by Anne Marsh
“No,” she repeated, slamming her hand into his chest. “You stay away from me, Jack Donovan.”
“Can’t do that, baby.” He didn’t move toward the house, though, so she figured she had a chance.
“Can’t or won’t?” She shoved her hair behind her ears, cursing the gesture but unable to stop herself. His eyes locked on her betraying fingers, and she knew he understood that he made her nervous as hell.
“You’ve got yourself a stalker. A serial arsonist.” The blunt words were as forceful as the man. “You tell me you have a plan to deal with that, and maybe”—he shrugged—“I’ll go. Until then, though, I’m staying.”
Slinging the duffel over his back, he wrapped his large hands around her waist. The wicked heat of those hands burned through her thin tank top, making her think of other places he could touch. Carefully he lifted her and shifted her to the side, as if she weighed no more than a feather. Another time, she might have been flattered. Right now, though, the sexy gesture just made her mad. She shouldn’t want him—but she did. She wanted those large hands all over her body.
“You called the cops when shit happened in San Francisco,” he said calmly, laying in a course for her front porch.
She wasn’t stupid. Of course she had. And they’d come, made their reports, and left. “There was nothing they could do.”
“Because you couldn’t tell them who it was. Only that you thought someone was there, watching you.” His eyes studied her carefully, as if he knew she was holding back. She hadn’t told anyone about the very end of that horrific night. He couldn’t know. Had to be guessing.
“No,” she said, her voice tight. She followed him up the steps of her porch, concentrating on the smooth, cool grain of the old wood beneath her bare feet. She was going to stay strong. Ignore the temptation to fold herself into his arms and let him take care of this. He would, she knew, and he wouldn’t expect any favors in return. That was the kind of man he was. For him, her stalker was just one more fire to put out, and he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d do what was right.
That scared her more than anything. Because she could come to care for a man like him, and yet he’d walk away when the fire was out. Move on. And she couldn’t live like that.
“I want you safe, Lilybell.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need a white knight, Jack.”
“Bullshit.” He strode into her living room as if he owned the place. “You need me.”
“You can’t stay here.” She knew her voice sounded too desperate. “People will talk,” she pointed out. “Your staying here means every busybody in town will weigh in. They’ll think we’re sleeping together.”
“We will be.”
Her mouth fell open. He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her. “We just won’t be having sex. Unless you want to.”
In one smooth thrust, he braced her against the wall.
Arousal pinkened her skin.
She was still wearing those snug little shorts that had tormented him earlier. Hooking his thumbs under the thin straps of her tank top, he gently tugged her closer.
If she wanted to get away, she could. Not that there was too far to go in the hot, intimate space he’d created for her between his body and the door, of course. He smiled, slow and hot, watching her eyes widen. He wasn’t stupid, after all.
So he pulled her up against him. Soft and sexy, she felt even better than he remembered, and he’d done a hell of a lot of remembering. Pulling the soft fabric of her tank away from those beautiful breasts of hers, he thumbed her nipples into sweet arousal. Just imagining the taste of her had his dick stiffening impossibly behind his fly.
“This is not a good idea, Jack,” she warned, and he decided that he was done talking. This was the best idea he’d had in a long time, and they both knew it.
So he lowered his head, watching her face. Just in case he’d misread the attraction there. She’d been frightened once, and he would never do anything to hurt her.
Her lashes flickered down as he stroked his thumb softly against her bare nipple. The slightest, butterfly-light touch.
“Tell me to go again, Lilybell,” he whispered against her mouth. “Say it like you mean it.”
Her lips parted, and he ruthlessly pushed his advantage, because she was a battle he wasn’t losing. He didn’t know why the woman in his arms mattered so much, but she did, and Jack Donovan never ignored his instincts.
Her skin smelled like cherries and vanilla. Sweet but with a hint of spice. And, of course, like lavender. He’d never smell lavender again without getting an instant hard-on.
His lips devoured her, his tongue stroking an explicit greeting over her parted lips, sinking between them to explore her sweet, hot depths.
When her hands came up, sliding along his shoulders and over the cotton of his T-shirt, he almost came on the spot. He was going to have those hands on his bare skin, he decided. Right now, though, his legs were tangled with hers, pressing her backward against the door until he couldn’t tell where Jack ended and Lily began, the pleasure roaring through them both.
“I plan on having you,” he growled, drinking in her little whimper of agreement. “Fair warning, Lilybell. Hot and wet and in our bed. I’m going to find out what we could have been together.”
Chapter Six
Hell. She ducked under his arm, and he let her go. Just like that and because he could. She didn’t want to deal with his arrogance or this brand of crap, but that was Jack Donovan for you. He and his brothers were heroes at heart—even if they were all bad boy on the outside.
Lily had forgotten just how much she’d wanted him. How much he could make her feel when he touched her. Her body hummed with arousal, and her panties were damp, damn it. He’d come home and put his hands on her—and her body was more than willing to welcome him back. She didn’t want to do this, though. Didn’t have the energy to dig up the past. Not now.
So she took a precautionary step back and looked up at him. “We need to discuss this attraction of yours.”
“This attraction of mine?” he drawled. He let her step away from him, though, allowing her to put a foot of space between herself and his chest. He was older now, his body bigger and harder, the boyish edges sharpened into rugged good looks. The stretch of the thin white cotton T-shirt over the muscles of his abdomen had her regretting she’d vowed prudence.
God, he was even more impossibly delicious than before.
There was nothing safe or practical about Jack Donovan. He was, she reminded herself, a delicious treat. Ice cream for breakfast on a hot day. He’d leave—again—at the end of the summer, and a wise woman wouldn’t choose to live on ice cream anyhow.
His eyes darkened as he watched her. “You’re thinking too much.”
She shrugged and turned away. “One of us has to.” Although she was tired of being the practical one, always planning for the future. Where had it gotten her?
He smiled. Slowly. “I’m thinking, too, baby, and what I think is that you’re too alone out here. You want to come back into town with me, we can fix you up a place to stay until we’ve got a handle on these fires. Nonna always has a spare bed.”
“No,” she said. She was done running away, and, damn it, this was her farm. Her dream. “Lavender doesn’t pick itself, Jack. I have a job here. Things that need doing.”
“These things are more important than keeping yourself safe?”
She wasn’t going to think about that. God, she couldn’t. She still couldn’t forget that last fire before she’d given up and fled San Francisco. She’d opened her bedroom door to smoke and a deceptively small fire burning in her kitchen sink. Just a few romance novels from her keeper shelf. That had been the kicker. Her stalker hadn’t used the stack of newspapers by the recycling bin. He could have chosen anything, and he’d chosen those books.
He’d destroyed the books she’d read and loved enough to keep.
“I’m safe enough,” she countered. “There’s
no raging inferno of death headed my way that I can see.” She’d wanted Jack Donovan something fierce when they’d been in high school, when she still believed in dreams. Believed that he’d hold out a hand to her and sweep her along with him. She’d grown up since then. She’d learned what he wanted and what promises he was willing to make. That was one thing about Jack that hadn’t changed.
She closed her eyes and shook her head before she made herself confront his watchful eyes. Jack never broke a promise.
And he’d never offered her happily-ever-after.
“You aren’t safe here. Not from what I’ve heard.” He repeated his statement quietly, but there was no mistaking the determination in his voice. The certainty. “So you have a choice, Lily. You can come back with me to Nonna’s, or I’ll move in with you here. I’m not leaving you alone.”
The sheer male arrogance of him took her breath away. He thought he knew what was best for her. And perhaps he might. In bed. But he had no idea about the monster she’d faced down. The monster who just might have tracked her to Strong.
“I don’t want you here, Jack.” She turned away, staring blindly out the window. The dark sweep of purple covering her hills represented everything she was building here, she thought fiercely. It was all hers, her hard work and plans. Jack Donovan didn’t get to charge in and tell her what to do. “No matter what there was, or might have been, between us in the past, I don’t need you to drop in and rescue me.”
His watchful gaze didn’t change, and she’d grown up more than enough to know what that meant. “I told you what I could give you, Lily, and when it wasn’t enough, I walked away.”
“Yes.” She turned back wearily. “Yes, you did, Jack. No one ever said you were less than honest.”
“You wanted me then,” he pressed on, brutally honest. “You want me now. So you don’t like the fact that I’m going to look out for your safety. That I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He eyed her. “I won’t hurt you, Lilybell. I promise you that. Whatever happens between us is your choice.”
“My choice? Not really, Jack. If it was my choice, your fine ass would be climbing back into your truck, and you’d be headed back into town.” God, the memories she had of riding in that truck—and what had happened afterward. “You can’t use sex and charm to get your way here. It won’t work.”
His slow smile still made her insides go hot, damn him. “You sure about that, baby?”
“I know all about you, Jack. What I didn’t know in high school, I’ve learned since. You and your brothers had a reputation practically from the day you hit this town.” As they’d grown up, Nonna’s boys had been wild, sexy as hell, but with a fine sense of honor that ran bone-deep. They played hard but only with those who were willing. Ten years ago, she’d almost been one of that number. Now, she reminded herself, she was out of the running.
“Hell,” she grumbled, “you might as well invite me to move into your hangar. People wouldn’t talk any more.”
The wry tilt of his head acknowledged the hit. “People talk,” he admitted quietly. “But they don’t always have all the facts, Lily. We both know that. There’s more at stake here than a handful of words someone gave you about my brothers and me. If you were concerned about those rumors, you should have brought your concern to me.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t earn that reputation, Jack.”
That slow, sensual grin of his did something to her, and she prayed it wasn’t permanent. “We earned it, baby. Damn right. Want to find out why?” He shrugged. “I didn’t think that was your kind of thing.”
It was that kind of wicked hint that had earned him the reputation he had.
“Rain check,” she said lightly, stepping away from him.
His arm shot out, loosely shackling her wrist. She got the message. He wasn’t done with her yet. That made her mad. Still, the sooner she heard him out, the sooner he’d get the message and leave.
“This isn’t a game, Lily.” He shook his head, dead serious. “Until I’ve got these fires sorted, you and I are an item. Whoever your stalker is, he’ll think twice about messing with you if we’re seen as a couple. A woman alone is easier to harass. You play along with me, and we’ll pull it off. If everyone thinks we’ve picked back up where we left off, it will be more convincing.”
“You mean, if everyone else believes we’ve finally become lovers.”
“Yes.” His eyes held hers. “If we’re lovers, there will be fewer questions.”
“You’re not going to give up on this, are you, Jack?”
“You could enjoy this, you know,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t have to be all about business.”
“Are you asking me out, Jack Donovan?”
He paused, those dark eyes warming. “I could be, baby. If that’s what you want. We were good together before. We’d be even better now. Think about it.” His voice dropped, the sexy growl making her panties dampen impossibly. “Think about us, Lilybell. I’d like more—wouldn’t you?”
“And you’ll be out of here at the end of the summer, Jack,” she said.
“We’ve got months until summer ends,” he growled.
“You always did like to plan ahead.”
“And you lived for the moment,” she snapped. “Fine. You want to stay here, you stay here. Please yourself.”
Spinning on her heel, she stalked up the stairs, aware the whole way of the heated presence at her back, climbing the steps behind her. The farmhouse’s bedrooms were picturesque, narrow slices of space tucked beneath painted eaves. The open windows brought in the scent of drying lavender as soon as she stepped through the door of one of them.
“Home, sweet home,” she said, indicating the bed with a wave of her hand. Jack’s shoulders brushed the door as he stepped in behind her and silently took in the antique iron bedstead. The bed was twin-size and impossibly narrow. The patchwork quilt created a soft, feminine space, making her hyper-aware of his large, male body.
“I may be bigger than you remember,” he crooned. The space was suddenly too small, and she knew he recognized the heated flush on her skin. There were just too many memories between them for such a small space, and their new kiss was simply one more to add to her collection.
He reached out, his hands descending on her shoulders. He couldn’t stop touching her. Little touches, not all sexual. Like he’d missed the feel of her skin or the accidental contact. She waited breathlessly, hating herself for the weakness, for anticipating the next sexy promise he might make her.
“Real pretty view” was all he finally said, stepping up behind her. The move boxed her in between him and the bed and the windows that opened out onto her fields and their purple sea of lavender. Dreamy, she thought, but that was an inadequate description; she’d invested a hell of a lot more than dreams in those fields. She needed them to produce.
“But I’ll sleep down there.” He pointed to the sunporch the farm’s former owner had tacked on haphazardly to the main house.
“On the porch? Afraid for your virtue now?”
He shot her a look. “I’ve never liked small spaces, Lily.” The tone of his voice warned her the subject was closed. She wasn’t getting a heart-to-heart talk from Jack. Not tonight. Leaning forward, he stabbed a finger toward the line of pink and white oleanders edging her lavender field. “You need a fire line. See right there? Those scruffy green bushes with the little pink flowers? That’s where I’ll start.”
“Don’t you touch my oleanders,” she said fiercely. “I mean it, Jack. Don’t you cut my flowers.”
“You need a firebreak,” he said. “I’m going to make sure you have everything you need, baby.” The little shiver in her stomach warned her that Jack wasn’t talking about the oleanders anymore.
“You don’t know the first thing about what I need.” She stepped away from him, refusing to admit she was disappointed when he let her go. “Sleep up here. Down there. Take your pick.” What she needed, she admitted privately, was to get herself the hell away from J
ack Donovan’s bed. She didn’t need to be borrowing that kind of trouble.
He sat down on the bed and just watched her, as if he knew something she didn’t and he wasn’t in a sharing kind of mood. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about where he was going to end up sleeping tonight. She wondered if he planned on finding her, and that particular fantasy had her flushing.
Jack, damn him, just watched her and patted the empty patch of quilt beside him. A small smile of male amusement at her retreat crossed his face. Clearly, he didn’t give a damn about common courtesy, because, as her unwelcome houseguest, he should have been on his best behavior. Instead, he was pushing for all he was worth. “You let me know what you need, baby,” he said.
She refused to look at him as she left the room. She wasn’t going to admit that his soft drawl had her thinking about all sorts of needs.
And wants.
No, she was going to get the hell out of there.
And go to bed. Alone.
Chapter Seven
Jack wanted to know what she needed? Lily had spent the night tossing and turning, because he was an arrogant ass, and the nightmares were back. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames and smelled the smoke. Her condo—and her life—was on fire, and she was helpless to stop it. Awake now, she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, because sometimes caffeine and the warm sides of a mug were the only lifelines this early in the morning. God, she was tired of feeling helpless. Tired of being a pawn some man decided to move around the board because he could or because he wanted something from her she didn’t want to give. She wanted to do something, and she didn’t want to retreat.
She wasn’t retreating ever again.
Knowing Jack was just downstairs hadn’t made the night any easier, either. That handful of stairs was nowhere near enough space between them. He was pure temptation, and she could admit that to herself.