Some Girls Don't (Outback Heat Book 2) (18 page)

Jarrod was about to open his mouth and deny it when Ethan said, “About time,” as he yanked off Marcus’s shoes.

Jarrod shot his brother a startled glance. “You too?”

Ethan nodded. “What? You think you can do better? You’re already punching above your weight for a ranga.” He grinned. “Get your shit together, man.”

Jarrod was stunned for a moment, before barking out a laugh. Nothing like brothers to keep you grounded, call you on your bullshit and tell you the truth.

“Gee, thanks.”

Ethan shrugged, looking suddenly serious. “You think the kind of thing you feel for Selena comes along very often?”

Jarrod met his brother’s gaze. If anyone knew about being kicked in the ass by love it was Ethan. He shook his head. He
knew
what he felt for Selena was rare. He’d never loved anyone like he loved her.

“You
should
go after her.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, pulling the sheet up over an already sleeping Marcus.

Ethan nodded and clapped him on the arm a couple of times. “Make sure you do.”

Jarrod followed him out of the room knowing he wasn’t going to go after her. The ball wasn’t in his court anymore. Selena had made it very clear that it wouldn’t work between them. That her career was still her focus. And he needed to get on with his life. Not waste another fifteen years hoping she’d change her mind.

And he sure as shit wasn’t going to take advice from a divorced dude, who couldn’t see the woman he called his best friend was in love with him, and an inebriated Casanova who wouldn’t know commitment if it smacked him in his sorry, drunk face.

*     *     *

Selena sat in
the dark of her apartment and watched the replay of Marcus’s confrontation with the press at the Wyndham funeral for about the twentieth time since she got in from work an hour ago. She’d refused to let them play it on the broadcast tonight, but every other station had featured it under the guise of
exploring high community emotions in the aftermath of the bushfires
.

Or some such bullshit.

The pain in Marcus’s eyes had been as hard to watch as it had been the day it had all happened, but Jarrod had been harder to watch. The worry for his brother in those green eyes, the fierce protectiveness that had burned in his gaze had clutched big handfuls of her gut.

That’s the kind of guy he was. If he had your back he was like a freaking warrior.

She’d watched it about a dozen times before they’d gone to air tonight and the footage had still been so raw in her mind that she’d had to rapidly blink her tears away when the funeral segment, minus Marcus’s outburst, had ended and she’d had to go on to the next story.

Go on like nothing had happened. Go on like her heart hadn’t been torn out and was bleeding on the floor.

What had she done?

Why had she turned her back on such a magnificent man with his big heart, his deep streak of loyalty and his profound ability to love?

To forgive.

Leaving Jarrod Weston, the teenager, had broken her heart into two. Tonight, sitting here in the dark, she realised that turning her back on Jarrod Weston, the man, had smashed it into a thousand tiny pieces.

And she deserved it. Because she only had herself to blame.

She’d
left him.
Twice.
Without a word the first time. Refusing to let him know where she was or open his letters or write to him in return. And the second time running roughshod all over his feelings by excluding him from a huge decision in her life—their lives—and then refusing to try and find a compromise with him.

She’d accused him of wanting everything. But she hadn’t been any better. She’d wanted everything too.

Everything in her favour.

Her job
and
Jarrod.

Because she was greedy and self-centred and a complete
idiot
. Desperately trying to hold onto both, stupidly thinking they were both of equal importance.

And now here she was, watching the anguish in Jarrod’s eyes over and over again as he’d yelled at the press with that look that told her he’d cut out his own heart to protect his brother from them.

That
was what was important. What a person did for a living could
never
match what a person
was
.

And the irony was, she wasn’t even happy. Sure, she loved her job, but it hadn’t filled that hole that she’d thought it would, and it meant nothing without Jarrod in her life to share it with. It might only have been two weeks but she’d never felt so unhappy in her life.

This job was supposed to be the cherry on top of her pie. Instead it felt like a bloody noose around her neck, cutting off all her air. Keeping her from what she really wanted.

Who
she really wanted.

He’d told her a career couldn’t bring her personal fulfilment and he’d been right.

The urge to curl in a ball on her couch and cry all night rode her hard. But that’s what seventeen-year-old Selena had done. She’d cried it out. Waited it out. Waited for the temptation to write him, or pick up the phone and hear his voice, to pass.

But she wasn’t seventeen any longer and she’d always gone after what she wanted. Why should she stop now just because it was finally Jarrod?

She’d been a coward with him twice now. Time for some courage.

Selena sniffed back the threatening tears as she reached for her phone with shaking hands. She scrolled through her recent-calls folder and tapped on the number she was after. It picked up on the second ring.

“Phil? It’s Selena.”

“Great job tonight, babe.” Straight into it as usual. “That shine to your eyes after the kid’s funeral? Brilliant move. Great television.”

Selena wasn’t going to waste time telling Phil her emotion hadn’t been manufactured. Phil had been in the industry for forty years and was cynical right down to his bootstraps.

“I can’t do it anymore, Phil.” Selena felt surprisingly calm, considering.

“Oh … do what?”

He sounded distracted and Selena knew he was probably scrolling through the wires or monitoring a dozen different online news channels all at once. Phil hadn’t been out to lunch with the rest of the male population when multi-tasking skills were being handed out.

“The job. I resign.”

“
What?
” Ah … now he was listening. “What do mean? You’re quitting? I thought you wanted this bad?”

Selena shook her head, the irony of what she was about to say not lost on her. “I don’t want it bad enough.”

There was a pause on the line. “Bullshit.”

“I’ll give you whatever time you need to find a replacement.”

“Nope. I don’t accept, Selena. I don’t know what the fuck has happened between the show wrapping and now, but I
don’t
accept. Ratings have been phenomenal. Not to mention the fact that I
went out on a limb for you
. Have you been drinking? Put the bottle down. Go to bed. Get your shit together. Ring me in the morning.”

The phone hung up in her ear and Selena stared blankly at it for a few seconds.
That went well.
Not.

But it didn’t matter. For the first time in two weeks a weight lifted from her chest and Selena actually felt like maybe everything was going to be alright.

She glanced at her watch—almost eleven.

No time like the present to get her shit together.

‡

T
wo hours later
Selena pulled up outside the Weston house in Jumbuck Springs and cut the engine. The crashing of her heartbeat practically filled the inside of her car as the silence of a country town at one in the morning pressed in around her.

She glanced at her grandmother’s house; the lights were out as she knew they would be. If Jarrod rejected her—and she couldn’t blame him if he did—she’d be spending the night with Grandy.

Selena dialled his number. No point knocking at this hour. She didn’t want to wake the entire household, especially Connie. The phone picked up on the third ring and Selena’s heart just about beat right out of her chest.

“Whereabouts?” the low gruff notes demanded in her ear.

Selena frowned, temporarily thrown off.
What?

“Am I supposed to guess where the goddamn fire is or are you going to tell me?”

Of course. He was probably on call. “It’s me, Jarrod. Selena …”

“Selena?” She could practically hear the frown in his voice. “What time is it?”

“Just after one.”

“Is everything okay?”

Selena shook her head. “No.” Everything was not okay. But hopefully that was about to change.

“Selena,” he growled, all low and sleepy. It curled Selena’s toes. “What do you want?”

“I’m outside.”

“
What
?”

“I’m in my car, outside your house.”

“You … are?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a beat or two. “Why?”

“Can I come in and talk to you?”

His groan slid right into her ear canal. “Don’t do this to me, damn it.”

He sounded annoyed but there was a thick edge of temptation to his words that plucked at muscles sitting deep and low in her belly. “Please, Jarrod.”

“If this is some kind of fucked-up booty call …”

“It’s not.” She gripped the phone harder as those muscles gave a sinful lurch at the suggestion. “I really do just want to talk.”

“Fine,” he huffed and hung up.

Selena climbed out of her car, walked up the path and the stairs to the front door, her legs like jelly. The door clicked quietly open to reveal Jarrod in boxers, pulling a shirt over his head. He looked all rumpled and weary and her heart flopped in her chest.

“Hi,” she whispered, smiling up at him, her gaze eating him up, her heart filling with love and joy and relief just to see him again.

Damn, she’d missed him.

He didn’t smile or acknowledge her greeting, just opened the door for her to come in. “Back veranda,” he murmured all low and husky near her ear.

She followed him through the darkened house, treading quietly in his wake, stepping out onto the creaky boards of the veranda, the cicadas providing the backing track. He headed in the direction of the squatter chairs, turning to face her when he drew level.

“Okay, you’re here now,” he said and it sounded so damn weary. “What do you want?”

Selena took a step towards him and he held up a hand to ward her off, his green eyes glittering hard as emeralds. “Don’t. Please. For the love of God just stay where you are.”

She blinked and rocked back on her feet. “Okay.” She hadn’t been expecting an open-arm welcome, but his vehemence cut to the quick.

He sighed as he absently rubbed his jaw, his gaze softening. “If you get within arm’s reach, Selena, I’m going to grab you, strip off all your clothes and fuck you against the balustrade and ask questions later and that’s just too screwed up to even contemplate.”

The delicious scrape of his whiskers and the raw note of lust in his voice oozed over her as his booty call crack replayed in her head. “I wouldn’t say no,” she murmured, trying to break the tension.

In fact she suddenly felt very hot in her jeans and T.

“For fuck’s sake, Selena. I don’t
want
to want you like this,” he hissed, shoving his hand through his hair before dropping it to his side to clench and unclench it as if he was fighting the urge to drag her into his arms.

“Jarrod …” She lifted her foot to go to him again then put it back down again.

“It’s fine.” He waved a hand at her dismissively. But he seemed about as fine as she was and she was almost crawling the nearby wall with the need to touch him.

“It’s no secret we’re hot for each other,” he said. “That doesn’t mean we have to act on it. Just … what do you want?”

Selena had rehearsed what to say to Jarrod over and over during the car ride but her brain was stuck back at Jarrod doing her against the balustrade. It was difficult to get her thoughts on track after that, but she took a slow, steady breath and forced herself to concentrate.

“I quit my job tonight.”

“
What
?” The alarm on his face would have been comical had the situation not been so fraught. “What the hell for?”