Falling for the Guy Next Door (18 page)

“That,” Megan
said, laughing, “was probably the demise of my office wall.”

“He’s
tunnelling a quick-entry route?” Kate’s smile resembled a Cheshire
cat that had just died and ended up in double-thick cream heaven.
“Maybe it’s just me,” she said, swinging her arms to encapsulate
the main bedroom, “but I’d have started in here.”

“He’s not
bashing in the wall.” Megan rolled her eyes. “At least, not on
purpose. He’s partitioning his guest bedroom and converting one
half into a darkroom. A truckload of stuff arrived yesterday.”

Kate rushed
forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t you see? He’s
nesting.”

“Nesting?”
Megan repeated dully, then her eyes widened. Her heart beat a
little faster. “Nesting.”

“Settling in,”
Kate confirmed with some vigorous nodding. “He’s here to stay.”

“I wouldn’t go
that far.” Megan took a deep breath to slow her pulse. Nothing to
get excited about here, nothing to clutch onto except straws made
of wishes.

“You’re being
purposely dense.”

Megan looked
at her, willing to consider the possibility. How long had Jack been
here? Three weeks? A month. And now he was building his own
darkroom. She’d assumed it was just for his London exhibition, that
he was eager to start experimenting with his ideas. And it was
that, of course, but he was also settling in. He was making himself
a home, even if it was just a base to be used in between his
travels.

She smiled,
shook her head in disbelief, and then her blood warmed with
happiness for him. He deserved this. A place to rest. A place in
this world to call his own.

“He’s staying
for you,” Kate said.

“I hope not.”
And Megan meant it. She wanted this to be Jack’s. His peace,
regardless of anything else.

“You have to
tell him,” Kate huffed. “Tell him how you feel and don’t—” She
jabbed a finger at Megan. “Don’t you dare deny how much in love
with him you are.”

Megan
hesitated, but it was a relief to share her feelings with someone
and since it couldn’t be with Jack, Kate was the next best option.
“I wasn’t going to.”

Kate’s jaw
went slack, then firmed with a grin. “He loves you, too.”

Megan wasn’t
convinced of that, but then she didn’t think it really mattered
either way. She wasn’t sold on the concept that love would be
enough to keep him here. That love was enough to fill and seal as
many cracks as their history had created. “I guess.”

Kate threw her
hands up. “Are you two going to grow old playing guessing games or
are one of you going to say something?”

“Maybe,” Megan
said, giving it some serious thought for the first time. Kate’s
enthusiasm was contagious. She made it all seem so simple, so
possible. “Meanwhile, Izzy’s waiting for us and I’m dying to see
the look on Ian’s face when she steps out in red leather.”

In keeping
with the rock-chick theme and skin-tight leather, they frizzed
their hair as wild as it would go and lined their eyes with thick
kohl. Kate kept her hair loose, but Megan swept hers into a side
ponytail that didn’t do much to tame the frizz.

Megan knocked
on Jack’s door before they left. He took one look at her and made
an appreciative noise.

She struck a
pose. “You like?”

“I like,” he
growled. His gaze raked over her with unconstrained lust. “Give us
half an hour,” he said to Kate, sweeping Megan into his arms and
dragging her across the threshold. He kicked the door shut, with
Kate standing outside on the porch.

Megan wriggled
free, giggling. “You’re such an animal.”

His hands
landed on her waist, and took a slow amble over her curves, pulling
her closer at the same time. His mouth came down in a crushing kiss
that knocked the breath from her lungs and claimed every sense.
When he released her, his eyes were as dark and stormy as a
moonless winter night. “I don’t care what time you get home, I’ll
be awake and waiting. Don’t change before you come over.”

“You do know
Finn, right?” The boys were going for drinks, and Finn was a true
Irishman when it came to a good night out. “Want to bet I’ll be
awake and waiting first?”

“Not for
long.” A grin tugged at his jaw. “Give me a call, okay?”

“And you’ll
come running home?”

“Always.”

“Enjoy your
evening,” she said, reaching on her tiptoes to brush a quick kiss
over his lips and then turning from him before they really did
leave Kate waiting outside for half an hour.

Jack grabbed
his keys and walked out with them. He knew she was the designated
driver, and said in parting, “If you want to join in the fun, give
me a call—”

“You don’t
give up.” She wiggled her brows at him.

He looped an
arm around her waist and spun her to face him. “Seriously. I won’t
drink tonight, just in case.”

They made it
to Isobel just before seven. The sun was still high, a fat orange
hanging over the ocean. Only a narrow road separated Isobel’s
cottage from the beach. The tide was high and a strong
southwesterly wind whipped the waves into frothy white horses to
their left. To their right, the cottage door stood wide open and
Isobel sat on the top step of her porch.

Her head came
up as Megan parked alongside the road outside the front gate. She
stared at them, elbows on her knees, rocking her thighs back and
forth. A bottle of white spirits dangled from her hands between her
thighs.

“Why didn’t we
think of props?” Kate said.

Megan grinned
as she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Are you
ready?”

Isobel nodded,
jumping to her feet. The leather cat suit clung to her lithe form
with the kind of grace only Isobel could pull off. She looked
absolutely stunning and Megan’s grin widened. Isobel was going to
eclipse the lot of them tonight, but that’s exactly what she’d
planned. Her hair was caught back into a high ponytail and was
that…? Black eyeliner, thick streaks painted down her cheeks?

“Oh, I’m
ready,” Isobel spat out, the uncharacteristic harshness jolting
both Megan and Kate in their seats. She lifted the bottle to her
lips and took a long swig, then smeared a hand across her mouth as
she came down the two steps from her porch. “I’m so ready for that
two-faced, conniving, back-stabbing…” The insults petered out as
she flung her head back.

“Role play?”
Megan asked nervously.

“Ian.” The way
Kate said it, the name was as derisive as any of Isobel’s
insults.

“Oh, God!”
Megan slammed out of the car and raced up the short path as fast as
one could in five inches of stiletto heels and leather boots that
capped her knees.

Isobel,
meanwhile, was no longer swigging from the bottle. She’d kept her
head back, her face turned up to the sky, and had up-ended the
bottle over her mouth.

Megan grabbed
the bottle from her hand. It was almost empty. She tossed the
bottle aside, hoping most of the Tequila had dribbled past Isobel’s
mouth. She threw her arm around Isobel and said softly, “What
happened?”

Isobel pushed
away with surprising strength.

“What the
bloody hell did Ian do?” Kate demanded as she reached them.

The look
Isobel gave Kate was glassy and wild. “Don’t eveh shmention that
bastard’s name again.”

The alcohol
must have just hit her bloodstream, Which meant she hadn’t been
sitting on that porch for long. “Let’s go inside, okay?” Megan
tried to wrap her arm around Isobel again as she mouthed ‘Coffee’
at Kate.

“He can rot in
shell.” Isobel struggled loose and stumbled forward. “I shope his
balls shrivel to tiny prunes and attack him in the shnight.”

Kate and Megan
caught her before she landed face-down and, between the two of
them, managed to haul her up the steps and inside. Which wasn’t
their best idea, Megan realised, when Isobel started smashing
random objects against the wall.

“She’s a
back-shtabbing bitch.” A blue-veined Ming vase that Megan knew had
been in the family for centuries went flying.

Megan dived
for it, too late. The fragile China shattered into a million
pieces.

“She?” Kate
asked, smoothing her voice into trance-like calm as she took
tentative steps closer to Isobel. “Is Ian having an affair?”

Isobel’s
bitter laugh cut through the air. Her eyes focussed and her tongue
sharpened. “You know what’s sad? I wouldn’t care half as much if it
had been with anyone other than Camelia. I’m just as bad as her.”
She laughed again, but this time it was a high-pitched cackle of
the temporarily demented. She picked up a spindle-legged side table
and lobbed it across the room. The delicate legs splintered as the
table bounced on the oak-slatted floor.

Camelia. That
was the name of one of Isobel’s cousins from Finn’s Lodge opening.
The brunette girl who would’ve been quite beautiful if she
unpinched her face once in a while.

“Finn,” Megan
called out to Kate. “Call Finn.”

Kate backed
off in the direction of the kitchen, nodding.

Fury seemed to
have burned through the alcohol in Isobel’s blood. Now she was
merely frothing fury. She kicked out at a nearby chair and grabbed
a lamp.

Megan’s heart
pounded in fear and concern. Not just fury. Isobel was having a
genuine meltdown. She dithered between restraining Isobel and
saving the valuables. What would be more cathartic?

Smashing
things, Megan decided. Isobel was flinging everything against the
wall on the opposite side of the room, so there was no danger she’d
hurt herself with flying debris. Megan hauled a set of nested
tables closer and fed them to Isobel one by one, leading her
further from the mantelpiece as she did so. The porcelain
miniatures lining the mantelpiece included photographs of Isobel’s
mother and she’d never forgive herself if she trashed those.

Kate returned
and quickly caught on to the change in tactics, helping Megan
rescue the odd item that might have sentimental value. There wasn’t
much left of Isobel’s front room by the time Finn appeared at the
door. Jack was right behind him.

Isobel took
one look at Finn, then ran into his arms and collapsed against his
chest in a sobbing heap.

Megan made her
way to Jack and led him outside. Her fingers trembled with the
aftershock.

“Are you
okay?” Jack’s hands came out, stroking her hair, tilting her face
up for inspection. “What happened?”

“Didn’t Finn
tell you?” Kate answered. She’d followed them outside.

Jack glanced
at her. “He just said Isobel needed him and then he clammed up.”
His gaze came back to Megan. “I knew you girls were together and I
was worried.”

“We’re fine,”
Megan assured him, linking her hand in his. Their fingers twined
together, feeding warmth into her shivers and sweeping away the
tremors.

“Well,” Kate
informed him, “the wedding’s off. That’s what happened.”

“The party,”
Megan yelped. The least of their worries, but there were ten girls
waiting for the fun to start.

“I’ll go,”
Kate offered. “Keys in the car?”

Megan nodded.
“Thanks.”

“Do you want a
ride home?” Jack asked Megan.

“I’ll wait
here for Kate,” she told him. “Isobel might still need us.”

She shook her
head, slightly dazed at the events that had unfolded. She’d never
seen Isobel lose her composure, let alone go on a rampage like
that. And Ian… Isobel and Ian. Their happiness was supposed to have
been locked up and sealed. Happiness guaranteed. But it had all
fallen apart in the blink of an eye.

Jack’s grip
around her fingers tightened a fraction. “Would you like to take a
walk?”

Her gaze went
up to the clouds rolling over the blue sky, driven by a wind that
had gathered a lot more momentum since the last time she’d looked.
The air carried the scent of a brewing, salty storm. The air also
carried the memory of another storm, rattling the hatches of
Smugglers Inn and trapping them in a fire-roasted room.

She gave
Jack’s hand a tug and walked down the path with him, through the
gate. On the other side of the road, she paused to remove her boots
before sinking her feet into the cool, grainy sand. He went on
ahead, then turned to face her with that ragged grin. Words of love
rumbled inside her chest, needing out, threatening to burst through
the walls and fracture her heart into as many pieces as Isobel’s
Ming vase.

She ran to
Jack, then past him, and kept running until the waves lapped her
feet. She dug her toes into the wet sand and kept her gaze on the
horizon. Gulped down huge breaths. Okay, so she’d tell him how she
felt. Hope for the best. Expect the worst. Maybe her and Jack would
never have a smoothe ride. Maybe their future would hold a tempest
of storms, one brewing on the tail of the next. Maybe he’d leave in
the morning.

But nothing
came with guarantees.

Look at
Isobel.

She sensed him
at her side before he spoke. “It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

Peace. He was
nesting next door. She wouldn’t risk chasing him out when he’d only
just begun to carve his space into the only house he’d ever
attempted to turn into a home.

At all costs,
she had to protect that. And as she brought her gaze in from the
ocean and onto him, she thought she knew exactly how. She dropped
onto the sand and patted the spot beside her.

He sat behind
her instead, folding his arms around her waist and pulling her back
between his drawn up knees so she was lying against his chest, his
hands folded across her belly and stroking mindlessly.

She closed her
eyes and breathed the words out, “I’m putting 21b on the market.”
She held her next breath, but that hadn’t been nearly as hard as
she’d thought. “I’m offering you first option, if you want it.”

“You love your
house.” His hands stilled on her belly. “I don’t understand.” His
arms around her stiffened. “Is this because of us?”