Reluctantly, I put my hand in his, and let him pull to my feet. His hand felt nice, and I gave a warm shiver as he asked in a surprisingly tender voice, "You okay?"
At this, Imogen turned to him and snapped, "I hope you're talking to me." She glared daggers in my direction. "After all, I was the one attacked, not her."
I gave a snort of derision. "Oh please. I didn't 'attack' you. I just lost my balance, that's all."
"Save it for the judge," she said.
I wasn't following. "What judge?"
"When I get back, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard, you'll be dead-broke."
That's what she thought. "Hah! I'm already dead-broke, so good luck with that." As the words echoed out in the night, it suddenly struck me that this was nothing to brag about.
Into the sudden silence, I said, "I'm just saying, it would be a waste to sue me." I cleared my throat and mumbled, "You can't get blood out of a turnip and all that."
Imogen shook her head. "A turnip? I'm not suing a turnip. I'm suing you." Her voice rose. "Psycho!"
My jaw dropped. Psycho? Seriously? I made a show of eying her up and down. "At least I wear clothes when I go outside." I gave her a stiff smile. "So who's the psycho now?"
"Oh, whatever." She turned away. "See you in court."
I was still searching for a snappy comeback when Jack told her, "No. You won't."
She smirked. "That's what you think."
Jack looked to Randy. "Let's say you did take a photo. Who was on top?"
With a sloppy grin, Randy looked to Imogen. "The one with no clothes on."
Well, that counted me out. I was wearing lots of clothes, especially compared to Imogen.
And now, she was sputtering, "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm just saying," Jack said, "it's gonna be hard to claim you were attacked if you were the one on top."
Imogen made a sound of protest. "But you saw what happened! She totally lunged for me."
As she spoke, it suddenly struck me that she sounded a whole lot different than how she'd sounded earlier, when I'd met her at Flynn's front door. I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. "What happened to your accent?"
She whirled to face me. "What?"
"Weren't you supposed to be English or something?"
"Oh, screw you," she said. "I'm leaving." She looked wildly around. "Where the hell are my shoes?"
I pointed to the flower bed, where both shoes were still stuck in the dirt. She marched forward, swooped down, and grabbed one in each hand. And then, she turned to glare at Randy. "I hope you know, I'm calling your boss."
"Actually," he said, "I am the boss."
From the sidelines, I smiled with relief. "Really? Did you buy the limo company or something?"
He grinned back at me. "Yeah. I got me an investor." As he said it, he glanced toward Flynn's estate, and I recalled the drama outside this very same gate months ago.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out exactly who his investor was – Flynn Archer, my sister's fiancé.
Well, that was good. Or at least I thought so.
As for Imogen, she looked less than thrilled as she stomped to the limo's nearest back door and said to Randy, "Well? Aren't you going to get this?"
"Get what?" he asked.
"The door." Under her breath, she added, "Idiot."
Randy gave her a hopeful smile. "You sure you don't want to ride up front?"
Turns out, she didn't.
By the time they left, I was feeling surprisingly chipper. Randy was fine. The limo was fine. And I was fine, well, except for the dirt, that is.
All in all, things hadn't turned out so bad.
As the limo disappeared down the dark, secluded road, I turned to Jack and said, "See? It all worked out just fine."
Slowly, he turned to look at me. He eyed me up and down, taking in my dirty clothes and messy hair. "You think so, huh?"
"Sure." I summoned up a smile. "Hey, I got the key back, didn't I?"
He never did answer. Instead, he led me back to the sedan, opened up the passenger's side door, and waited while I climbed inside and settled myself into the passenger's seat.
With an inscrutable look, he handed me the screwdriver and said, "You wanna put this back?"
As I took it from him, our fingers touched for the briefest instant, and I felt another warm shiver creep up my spine. He was so stupidly sexy, and I was, well, a mess, that's what.
But it didn't matter. Not only was he insanely out of my league, he was also just a little bit scary.
As I returned the screwdriver to the glove compartment, I heard myself say, "You know, you're nothing like I thought you'd be."
Standing beside the car, he gave me one of those looks, another long penetrating one that I couldn’t quite decipher. "Yeah," he said. "And neither are you."
Chapter 17
Jack
I'd meant what I said. Anna's sister was nothing like I'd expected. As I drove down Flynn's driveway and hit the remote to shut the front gate behind us, I gave Becka a long sideways look.
She was sitting there, looking surprisingly happy in spite of everything that had just happened. Her face was smudged, and her hair was a tousled mess.
I frowned. She was so adorable, I could hardly stand it. I didn't know why or how. She wasn't my type. She was too nice, too impulsive, and too stubborn for her own good.
It was a lethal combination.
On top of that, she was practically Flynn's little sister. This meant that she was strictly hands-off – unless I wanted a big complication, which I didn't.
That was fine by me. Nice girls weren't my thing. It's not that I liked them nasty, but I wasn't looking for anything real. More to the point, I wasn't looking at all.
Given my plans, the next few months would be complicated enough without adding more trouble to the mix.
From the passenger's seat, Becka said, "Randy's nice. Don't you think?"
I felt my hands tighten around the wheel. "He's nice enough."
"What, you don't like him?"
I didn't like him or dislike him. I just found it odd that she was bringing him up. I looked to her and asked, "So, do you have a thing for him?"
I hadn't meant to ask. But now that I had, I was curious.
"What?" She turned in her seat to face me. "No. I mean, yeah he's a nice guy, but…" She shrugged. "He's just not my type, you know."
I did know. Becka was small and sweet, with a tight body and impish smile. As far as Randy, he wasn't nearly good enough – nice or not. Plus, there had to be at least ten years between them, maybe fifteen.
I said, "He's too old."
She gave it some thought. "Yeah, I guess."
"And not your type."
She paused. "Uh, yeah. That's what I said."
She had. Hadn't she?
Good. At least we agreed on that. I returned my gaze to the driveway. "Right."
She said, "I think he's in his thirties."
Funny, I was in my thirties – thirty-one, to be exact, which meant that I was also too old for her, not that it mattered. Still, it was something to remember. "So what are you?" I said. "Twenty?"
She gave a hard scoff. "No."
Obviously, I'd hit a nerve. "So…what? Younger?"
Now she laughed. "No. But I know why you'd think that."
I knew why, too. She looked too innocent by half. Still, I asked, "Oh yeah? Why?"
"Because I haven't yet graduated from college, so I can see why you'd think I'm a lot younger."
A lot younger?
While I was chewing on that, she added, "But I'm in my third year, so I'm not too far off – from getting my degree, I mean."
"Right. English lit."
"You remembered?"
I did. But that wasn't the point. "So, you never said. How old are you?"
"First, how old are you? Thirty-one, right?" She cleared her throat. "I read it in your bio."
My bio. Some of it was true. Some of
it wasn't. With a low scoff, I said, "Don't believe everything you read."
She hesitated. "So you're not thirty-one?'
"I am," I said. "But it still puts me in my thirties." Looking to drive the point home, I added, "Like Randy."
"Funny, you look younger. Not just younger than Randy. I mean, younger than thirty-one."
I got that a lot, especially when I spoke on college campuses. The truth was, I hadn't changed a lot over the last decade, except for my financials, that is.
I looked to Becka and said, "Your turn."
"Me? I'm twenty-four." She rolled her eyes. "Going on a hundred."
Not the way I saw it. She looked too sweet and too innocent. Too damned tempting, too.
But I declined to comment. We'd just reached the front of the house, and I pulled the car to a stop. "You wanna go in while I unload the stuff?"
She glanced toward the house. "Why would you unload it? I mean, it's my stuff."
I might be a dick, but I wasn't so big a dick that I'd let her do the heavy lifting while I sat on my ass. "Don't worry. I could use the workout."
She turned her head and gave me good, long look. As she did, her lips parted before she quickly shut them again. The motion, as subtle as it was, sent my thoughts drifting where they didn't belong.
This wasn't good.
It was time to toss some cold water on both of us – and fast.
Chapter 18
Becka
I was making a fool of myself. I just knew it. I reached up to touch the side of my face. Was I drooling? I felt like I was drooling.
But in my own defense, I could hardly help myself.
I was with my favorite author in the whole world, and he was so stupidly sexy. Ever since leaving my condo, he'd been surprisingly nice, too. And, he was giving me a look that suggested he didn't find me nearly as repulsive as I felt in my disheveled state.
I heard myself ask, "What are you thinking?"
His gaze – which had been amazingly warm – cooled several degrees as he replied, "I'm thinking you should go to your room, get some rest."
His words felt like a slap, although I couldn’t quite figure out why. And then it hit me.
Oh, my God. I'd been molesting him with my eyes, hadn't I?
But it wasn't all my fault. He'd been looking at me, too.
Hadn't he?
Now his gaze was so cold, I almost shivered.
So much for that theory.
As I watched, Jack pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them over. "You get the door," he said. "I'll get the rest. You have the code, right?"
Clutching the keys, I glanced toward the front door. "The alarm code? Yeah, I have it."
"Good," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Tomorrow? I wasn't quite following. "So, are you leaving or something?"
"No. But I've gotta make some calls."
"Oh. Well, that's good."
Was it?
I had no idea.
In reply, he gave the front door a pointed look as if to say, "Off you go."
If that wasn't a hint, I didn't know what was. So, with as much dignity as I could muster, I got out of the car and did what he suggested.
It really wasn't such a big deal. Or at least it shouldn't have been a big deal. But for some reason, I felt unsettled and confused – even more so the very next morning when I received the strangest phone call from my sister.
Chapter 19
Becka
On the phone, Anna was saying, "I heard where you're going. Are you sure that's such a great idea?"
I sat up in bed and rubbed at my sleepy eyes. I'd just been awakened by the ringing of my cell phone – a call from an unknown number.
I wouldn't have answered at all if not for the faint hope of the caller being my sister.
But now that she had called, I was having a hard time understanding what she was getting at. As I tried to gather my wits, I asked, "So, are you calling from Flynn's satellite phone?"
"Yeah, but forget that," she said. "I need to know if it's true."
"If what's true?"
"Oh come on," she said. "I heard it from Flynn, so you might as well tell me."
I frowned. "Tell you what?"
"That you're going on Jack's book tour."
Huh? I shook my head. "I am?"
"Yeah. As his intern or something?"
I was so stunned, I didn't know what to say. "And you heard this from Flynn? When?"
"Just now," she said. "Jack told him, and he told me. So I'm asking you. What's going on?"
Good question.
My head was swimming, and I was barely awake. Stalling for time, I said, "Hey, first, tell me something."
"What?"
"Where are you?"
"You don't know?"
I thought I knew, but I couldn't risk ruining the surprise. Forcing a laugh, I said, "Just tell me."
"An island. But Flynn said you already knew." A smile crept into her voice. "Our own private island. Can you believe it?"
I could, but only because I'd heard it just yesterday. Still, it was pretty amazing. I let out a shaky breath. "Wow."
"Yeah, no kidding. Get this. He says it's an anniversary present."
"But wait, you're not even married."
"I meant the anniversary of…" She hesitated. "…well, when we first said we loved each other."
Obviously, there was a lot she wasn't saying. But I knew what she meant. I could practically hear her blushing through the phone. "Wow," I said yet again. "That's some anniversary present."
In a dreamy voice, she replied, "Yeah, well, he's like that, you know."
I almost scoffed out loud. He hadn't always been like that. In fact, he'd been a total prick when he'd first hired my sister for a secret job that was best forgotten.
Speaking of mysterious jobs, I still had no idea what she'd been getting at. I wasn't Jack's intern. I wasn't his anything.
But something was definitely going on, and I needed to find out – preferably before continuing this conversation.
I said, "Hey, I just woke up. Can I call you back in a bit?"
"But wait," she said. "You never answered my question."
No kidding.
The truth was, I had questions of my own, and zero answers to give. Still, I refused to make her worry.
In the breeziest tone I could muster, I said, "Everything's great. I just need to shower, that's all. If I call this number in a half-hour, will you answer?"
"Yeah. Of course, but—"
"Great," I chirped. "I'll call you back, okay?" And with that, I ended the call.
I didn't shower, but I did brush my teeth and freshen up before stomping down the stairs in search of you-know-who.
I found him at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and scribbling in a black notebook, using a pencil, not a pen.
So he'd actually found a pencil?
Well, goodie for him.
When I marched up to the table, he didn't even look up.
I cleared my throat.
He still didn't look.
With a loud sigh, I finally said, "Hey, do you have something to tell me?"
Without pausing in his scribbling, he replied, "Not now."
"What?"
"Not now," he repeated.
"But why not?"
"Because I’m in the middle of something."
"Oh yeah?" My jaw clenched. "Me, too." In fact, I was in the middle of wondering what my sister knew that I didn't.
But from Jack, I received nothing but silence, except for the sounds of his pencil scratching at the paper.
I moved closer. "Don't you want to know what I'm in the middle of?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because if I stop now, I'll lose it."
"Lose what?"
"My train of thought."
Big whoop. My train had derailed like fifteen minutes ago with that surprise phone call. I needed information, pronto.
I crossed my
arms and gave him a hard stare until he finally looked up. As he did, I swear, my heart skipped a beat.
In the pale morning light, his eyes were so blue, they took my breath away. My mouth opened, but my mind went stupidly vacant.
He was wearing black running pants and a gray sleeveless shirt. His hair was rumpled, and his biceps bulged, like he'd just finished doing a hundred pushups and who-knows-what-else.
After a long, awkward silence, he set down his pencil and asked, "You done?"
Heat flooded my face. Done what? Staring?
Crap. I was doing it again, wasn't I?
I wasn't normally like this – all star-struck and mindless. But in my own defense, I'd gotten only a few hours of sleep and was still reeling from yesterday's events, not to mention my sister's odd phone call.
"No," I told him. "In fact, I haven't yet begun."
"Obviously."
"Well?" I said. "Do you – or do you not – have something to tell me?"
"That depends," he said. "Are you gonna listen?"
"I'm listening now, aren't I?"
Without breaking eye-contact, he shoved aside his notebook and said something that I should've seen coming. "Tomorrow, you're starting a new job." He frowned. "Working for me."
I was staring again, but now for a totally different reason. "Is that so?"
With no trace of shame, he replied, "Yeah. It is."
"And what supposedly will I be doing?"
"Administration."
Well that was suitably vague. "Of what?"
"My book tour."
With growing indignation, I said, "So let me get this straight. You think I'll be what? Traveling with you?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
God, what a total ass. "In case you haven't noticed," I said, "I didn't apply for any job."
He didn't even flinch. "Wrong."
"No. You're wrong," I said. "Because I think I'd remember."
"Remember what? Applying for an internship?"
My mouth opened, but once again, words utterly failed. This time, it wasn't because of Jack's amazing eyes. In truth, I had applied for an internship.
But that had nothing to do with Jack. Did it?
At the local university, I'd been one of countless students to apply for a work-study internship as part of the English lit program. If I'd gotten such an internship – which I hadn't – it would've been a dream come true, especially if it came with an actual paycheck.
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