Falling for the Guy Next Door (17 page)

He greeted
Isobel, then dipped his head and spoke near Megan’s ear, “We need
to talk.”

“I’m
listening,” she murmured.

“In private,”
he growled.

His lips
brushed an unintentional kiss along her cheekbone as she slid her
eyes up to him.

Warning
flashed in those green depths. “I’m sure it can—”

“Now,” he said
quietly, cupping her elbow in his hand to lead her outside the main
entrance. She must have realised this was a deal breaker, because
she came along meekly.

The glass
doors swished closed behind them, cutting them off from the noise
but not from inquisitive eyes. Jack walked two paces ahead, down
the steps and onto a narrow path overhung with leafy boughs.

“Jack!” she
called after him.

He didn’t
turn, didn’t pause, kept following the path through luxury log
cabins scattered far apart between pine trees that grew thick and
tall. He rounded a sharp bend that cut the main lodge from sight.
In one fluid movement, he grabbed Megan around the waist and
stepped off the path, deep into the shadows of the pine forest, and
backed her up against a tree.

He slammed his
body flush up against her, one hand pressed to the trunk above her
head. He gripped her chin with his other hand and tilted her face
to him. His thigh wedged between hers, her quick breaths rubbing
pebbled nipples against his chest. She blinked into his eyes, again
and again, and then her lids grew heavy, her breaths slowed to the
beat of his pulse, and her lips parted.

He brought his
mouth down over hers, sucking in that plump lower lip, plunging
inside to taste. His kiss was urgent, demanding, invading. Designed
to remind her of exactly how far from over they were.

A moment
later, he had his proof. She melted into his limbs, her arms
reaching around his back, her mouth softened with desire and the
desperate heat in her kiss overtaking his own urgency. His fingers
speared through her hair and the taste of her swarmed his blood.
The rush, the urgency, slowly gave way to a warmth that saturated
his entire being. He eased up on the kiss, his lips slanting over
her mouth a few more times before he withdrew to look into her
eyes.

Her arms
dropped from around him. Her lips trembled slightly. Her eyes
locked on him. And her hand came up to deliver a stinging blow on
his cheek.

He grunted,
stepping back.

“Don’t you
ever, ever do that again,” she said hoarsely, putting a hand to his
chest and shoving.

He didn’t
budge. He’d already moved as far back as he intended to go. “We are
not done. I taste it on your lips. I feel it in your body. I see it
in the way you look at me. I read it all over your face.”

“Okay. You
win.” Her lips drew into a firm line. She shoved again.

He still
wasn’t moving. He also didn’t feel like much of a winner.

She rolled her
eyes skyward and kept them there. “I’m not over you. I only have to
anticipate your touch to melt at the corners.”

“Then what the
hell’s the problem?”

She brought
her gaze level with him. “The problem? God, Jack, do you honestly
not know or do you just want me to spell it out?” Her voice rose in
barely restrained fury. “Smugglers Inn. That’s the problem. You
want to know why I couldn’t even spend one night in your bed?
Because I couldn’t stomach the thought of waking up to a
re-occurrence of the morning after.”

Jack stared at
her. “I thought we’d settled this.”

“Clearly not.”
She folded her arms. “We have to be over, Jack, because I can’t be
in any relationship, however short, spicy or honest, when I fully
expect you to bolt in the middle of the night. Or wake up with a
major case of regrets. I have no idea when I’ll say the wrong thing
that sends you off without looking back to say goodbye.” She
uncrossed her arms to jab him in the chest. Her anger blazed into
him. “There, you pushed and pushed and now you know. And even after
all that, you’re like a fever burning up inside me.”

“You think I
don’t want you just as badly?” He grabbed her poking finger,
pulling her hand to his chest. “I’m not ready to move on, not until
this thing between us has run its natural cause. And I don’t
believe you can either.”

She gave a
small laugh. “That makes so much sense, it’s almost
frightening.”

“Moving
on?”

“Where your
aversion to one-night stands stems from. Leaving behind any
unfinished business would only hinder your relentless journey
forward.”

Jack had no
argument with that. “Megan, I’m sorry about that night at Smugglers
Inn. I never meant to hurt you like that and I won’t do it again.
I’m not going to bolt in the middle of the night, or disappear
without a decent goodbye. I swear.” His hand curled around hers,
tugging her a little closer. “But if you can’t believe that, then I
won’t push anymore.”

She looked at
him for the longest moment, then her mouth curved into a smile.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” Her teeth dragged at that lower
lip as her gaze warmed into his. “What is it about you, Jack
Marlin, that you always make everything feel right, even when I’m
not sure it is?”

M
egan abandoned her own plan and adopted Jack’s. It
just made far too much sense for her to discount. It had always
worked for him, right? Kept him moving on, and on, with no
regrets?

A week later,
she woke up to find Jack propped on his elbow, his gaze a warm
caress on her face. She loved the sight of him like this. Bed
tossed hair, the sensual depth in his gaze and that lazy grin. The
sheet skimmed his hip and left the rest of him exposed to her
appreciative eye and humming hormones. Stubble shadowed his
chiselled jaw and the things he did with that; the sensations he
stirred right through to the bone as he worked tantalising kisses
over her breasts and down her belly. Desire tingled along her skin
and softened every muscle.

That’s when
the first doubt set in. The theory was simple enough. In practice,
she was starting to realise that the more time she spent with Jack,
the more she wanted him. And secret hope trailed in after the
doubt. What if the same was happening to Jack? She squashed it
immediately.

This
particular morning, his hand came out to her, knuckles grazing
beneath her chin. His gaze was filled with sexy intentions, and
more, emotions that delved far deeper than either of them would
ever admit to.

“I need to go
up to London for a day or two,” he said, his thumb moving over her
cheek with tender strokes.

The warmth of
desire left her blood, leaving her skin chilly and her muscles
tense.

“I’ll be back
on Thursday.” He slid lower down the bed and brought her into his
arms, their legs tangled and the evidence of his arousal pressed to
her belly. “I want to take another look…” He pushed the tendrils
from her throat and brushed a path of sensitive kisses along the
line of her jaw. “…at the physical space of
Art de Natique
…”
His kisses trailed down her throat and whatever he was doing with
his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone burned straight through
her tension and reset her body to the languid desire of moments
ago. “…and set up some meetings…” His thigh nudged up further,
rubbing whorls of ecstasy at her core as he started a slow, rocking
motion that dragged a sizzling friction at every point of contact.
“…with their printing labs…”

“Jack,” she
groaned, her nails digging into his back as pleasure threaded her
veins and blurred his explanation. “As much as I’d love to
hear…”

He came over
her, settling between her thighs and silencing her words and
thoughts with an intense look that penetrated to her soul and
whispered promises she knew he’d never fulfil. She didn’t care.
Nothing mattered except this moment, this day, and hopefully a
handful of tomorrows.

Jack left for
London the following day and she threw herself into plotting a
brand new story and finalising the arrangements for Isobel’s hen
party. She spoke to him a couple of times each day, and the text
messages streamed between them endlessly, but it became more and
more difficult to pretend that everything was fine while she was
entangled in Isobel’s happily-ever-after. More and more difficult
to disguise the ache in her heart when the wayward thoughts slipped
through. When Kate did this for her one day, Jack would be long out
of the picture. A distant memory. He’d have to be, because right
now she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else ever.

Which was
silly, she kept reminding herself. She was a one-guy woman. Always
had been. But she’d moved on from broken relationships before and
regardless of what she could or couldn’t imagine now, it didn’t
mean she’d be stuck on Jack forever. She pushed the ache aside,
tried not to think how it became harder to budge each time, and
concentrated on the task at hand.

The venue was
a nightclub on the outskirts of town that held a themed Rocking
Eighties evening every Thursday. She’d ordered their outfits online
a couple of weeks ago, black leather cat suits for her and Kate and
red leather for Isobel. Their outfits had already been delivered
and, thankfully, everything fit perfectly. The invitations sent out
had requested the other girls to dress in all black, leather or
otherwise. The red leather would not only set Isobel apart from the
pack, but the colour looked amazing with her strawberry blond
hair.

Their private
chill room came with the choice of one entertainment, the last
thing on her to-do list, and Megan’s lips twitched as she rolled
the mouse down the list of options on the club’s website and
hovered over Stripper. But she couldn’t. She’d chosen the venue and
the outfits because she wanted Isobel to let her hair down this
once, throw her reserved nature to the wind and discover a wild
side. A strip show would take that too far. She didn’t want Isobel
feeling too uncomfortable about the proceedings to relax and enjoy
herself. Instead, Megan selected Karaoke and submitted her choice
through the online reservations form.

Thursday
afternoon, she was standing by the window in her office, watching
as the black Land Rover pulled up.

A swell of
happiness bloomed in the region of her heart and swept through her
from head to toe. In that moment, she realised that at least some
of the despondency attacking her while he’d been away was doubt. A
part of her had been waiting for the phone call to say he’d
received an exciting proposition that would take him to one of the
far flung corners of the world and he’d swing around her way next
summer or thereabouts.

Jack unfolded
himself from the driver’s side and glanced up at her window as he
straightened. His grin was instant, pressing a groove into his
cheek and muddling the arrogant lines of his face.

Her pulse
hiccupped and, finally, she admitted how much trouble she was in.
She was in love with this man. Utterly and irrevocably in love, as
she’d never been before. She had been for a long, long time.
Definitely as far back as January and that night at Smugglers
Inn.

She’d thought
he’d nipped her heart and shredded her pride, but she’d got that
the wrong way round. He’d nipped her pride and shredded her heart
when he’d discarded her so easily the morning after.

If Kate were
here, she’d be chiding Megan about taking that risk. Baring her
heart and soul for the dream. But she’d only chase him away, and
for what? Her and Jack couldn’t work. She couldn’t even keep the
faith for one short trip to London. Their history was chequered
with fights, anger and misplaced good intentions. Their future
would be a tug of war between his need to roam and her desire to
stay put.

Coward.
It wasn’t just a thought. It was an imaginary whisper and it had
Kate’s voice.

What was the
worst that could happen if she confessed her love and stopped
faltering at the hurdles? Megan shook off the temptation.

She might be
in love with him, but love wasn’t logical. Love wasn’t practical.
Love couldn’t glue their rocky relationship together.

And love, she
admitted, was possibly the most destructive force on earth. She had
to risk all, confess her feelings and take a chance on love. Or she
had to walk away. But she couldn’t find the strength inside her to
do either, and what did that say about her? She made decisions like
this every day for her characters, but it sucked in real life.
There was too much at stake, the risk was too big, and a mistake
couldn’t be fixed by hitting the backspace key.

Love, she also
discovered as another week passed, couldn’t be contained and
couldn’t be put on hold. And yes, the thought hadn’t escaped her.
If she said nothing, did nothing, maybe her and Jack would just
carry on as they were. Maybe he’d simply forget to leave. But every
day, every touch and every look, every shared moment, left her
wanting more.

She was a
coward, but she was also ripe for some of Kate’s theories when the
night of Isobel’s hen party arrived. Both Kate and Isobel were
supposed to come get ready at her place, but Kate turned up
alone.

“Ian’s come
down from London,” Kate explained. “He pulled up outside just as we
were leaving.”

“He knows the
party’s tonight.” Megan’s nose wrinkled at the only conclusion she
could draw. “God, I hope he hasn’t come to read her the riot act
about having too much fun.”

“I’d like to
see him try.” Kate chuckled.

“So would I,
actually.” Megan’s eyes lit with humour. For all Isobel’s protests,
her blood ran blue down to the last chromosome when challenged and
she didn’t take kindly to anyone interfering in her life.

“I said we’d
pick her up on the way.” Kate flung her suit bag from her shoulder
to the bed, bent over to unzip it and froze as a loud crash
reverberated through the house. She came back up and raised a brow
at Megan.