not to mention the way her lips had parted, oh, so expectantly. The air had moved in and out of her chest in great gulps, drawing her paint-spattered T-shirt tight across her chest. She’d practically panted. Then when the tip of her sweet tongue had touched his mouth, he’d gone nearly insane.

  But he’d wanted to break her control, unleash that raw sexual power he could practically see boiling beneath the surface of her skin, and in the process he almost lost his own control. One more second in front of Sarah, and as close as he’d been to her, there was no telling what might’ve happened between them. Spontaneous combustion. Or something damned close to it. Even now, he felt as if he might explode.

  He pushed against his groin, adjusting the erection pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. What the hell was the matter with him? Four years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a split second. If a woman had looked at him with half the want in Sarah’s eyes, he’d have had her naked and under him within minutes.

  And now? Now he was a felon. Prison had changed him. He might be able to fool the rest of the world into thinking he was the same old Jesse as before, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He wasn’t footloose and fancy-free. Not anymore.

  Leave. Get your ass off this island before you do something really, really stupid.

  He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Sarah had paid him for his work to date, but it wasn’t enough. One more month. Tough it out four more weeks. Whatever you do, do not touch Sarah.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “UNCLE JESSE?” Like clockwork, Zach knocked on Jesse’s bedroom door.

  It’d only been a little more than a month since Jesse had arrived on Mirabelle, but already a new routine had established itself in the Taylor household. Daytimes were pretty much the same as before his arrival, given Jesse was generally gone off to work before the kids were awake, but after Erica’s admonishment, he’d started coming back to the house for dinner most nights. Afterward, he’d take a shower to wash away the day’s construction grime, and invariably the boys would come down to knock on his bedroom door.

  “Unc Jess?” David’s chubby hands landed flat against the wood with a sticky slap.

  Those boys were as persistent as a jackhammer. Still dripping from his shower, Jesse ran the towel through his wet hair and silently hoped they’d go away.

  “He dare?” David said, presumably asking his brother.

  “Yeah, he’s there,” Zach said, sounding discouraged. “But he doesn’t want to play with us. Come on, Davie. I’ll play with you.”

  Dammit. He stared at himself in the mirror and ran his fingertips along the dramatic lines of his tattoo. You may have gotten out of prison, but how long are you going to live as though you’re still behind bars?

  “Gimme a minute, boys!” Jesse called, wondering how long it would take to end up eventually regretting this decision.

  “Were you talking to us?” Zach asked, surprise registering.

  “Yeah. I gotta get dressed.” He pulled on a pair of clean jeans and then opened the door.

  Tentatively, Zach came to stand in the threshold, but David barreled right in, climbed onto the bed and started jumping up and down. The kid was having so much fun he didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. “How you doing, Zach?”

  “Okay.”

  The kid didn’t look okay. “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been a little distant since I got here, but…it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s me. Takes me a while to settle in places, you know?”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Brian’s not coming over tonight for a sleepover?” Jesse could’ve been wrong, but it seemed as though the two had spent almost every weekend together since Jesse had gotten on the island.

  “Nope,” Brian said. “Can you play video games with us?” he asked, his voice brightening. “Garrett and Erica are going out.”

  Suddenly, spending a quiet night at home with the two boys was sounding awfully nice. “Sure. How ’bout we play some cards first?”

  “David doesn’t know how.”

  “That’s okay. He and I can beat—er play you.” Jesse winked at Zach. Jesse ruffled his nephew’s hair, then he grabbed a heavy cable-knit sweater out of a dresser drawer and dragged it over his head. “You guys already eat dinner?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what did Erica make tonight?” Jesse’s stomach growled at the thought of his sister-in-law’s cooking.

  “Lasagna. Garlic bread.” Zach shrugged. “I didn’t eat the salad.”

  “I don’t like zaniah,” David said, his voice jiggling as he continued to jump.

  “Good. That leaves more for me.” He’d been in the middle of texturing one of the ceilings in Sarah’s house, so he hadn’t been able to make it home in time for dinner, but he’d been counting on leftovers. “Let’s go.” He snatched David off the bed, stepped into the hallway and headed toward the kitchen with Zach trailing behind him.

  “Mmm,” a feminine voice purred from the general vicinity of the kitchen. “Do that again.”

  Jesse stopped in his tracks and Zach bumped into him.

  “This?” That was Garrett’s voice. “Or this?”

  Damn. He couldn’t see them, but there was no mistaking those two were at it again. They never seemed to let up. If they weren’t looking at each other, they were touching. Holding hands. Lightly running fingertips along the other’s forearms. Arms wrapping around waists at the stove or sink. Lying next to each other on the couch while watching TV. It didn’t seem to matter who was or wasn’t around.

  “They’re kissing again,” Zach whispered, rolling his eyes.

  “Ewww.” David scrunched up his nose.

  “Yuck is right.” Jesse made a face, but he really couldn’t fault either Garrett or Erica. If Jesse ever got lucky enough to fall in love with a woman and vice versa, he’d probably be worse than Garrett. That didn’t make the attention they gave one another easy to live with. Every time he heard or saw them getting the slightest bit intimate, his thoughts immediately tracked to Sarah.

  Which didn’t make a damned bit of sense as far as he was concerned. He doubted that opinionated, judgmental woman had even an ounce of Erica’s tenderness. Too bad, too. To w
aste all that female hotness Sarah exuded in an uptight, perfectionist personality.

  Without warning, Jesse’s stomach growled and the sound echoed loudly in the narrow hall. Zach hid a laugh behind his hand. No heading back into his bedroom now. Jesse cleared his throat and continued toward the kitchen. By the time they emerged from the shadows, Garrett and Erica had put a respectable distance between them.

  “Were you guys spying on us?” Erica asked, tilting her head to one side.

  “Like I want to see you two kissing,” Zach said, heading off into the family room and flipping on the TV.

  “Absolutely not.” Jesse set David down to toddle after his brother.

  “Any chance there are leftovers?” Jesse asked, opening the refrigerator door.

  “Of course,” Erica said. “I made sure there was extra for you.”

  “Erica, if you weren’t taken,” Jesse said, setting a few containers on the center aisle, “I’d snap you up so fast this island would be spinning where it sits.”

  “Well, she is taken,” Garrett growled. “So don’t even think about it.”

  Erica smiled slyly. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping him on his toes, though, is there, Jesse?”

  “Nope. You ever tire of my brother, you let me know.”

  Garrett shook his head. “That’d be the day.”

  “You never know.” Erica ran her finger down Garrett’s cheek. “Someday I might just trade you in for this younger model.”

  Jesse laughed.

  Garrett grabbed her around the waist and pulled her tight. “Never gonna happen.” Then he kissed her, deeply, and Jesse regretted ever joking around with them. He put the leftovers on a plate, heated them in the microwave and cleared his throat, hoping to break them up.

  A moment later, Erica pulled back. “I have to go change before heading to work.” She spun around, handed David a sippy cup, planted a kiss on her son’s head and climbed the stairs.