The McCullagh Inn in Maine (3 page)

Jeremy held his
breath, waiting for her reply. She stared at him with wide blue eyes—eyes he'd never truly forgotten, despite how much time had passed since he'd last seen them. He scanned her face, not missing the bruising on her pale throat and underneath her eye, no matter how much makeup she'd used.

Her blond hair was…out of character.

She was beautiful, of course. Nothing would ever change that. But Chelsea as a blonde was like seeing the White House painted purple. Her lips were as plump and tempting as he remembered, and the attraction between them was as strong as ever. He'd missed her more than he'd thought possible. It felt like it was just yesterday that they had gotten drunk, kissed for the first time, and ended up naked in bed together…the night before his wedding to another woman.

That had been the shittiest thing he'd ever done.

And somehow the best, too.

“You didn't marry her?” she asked softly, swallowing hard. She winced, like it hurt to do so. It took all his control not to pull her into his arms, hug her close, and demand she let him help her with what she was going through. “I thought we both moved on.”

“How could I, after what we did?” he asked angrily. Even if it hadn't been morally wrong, he'd realized the truth that night. It had always been Chelsea.

She gripped her arms tighter, letting out a little laugh. “You loved her. What happened that night was…” She faded off and he stiffened. If she said it was a mistake, he'd show her just how much of a mistake it
wasn't
.

She sighed. “It was wonderful. But it was just a night. We both knew where your heart really belonged.”

Yeah, he had thought he'd known, too. Until he kissed Chelsea and saw just how very wrong he'd been. He ran his thumb over her jawline softly. “A man who truly loves a woman isn't going to sleep with someone else the night before their wedding. My relationship with Mary was over the second you and I kissed.”

“Lots of things were,” she muttered, pulling free from his touch and backing up a few steps. “You shouldn't be here, Jeremy.”

“Because your name change magically erased our connection?” he asked dryly.

“No.” She shook her head. “Because I don't want you here. You're part of my past—a past I have no inclination to revisit. I'm moving on. Starting fresh.”

“Funny, because right now, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with, revisiting memories.” After years of searching, he'd be damned if he wanted to waste any more time playing games now that he'd finally found her again. He wasn't that same stupid kid he'd been before—the one who had been too blind to see what he wanted until it was too late.

She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Well, that sucks for you, because I'm not interested. You broke my heart before. I won't let you do it again.”

“You broke mine, too,” he said softly—honestly—trying his best to act as unthreatening as possible. If he pushed too hard, she'd take off again. If you looked up
flight risk
in the dictionary, her picture would be next to the definition. “Why are you here? What are you running from?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

Too quickly.

“We both know that's not true,” he said, stepping closer to her. She stiffened but stood her ground as he reached out and tugged on the lock of hair that always fell into her face. He missed her normal chestnut color. “What trouble did you get into after you left?”

“The kind that's none of your business,” she spat back, yanking her hair out of his grasp. “It stopped being your business when you asked Mary to marry you.”

“I left her at the altar. For you.”

“Not for me,” Chelsea argued, shaking her head. “I was
gone
.”

“Yeah.” He stopped once their toes touched. “Guess I didn't know just how
gone
you were.”

“Poor you. Go home, Jeremy.”

“I brought you some dinner. Something tells me you haven't eaten all day, and even if you don't want me here, you need to at least take the food.”

She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asked, cocking a brow.

“Taking care of me. This isn't just like old times. Take your food, and yourself, out of here. I'm not the same girl I was back then.”

He reached out and brushed her hair out of her face. “I'm not the same boy, either. This time around, I know what I want—and I plan on getting it.”

She sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. “Good for you. Should I clap?”

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“I'm not angry,” she shot back. “I'm
busy
.”

He cast a quick glance around the inn, which was in shambles and empty except for the two of them. “Clearly.”

She pointed to the door.

“All right, all right. I'm going.” Laughing, he turned around, opening the door and stepping outside, leaving the food on the table. The second he was on her porch, she started to swing the door shut, but his deep voice made her stop what she was doing. “I'll be seeing you soon, Chelsea.”

“Don't count on it,” she shot back, her voice clipped. “I'll be too busy here.”

“Curious,” he said, his tone soft.

She scoffed at him. “Haven't you heard what happened to the cat?”

He cocked a brow. “No.”

“Curiosity killed it.”

And with that, she slammed the door in his face, locking it immediately.

But underneath the anger in her voice, he heard it. The fear that caused the slight tremor in her words. Chelsea wasn't the type to be frightened, so if she was scared of something, or someone? He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Even if it did kill him.

Which it very well might.

The next day,
I slept late in an attempt to ward off the hangover pounding inside my temples, but it didn't get the memo and lingered like a bitch. Should've stuck with whiskey instead of moving to the wine Jeremy had brought over. Now I trudged up the cracked cement walkway that led to the front porch, juggling supplies from the hardware store. Pamela Mayberry ran the place now, since her father retired down to Boca Raton. Pamela peppered with me questions, trailing me around the store as I made my selections. It was only through the grace of God that I managed to carry on a polite conversation without snapping. You can take the girl out of a small town, but that small town will never forget her.

It was time to start ripping the inn apart, room by room. I'd begin with the ugly wood paneling in the living room, which would be used by guests as a common space. There would be coffee, croissants, and tea, and soft music playing as the fire roared cheerfully…

That was about as far as I'd gotten.

But it painted a pretty picture.

Smiling, I unlocked the door, almost dropping the bags in my left hand. After heaving them inside, I turned around, breathing heavily, and headed to my car for the next batch. By the time that was inside, my back ached and my palms were abraded. I started to shut the door and froze, fear shooting through my chest. There was something else on my porch, obscured by the dead potted plant to the left of the door.

Roses.

Not just any roses.

Red
roses.

I glanced around the yard, looking for signs of anyone watching—
waiting
. Nothing moved except a few birds in the nearby apple tree. They chirped happily, flapping their wings, completely unaware that I was about to lose my shit. When no one jumped out to attack, I took a deep breath and bent down, grabbing the brass vase before going inside.

Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it, heart racing. I longed to throw them out without reading the note tucked among the petals, but that would be a foolish move. If there was a threat, I needed to face it head-on, not cower behind false ignorance like a scared child. That wasn't my style. I preferred using my fists for cover instead.

I glanced down at the card—and fear immediately turned to anger when I realized it was a different ghost from the past haunting me. I'd recognize that cursive
J
anywhere. That son of a bitch didn't know when to quit. Without thinking my anger through, or identifying the true cause of it, I was in my car heading for town. For
him
.

Even though I knew rationally that I shouldn't be doing this, and that I was playing right into his hands by seeking him out, it didn't stop me. When it came to Jeremy, I wasn't rational.

Which was why he was such a danger to me.

I couldn't afford to mess up right now.

Angrily, I aimed for the run-down motel off Main Street, which was the only lodging in town. I saw Jeremy's late model truck parked in front of the motel and I screeched into the parking lot. It was like it was meant to be—I'd found him so easily—but I refused to look too deeply into that. I wanted to give him the damn flowers back, and make sure he understood that I meant it when I said to stay away, since he seemed to think this was some kind of game.

He should know better.

I'd never been the playful type.

Pulling up next to his truck, I picked up the flowers and marched up to his door. Lifting my fist, I knocked hard enough to wake the dead. The door swung open, and there he was, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats, which clung to certain parts of his body I tried very hard to forget about, thank you very much. The lack of a shirt only highlighted how good he looked, because good God, those abs had to have been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. There was no way those were
real
.

He'd always been fit, but now…

He was a freaking Adonis.

Damn him.

At my obvious appraisal of his body, he grinned and gripped the opposite side of the doorjamb, leaning closer. “You look good, too, Chels.”

That annoying childhood nickname snapped me out of my haze of abs and pecs. Gnashing my teeth together, I ducked under his arm, barging in his room without invitation.

After all, he'd done the same thing to me.

“Please,” he said dryly, closing the door behind me. “Come in.”

The room was tiny, and being shut inside with
him
wearing practically
nothing
was too much. I needed that door open again…better yet, I needed to get the hell out of here. Away from him. “I'm not staying. Keep your stupid flowers and stop showing up at my place. I don't need you coming by, scaring the shit out of me—”

“Scaring you?” He raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Why the hell would flowers on your porch
scare
you?”

I lifted my chin, knowing I'd said too much and cursing myself because of it. When would I learn that less was more, especially when it came to Jeremy Holland? “When will you realize all I want is for you to stay away—”

“—from you.” He walked across the room, not stopping until he was directly in front of me, in my personal space, doing the very
opposite
of staying away from me. “I know. I heard you. When will
you
realize I don't give a damn what you want, because I know that you're hiding something, and I'll keep asking questions until I get some answers?”

I sucked in a deep breath, watching him closely, my chest rising and falling way too rapidly. He always could read me like an open book, and clearly he hadn't lost that skill during our years apart. I needed to do something to throw him off balance.

So I did the most unpredictable thing I could think of.

I kissed him.

The second our
lips touched, I knew I'd made a big mistake.
Huge
. It came second only to running away to Miami to chase after a new life. And look where
that
had gotten me.

He gripped my shirt at the small of my back, taking over the kiss without any hesitation. His lips moved over mine, claiming me, and he moved my body so I was trapped between him and the dirty wall. There was no escape, which is the first thing I should have been focused on, but instead…

All I could think was
more
.

More tongue. More hands. More heat. More
everything
.

He lifted me up as if I weighed nothing and edged between my legs, pressing his hardness against me. I'd only felt him like this against me once before, and yet it was like my body had never forgotten just how right he felt.

Growling, he slipped his tongue between my lips. The second his touched mine, I gasped into his mouth, curling my fingers over his impossibly hard biceps. For the first time since leaving Miami, I felt like I wasn't lost. For the first time…

I felt safe.

And it was all Jeremy's fault.

I pushed at his shoulders, inhaling deeply, and turned my head to the side so he couldn't claim my lips with his own again. He was stealing the air right out of my lungs. The room was spinning, and his muscles were pressed against me, and I wanted more of him.
Oh, my God,
I couldn't breathe when he was touching me.

Sliding his hand under my butt, he thrust against me, his sweatpants and my leggings creating only a thin barrier between the two of us. Part of me wished they were gone, and the other part knew if they were, nothing would stop us from having sex right here, in his drab motel room.

“You taste so damn good,” he mumbled, nibbling my ear.

I shivered, digging my nails into him. Warning bells went off in my head. I knew I had to put a stop to this before things went too far. The whole reason for this ill-advised kiss was to throw
him
off balance.

But, God help me, he didn't seem to be falling victim to my master plan.

Not even a little.

Instead, he was acting like he'd been waiting ten years for this to happen…just like I had. I skimmed my fingers down his arms, exploring his muscles as I went. Relearning the way he felt, pressed up against me. He still felt like Jeremy, but at the same time, it was like he was an entirely different man. I wasn't sure if I could handle the emotions coursing through me, but I knew one thing.

If we kept doing this…

I'd regret it.

Shaking my head, I pushed at his shoulders again, a moan escaping me as he brushed the sides of his thumbs across my nipples roughly. “We can't—oh
God
.”

“Yes. We can,” he rasped in reply. “We really can.”

He claimed my mouth again, his hand dipping in between our bodies. The second he ran his fingers over me, I knew my defenses were gone. His tongue brushed against mine, and I clung to him, some small part of me never wanting to let go. The feeling was so familiar that it was like putting on a sweatshirt you hadn't worn in years.

It just
fit
.

Pleasure built in my stomach, spreading slowly over my body, and I rolled my hips against his fingers, and his erection. He put me down and ran a hand across my nipples, squeezing them as his other hand moved over me, and with an embarrassing quickness…

I came.

Hard
.

His mouth tore free, and he dropped his forehead to rest against mine with a ragged moan. “Jesus, Chels. That was the hottest orgasm.” He slipped his hand under my butt again, palming it, and lifted me. “I want more.”

He sought my mouth, but I turned away at the last second, panting. “No.”

“No?” He asked in surprise. “Seriously?” I pushed at his shoulders and he immediately set me down, nostrils flaring as he stepped back. “All right. I get it.”

“This never should have happened. We had one night and that's it. It's done,” I said, still trembling. “Finished.”

“I don't know about you,” he said slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, which made it stand up in a sexy,
GQ
model way. “But when I'm done with someone, I don't kiss them like I'm going to die if I don't fuck them in the next five minutes.”

My cheeks heated, and I backpedaled—which was stupid, because we both knew exactly what had happened here. Panicked, I said, “I only kissed you because I thought it would scare you off.”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because it scares
me
.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I've spent the last few years forging a new path, doing what I want to do, and playing by
my
rules, not my father's. But after two days back here, I'm kissing you like nothing's changed at all.”

He reached out hesitantly, brushing my hair behind my ear. “And that's a bad thing?”

“Yes. I'm no good for you and never have been.”

Shaking his head, he pressed his mouth into a thin, hard line. “I disagree.”

“That's because you always look for the good in people. Sooner or later, you'll realize there's none in me.” I slid away from him, avoiding his eyes. If I looked at them, I'd get lost in their green depths, and I'd end up right back in his arms—endangering him. “Don't bring me flowers again. I don't like them.”

“Why not?” he asked softly.

“My ex used to give them to me, as an apology, after he…” I broke off, refusing to say any more. It was enough. It was more than enough. “They just—they hold a different meaning for me now. Don't give them to me again.”

Something crossed his eyes—rage, maybe—and he stepped closer. “I'm sorry.”

I opened the door, grabbed my purse off the floor, and swallowed hard. “Stay away from me, Jeremy.”

Far, far away.