NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1) (3 page)

A clearly confused Donna said, “Well, I don’t think there’s much of a singles scene if that’s what you’re asking, but the gastro pubs along the boardwalk are conveniently located just a mile or so south on Oceanside Drive. Anyway, most people need two incomes to afford a house in that community so I’m guessing there are many couples. But then again maybe not, because you’re a single. Sam is a single. Are you getting cold feet, Ali? Do you want to look around some more? I can free up my entire afternoon for you. And there’s a nice condo over in Coronado that just came on the market today.”

Sam is a single. Holy shit.

“No, this is the one. I’ll see you at the closing.” Ending the call, Ali had spent the next hour going over everything in her mind.

Scorpio Securities advertised that they could find people, anywhere in the world. Which meant that they could hide people, too, and Ali needed to hide. Just long enough so that once she was found, she would have a formidable deterrent in place. Because if there was one thing in this world she was certain of, it was that Danny would find her. It was just a matter of time.

Her impulsive plan was as easy as it was hard.

Get Sam Gleeson to like her. Get Sam Gleeson to sleep with her. Get Sam Gleeson to care about her, and therefore protect her. And wait for Danny to tip his hand.

The best defense, as they said, was a good offense. And he was right next to her.

CHAPTER THREE

Sipping her steaming hot coffee, so loaded with fat free milk and Stevia it was the color of toast, Ali sat in her cushioned Adirondack patio chair and watched for him. She knew he’d come running by in the next five to seven minutes, heading back from his daily morning run. It was earlier in the week when, by pure accident, she’d noticed him from her bedroom window, the hour so early the sky was barely lit. He’d taken off running down the beach, his pace seeming cruel and unusual given it was the crack of dawn. Ali had watched him do the same thing everyday since, and she knew after approximately forty minutes—give or take a few—he would return, his face and shirt dotted with sweat but barely breathing heavy.

She had waited for him before. Sitting in this exact spot on her back porch, an ivory cashmere throw covering her bare legs and guarding against the early morning chill. He never once approached her, although he knew she was there. He would jog past her house as he angled toward his own back patio, looking at his watch and wiping his face with the hem of his ratty t-shirt, unknowingly giving Ali a teasing flash of six pack abs and the slight swirling of dark hair tapering enticingly south, past the low riding waistband of his nylon jogging shorts. His only acknowledgment of her would be the slightly raised wave of his right hand, a cordial signal of his awareness of her, although Ali had never actually seen him turn his head in her direction.

After blowing the best opportunity she’d had to make a face to face connection with him last night, she’d slept fitfully, calling herself all kinds of a coward and vowing to make up lost ground. It was her unexpected reaction to seeing him up close and in person that had her off kilter. Sure, it helped that he was attractive since it was her sole purpose to have a physical relationship with him, but the fact that he affected her to the point of distraction made this whole charade a ticking time bomb. Not to mention she’d been ignoring the voice in her head reminding her that she was about as far from a seductive temptress as a girl could be. Ali hadn’t been with a lot of men. Two, if she was counting. The first, a silly high school romance that fizzled when she left for college, had been all about teenage rebellion and finding out for herself what the popular girls were raving about in study hall. The second was Danny, a handsome trustfunder with a slick haircut and even slicker moves. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Ali had been in love, and in too deep, before his true colors were exposed.

The fact that she was bringing a perfectly innocent person into this hot mess with her wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. The guilt of it weighed heavy on her conscience and she had yet to say more than a dozen words to Sam. Her gut, while it had failed her miserably in the past, told her he was a decent guy. And clearly a stand-up citizen, having fought for his country for years, possibly compromising his own integrity and moral compass to do so. Ali knew what a sniper did and she didn’t need a first hand accounting to conjure up what a routine day in the life of one might be like. Tough things had to be done. She guessed it was messy and complicated, but the ends justified the means.

And she was just desperate enough, and foolish enough, to believe her selfish actions were the same. Assuming that she could pull this off.

The muted thumping of footsteps and the sound of screeching seagulls stirred Ali from her guilt-laden thoughts. Looking across the small expanse of sand, she saw Sam, right on time as he slowed his stride, and she sank an inch farther down in her chair. A flash of ridged muscles stretched tightly over tanned skin brought a purely feminine smile of appreciation to her face when he lifted the hem of his shirt to his forehead, as if on cue. It was a view she would’ve enjoyed even if she didn’t have an urgent desire to get into his pants. His faded, olive green t-shirt—sporting a barely visible Army logo, a large rifle and the words
No need to run. You’ll only die tired
—was wet with sweat and clinging to his skin. She gripped the large coffee mug with both hands and raised it to her mouth, watching him as he walked toward her back porch instead of his own.

“Cute,” Ali said, gesturing toward him with her mug.

“Thanks. You should see me clean.” He raised a dark brow. “Oh, you meant the shirt?” Mimicking her lopsided grin, he stopped just short of her porch steps. Sexy with a sense of humor? Lord help her. “How are you? No, let me guess,” he said, holding up his hand, “You’re fine, right?”

Smiling because she couldn’t help it, Ali agreed. “As a matter of fact, I am fine.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth turned up. “Good to know. I’m fine, too, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

“And Pete? Is he fine this morning, too?”

He glanced over at his house, making a sarcastic sound. “Well, there’s a damn good chance he spent the last hour chewing the shit out of my furniture, so I’d say he’s probably happy as hell right now. If you ask him in about five minutes, you might get a different answer, though.” His joking tone confirmed it was an idle threat.

“Poor Pete.” Ali made a sad face and sat forward in her chair. “Hey, do you want some coffee?” And then perhaps I could join you in the shower?

Sam glanced at his watch and Ali noticed it was the most complicated looking one she’d ever seen. Like you could launch the space shuttle with it.

“No time. I have a crazy schedule today and I’m already running late.” He let her down gently, but she wasn’t sure she heard regret in his voice.

“Next time, then.” Her voice was casual, because getting shot down by a sweat soaked, stone cold fox at six in the morning was no big deal.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He nodded as he lifted his hand in a wave, already a few steps closer to his own house. “Have a good day, Ali.”

Yeah, maybe?
Ouch. What the hell did that even mean? “Have a good day, Sam.”

Hearing the sound of his back door close, she released a loud sigh of frustration. Well, that went to hell in a hand basket quick. Now what? Maybe she should just go back to bed like any sane person at this God awful hour of the day and try to forget how badly she wanted to lick his neck. Or she could sit here freezing her ass off and wallow in her failed attempt at flirty banter.
Yeah, maybe?
Maybe he preferred redheads. Or petite brunettes. Or tall, statuesque types with fake boobs. Or men. Oh. My. God. The possibility that he could be gay had never occurred to her until now and it made her stomach plummet. She didn’t get that vibe from him, but Ali was certainly no expert on the matter. And wouldn’t that be just her lousy luck, too, not to mention a huge travesty to womankind in general. So, what the hell was she gonna—

“Ali?” His voice startled her and she nearly spilled her cold coffee.

Standing at his back door, Sam was bare-chested with his shirt hanging over the side of one shoulder. The bold, curving lines of an abstract tattoo covered the other shoulder, starting low on his muscular bicep and wrapping up and over his entire collarbone, tapering down toward his ripped pec muscle, ending near a small, perfectly shaped male nipple. Ali’s mouth watered.

He didn’t seem to notice her lustful expression. “Do you have beer?”

“Umm... yeah.” What? No, she didn’t. Why did she just tell him that she had beer? And why would he want one at the ass crack of dawn, anyway?

“I won’t be home tonight until eight or so,” he paused, looking out at the gentle surf briefly, “but if that’s not too late, I could join you for one.”

Her heart was pounding so loud, he had to hear it. “It’s not too late.”

Nodding, he disappeared into the house again, but stepped back out just as quickly. “By the way, my sofa is still intact. No teeth marks.”

“Yay!” She raised her arms in victory. “Pete lives to fight another day!”

He flashed her a killer smile, the kind that made a girl’s breath catch, and was gone again. Ali sat there for several more minutes, staring at the space where he’d been. The nervous excitement that filled her insides had nothing to do with her plan, even though the pieces were just starting to fit together. At that moment, she was simply a woman who had a date for drinks with the most intriguing man she’d ever met.

***

If there was a college course in seduction, Ali would have flunked out for sure. Spending half the day fixated on what color her matching bra and panties should be and if she could make a move on Sam tonight without looking like a complete hoochie, Ali decided to just play it cool and be herself. Then she said a little prayer that he was looking for more than just a friendly drink with a new neighbor and she’d be able to easily sex him up.

And then she said a little prayer that she wouldn’t go to Hell because she’d just prayed for guidance on how to get banged by a virtual stranger.

Never much of a fashionista, she dressed modestly in her favorite pair of white denim short shorts, the high hem exposing plenty of skin, and a deeply plunging silk V-neck with a beaded embellishment along the neckline. The tangerine color complemented her tan and the beading showcased her cleavage, not that it needed the added encouragement. Her D cups had been a thorn in her side since the ninth grade when Johnny Williamson—the most popular boy in school—had publicly declared her
booby-licious
during third period general science class. Currently pushed up in an uncomfortable satin and lace demi-bra, she was counting on them to come through for her tonight. That was, if Sam even showed up.

It was twenty minutes to eight and Ali knew he wasn’t home yet. Not a single light was on in his house and the thought that he might stand her up had been front and center in her mind for the last ten minutes. If he did, she was going to have a six-pack of microbrew to drink alone—times five different kinds. It was overkill, of course, but she’d had no idea what his preferences were and much to her amazement, there was an entire grocery aisle dedicated to beer.

Ignoring the oversized clock mounted above the fireplace, Ali pushed open the wall of glass doors, letting the outside in as she looked toward the ocean. The tide had rolled in with the sunset and the warm breeze coming off the water caused the sheer, white linen drapes to billow around her, lifting her long, blonde hair with it.

The solid green light on the security panel mocked her, making her wonder where she got the courage to bypass the alarm and leave the glass doors wide open. All the others, windows included, were closed and locked, of course. They’d been checked and double checked already. But the open doorway she was currently leaning against was a lousy excuse for a solid perimeter and certainly no deterrent for an intruder. It made her think of Grady, who had shown up at her front door when the mysterious Sam Gleeson hadn’t returned her calls.

The same day she closed on the beach house, Ali had pulled out his sleek, white business card, conveniently provided by Donna, and dialed the number she already knew by heart into her latest burner phone. The person who answered, a man named Beckett Smith, had efficiently advised her that Sam was currently unavailable—using those exact words—but he was happy to assist her. Declining his offer, she asked to be transferred to Sam’s voice mail, leaving a carefully worded and intentionally vague message. Her call had gone unreturned. The next day she called again and after speaking with a bubbly sounding girl who had identified herself as Misty, Ali left another nearly identical message on Sam’s voice mail. Exactly three minutes later, she received a call back. From someone named Mike Mendoza.

“I understand you’re interested in a security system. Do you have a few minutes to discuss your needs? I can put a proposal together and email it to you immediately. Let me get your contact information first.”

Well, this wouldn’t do, Ali thought. She had to get to Sam, not one of his employees. “Mike, I was hoping to work with Mr. Gleeson directly on this. Is he available?”

A pause. “Mr. Gleeson, huh? Well, I think he’s tied up right now, but he specifically asked me to contact you and set up a consultation. Actually, I was supposed to call you back yesterday, but the day got away from me.” His voice was playfully contrite. “We can do this via phone or on the premises. Which would you prefer?”

“Honestly, Mike, I would prefer to speak with Mr. Gleeson. I’m sorry if that sounds rude. It’s just that he was referred to me and... Well, I would just prefer it, please.” Ali’s voice was apologetic, uncomfortable making such a fuss.

Another pause. “Ooh-kay. Let me see if I can reach him, ma’am. Hang on.”

The line went silent, no soothing soft jazz music piping through to make her wait more enjoyable. A wait which totaled six minutes and some odd seconds. Just when she was ready to hang up, a clipped male voice, sounding more rushed than rude, picked up the line.