Falling for the Guy Next Door (5 page)

“Huh?”

“There’s
simmering attraction that slowly blooms into a love affair,” Kate
explained with exaggerated patience, “and there’s watching paint
dry.”

Megan’s jaw
dropped. At least that confirmed that Lucy hadn’t spread the word.
“I’m off the road,” she assured Kate. “I’ve never been on the road.
What do roads have to do with anything, anyway?” She stood and dug
her keys out. “I need a drink.”

“Jugs?” Kate
pushed to her feet and grabbed her purse. “First round’s on
me.”

A half hour
later, bunched into a corner banquet of the Irish pub with large
glasses of wine and a plate of fries to share, the devil himself
walked through the doors. Megan ducked her head and slid a groan
Kate’s way. “I’m starting to understand why Lucy lives in London.
This town’s too darn small.”

“He can still
see you, you know.” And just in case he couldn’t, she raised a hand
to wave him over.

Megan lifted
her head on a sigh. The place would fill up later, but right now
the handful of regular patrons provided no buffer for her to slink
away on. She notched her chin high, slapped a smile on her face and
didn’t flinch when Jack’s gaze met hers and held as he crossed the
room toward them.

“Hey there,”
he said, his eyes creasing into his grin. “I was hoping you’d be
here.” He slid into the circular booth beside her and turned that
grin on Kate. “The last set of head shots is done. I’ll bring them
around tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”
Kate beamed at him. “I usually just take the entry photos myself
and everyone’s really excited about having the ‘Jack Marlin’
sparkle this year.”

“Not so sure
about the sparkle,” he murmured, “but my pleasure.”

Kate shuffled
out the other side of the booth. “I definitely owe you a drink.
Whiskey? Pear cider? Or have you broadened your alcohol horizons
since we last saw you?”

“Cider’s fine,
thanks,” he called after as she sauntered off.

“About
earlier…” Megan cleared her throat. “I might have overreacted.”

His brow went
up, but then his amusement faded and his mouth pulled flat. “Did
you really think I was trooping those girls through my
bedroom?”

“You were kind
of,” she reminded him.

“The spare
bedroom.”

Megan sighed.
“No, I didn’t really think you were.”

The truth was,
Jack could have been slouched in front of the telly and she’d have
found a reason to lash out. She was still so mad at him, at
herself, and he hadn’t stayed around long enough for her to fight
all that anger out of her system. She wanted to scream and shout at
him, hurl accusations and watch him at least attempt some sort of
defence.

She certainly
didn’t want to watch the shadows darken his eyes now and wonder if,
just maybe, he had one or two regrets after all.

His hand came
out to her, to her cheek, brushing warmth as he tucked a curl of
her long fringe behind her ear. “Megan, I’m sorry.”

He dropped his
hand, but his gaze was still heating through her, and his touch
still lingered in her blood, and her heart spluttered in the
confusion. “You are?”

She’d never
really expected an apology. Her body swayed closer to him, a
natural tug she’d always had trouble resisting. Her gaze drifted
over the hollows carved into his bristled jaw. She bit down on her
lip as a wave of desire swept over her and pooled low in her
abdomen.

Could she
forgive?

Could they
rewind time and start again?

Jack nodded.
“I need to remember how close my neighbours are. I shouldn’t have
turned our house into a temporary studio without checking with you
first.” He leaned in as well, another inch and his lips would be
grazing her forehead. “I’m sorry for the disruption, especially
when you’d just gotten home after a trip. It won’t happen
again.”

Her spine
snapped straight and she jerked out of his grazing perimeter. Trust
Jack to apologise for all the wrong things. She should have known
better. She did! She already knew his sense of honour was all kinds
of screwed up.

“It’s not our
house,” she muttered. “What happens in 21a is entirely your
affair.”

“So long as
it’s not a brothel,” he said, followed by a rumbling laugh.

“So long as
it’s legal,” she corrected with a huff, her fingers twining tightly
around her wineglass. “I certainly don’t intend to check with you
before I do exactly as I please.”

Kate returned
with his cider and Megan made a pretence of moving closer to the
plate of fries to widen the gap between them. But her eyes sought
him out and he still had that intense gaze on her and a
contemplative expression that warned he saw straight through her.
Good luck with that. Maybe she could ask him later to enlighten
her, because she had no idea what was going on inside her. She
dropped her gaze and nibbled on a French fry until Jack fell into
his old routine of riling Kate.

“What’s the
latest on the Castle Darrock hoodlums? A real journalist would have
hacked the national property register years ago to get a name, at
the very least.”

“Oh, I’ve got
a name.”

Megan’s eyes
shot to her. “Did you finally enlist Harry to your cause?”

“Harry’s
stuffier than last year’s Christmas stockings,” Kate snorted.
“Crimes are being committed under his nose and he’s too worried
about protocol to take a deeper look.”

“Now that
you’ve convicted and judged the poor bastards,” Jack enquired, “do
you have any evidence?”

Kate wrinkled
her nose at him.

“What’s the
name?” Megan wanted to know. She’d never be as passionate as Kate
about Darrock, but living with her friend’s suspicions for two
years had rubbed off on her own curiosity. “How did you find out
who lives there?”

Kate sipped
deeply on her wine before smirking at Jack. “Real journalists put
in the hard time to get what they want, they don’t cut corners that
could land them in prison.” She turned to Megan. “His name is
Alexander. He lives alone and he’s just employed a new housekeeper.
I bumped into her at the Post Office this morning.”

“Alexander
who?”

“She was very
close-lipped.” Kate slid another smirk Jack’s way. “It a testament
to my journalistic skills that she slipped up and gave me his first
name. I swear she was made to sign a non-disclosure agreement and
if that doesn’t stink...” She threw her hands up and shook her
head, as if the notoriety of Castle Darrock’s inhabitants was as
clear as day to any old fool.

Megan glanced
at Jack. Their eyes met and laughter erupted. She was the first one
to sober up and remember they didn’t do the shared-humour thing
anymore.

For the next
hour or so, Kate kept the conversation going by catching Jack up
with the last four months of Corkscrew Bay gossip. Jack kept their
glasses filled and Megan drank and listened, occasionally waving
over a friend as more and more people packed into the Three
Jugs.

The music was
turned up to drown out the chatter and everyone chatted louder. And
Megan ended up with her thigh squashed against Jack’s as their
booth filled up with those who’d stopped to say hello and stayed.
Lean muscle flush along the length of her thigh. She sensed rather
than saw his arm stretch around behind her and her entire body
tensed.

Jack was
engaged in a volley of remarks shouted across the table with the
two other guys, both of who’d been in her year at school. His arm
came down on the back of the banquet seat, but his fingers didn’t
close over the curve of her shoulder and he seemed unaware of how
he’d cushioned her into the crook of his arm. His scent was all
pinewood with a whiff of spice and far too male.

A spark of
longing ignited and made ashes of her tension. Melted her bones,
her pride, and any shred of self-preservation. She should have
leant forward with her elbows on the table. That would have been
far more sensible than drifting in the bunk until the back of her
head rested on his arm. She smiled, laughed, engaged in bits and
pieces of the conversation that came her way, and all the while her
skin prickled for his touch and her blood thickened for far, far
more.

How much had
she had to drink? Two? No, three glasses. Not enough to blame the
wine. Enough to forget, just a little. To forgive, just a little.
Just for one night.

She rolled her
head to look up at the underside of his jaw. If he noticed, if he
felt her warm cheek on the bare skin of his arm, he gave no
indication. He took a sip of the whiskey he’d moved onto, grinned
at something Pete was saying, and added to it.

Her hand slid
from view and dropped to rest lightly on his knee beneath the
table. He cut off in the middle of what he was saying, but only for
a second, and then he continued speaking without sparing her a
single glance. Her fingers itched to trail higher.

Haven’t you
ever got itchy feet to get out of here?
He’d asked her that a
long time ago and no, she’d never had itchy feet.

She rolled her
head again to look forward, scanning the familiar faces seated at
the booth. Three quarters of the kids she’d grown up with had left
Corkscrew Bay as soon as they could, including Lucy, and she knew
Jack fell into that category of restless souls. He’d become a
household name after doing that book with Jeremy Grainger, and then
there was that trust fund, so he could certainly afford to buy a
dozen or so houses.

And perhaps he
did own a house somewhere, just as he’d inherited 21a when Frank
passed away, but he’d never had a home.

She understood
that about Jack. Had from the beginning. She’d known he’d always
leave. And maybe she should have guarded her heart better, but the
way he’d left so abruptly and on such a low note? She’d never
expected that.

Megan pushed
those gloomy thoughts from her head. Tonight, she didn’t want to be
mad at him and she didn’t want to nurse the fledgling ache in her
heart.

There was
another ache, a burning need pulsing through her, begging to be
fed. Because Jack hadn’t only taken from her. He’d strummed her
body to a passionate symphony, stamped that memory on erogenous
spots she’d never known existed, and that was another thing she
hadn’t been able to forget. Her toes curled and heat coiled low in
her belly at the mere prospect of one more night in his bed.

The buzz of
alcohol dulled her safety triggers. She wasn’t too drunk to
acknowledge that, but she welcomed the wanton descent into danger.
She wanted to be reckless and foolish, she wanted to have regrets
come morning.

Okay, this
is the alcohol talking.
But damn it all, she wanted to feel
alive again, if only for one night. No over-thinking. No messy
emotions. This time they’d do it Jack’s way.

Beneath the
cover of the table, no one could see what she was doing and the
only person who’d notice where her attention had strayed to anyway
was Kate, and she’d cornered Harry by the bar counter a while back.
The painful expression on his face suggested Kate had launched a
new campaign to open an investigation into Castle Darrock.

Her pulse
fluttered with anticipation as she slid her hand up Jack’s leg.

Thigh muscle
bunched beneath her touch and his hand landed on her shoulder in a
firm grip. His breath tickled her ear. “Don’t start anything you
don’t intend to finish.”

His head was
still tipped toward her; she felt his warm breaths on her cheek.
His arm around her shoulder had pulled her closer into his side.
The lights were dim, the music loud, and it was just the two of
them in a crowd. The illicit thrill spiralled inside her veins,
scorching her desire with hot cravings.

“Maybe I’m
finishing what you started,” she murmured, loud enough only for him
to hear. She kept her eyes straight ahead, applied the slightest
pressure and dragged that delicious tension further along, stopping
inches from his groin.

“Ha, ha, very
funny.” There was no humour in his tone. One hand closed over hers,
limiting the journey up his leg. Skin on skin contact tingled up
her arm.

His head
tipped even lower, his jaw bristling against her temple. “Payback’s
a bitch and her name is Megan. I get it.”

She liked that
word. Payback. There were so many ways to put that to work. Most of
them moves she’d learnt in his bed. He’d clamped her hand in place,
but she could still wrap her fingers over his thigh and squeeze.
“Did you just call me a bitch?”

“What I
meant…” His hand lifted from hers as he shifted in the bunk and
tugged at his jeans, presumably trying to make more space in there.
“I deserve you messing with me after that inappropriate invitation
to a private tour, but hell, Megan, you’ve had your laugh—”

There was a
hiss and the distinct sound of liquid spluttering as she smoothed
her palm over the base of his erection. Her blood turned molten at
the effect she had on him and set a slow burning fire to her
core.

The grip on
her shoulder tightened to bruising. He slammed his glass on the
table and reached beneath to grab her hand in his. “I’m taking you
home,” he growled in a husky whisper.

His hands were
large, slightly rough from the places his photography took him, and
she already knew all the wonders those long fingers were capable
of. “Oh, yes, please,” she murmured just as huskily, then ruined it
with a giggle.

Amusement
flickered in his eyes before he turned from her to announce their
departure. “Megan needs a lift home and it seems I’m the designated
driver.”

After a quick
round of goodbyes and signalling Kate that she was tired and going
home, Megan was being guided through the back exit with a propriety
hand on the small of her back. A warm shiver rolled down her spine.
The door swung closed, cutting off the noises from the pub. The
parking area behind Jugs was an open field and as soon as they
stepped further from the pub’s outside lights, they were at the
mercy of the sliver of a new moon and the heavenly cast of distant
stars.