The Professional (21 page)

“Nah,” she relented. “I couldn’t do what I do without her. She’s invaluable—and insufferable. That’s part of her charm.”

“Look at it this way,” Jamie told her. “I bet you never have to wonder what she thinks.”

She shot him a pointedly wry look. “Much like my grandfather.”

Jamie tilted his head back as another laugh rumbled up his throat. “I definitely wouldn’t argue with that assessment.”

“He strong-armed you into coming here, didn’t he?”

That was one way of putting it, Jamie thought. “In a manner of speaking.”

“In a manner of speaking? He filled out all of your paperwork, sent your itinerary and told you when to be here.”

“What tipped you off?” Jamie teased. “The book on erectile dysfunction, the bottle of Metamucil or the package of adult diapers in the bathroom?”

“What?” she deadpanned with wide-eyed innocence. “You mean you aren’t an impotent, incontinent bed wetter?”

Smiling, Jamie ducked his head toward his chest and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Er…that would be a big fat negative.”

“I asked him about all of that. He was only joking with those things, you know,” she said. “Wanted to prep you to relax with a good laugh.”

He figured she’d asked about Jamie’s so-called “preferences”, Jamie thought. He would have. He had to give the old guy a hand, though—he was quick on his feet. “I know,” Jamie said. “He’s always good for a laugh.” Jamie scratched his head, pretended to be confused. “Did he happen to mention why he listed my hobbies as basket-weaving, watercolors and ballroom dancing?”

Audrey shot him a smile. “Ah…those are ‘relaxing’ things he thinks you ought to try. Basket-weaving requires patience, watercolor skill, and every man needs to know how to dance. Or so sayeth the Colonel.”

So he’d conjured an answer for everything, then. Jamie shook his head. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. “And we, er… We have to adhere to that schedule while I’m here?”

Audrey turned onto the sidewalk which led up to her house. Her porch light glowed in the distance, illuminating potted plants—mums, mostly—and white wicker outdoor furniture outfitted with comfy cushions.

“We don’t have to,” she said. “The purpose of Unwind is to enable you to relax, but—” She hesitated, nervously chewed her bottom lip. “I was told to personally keep you on task and to ‘expect resistance.’”

She mounted the steps to her front door and turned to face him. The wind toyed with the ends of her hair, sending a long lock against her neck. He was suddenly hit with the urge to wind that wayward lock around his finger and draw her to him. “For obvious reasons, it would make my life a lot easier if you’d simply give them a try.”

Check and checkmate, Jamie thought, realizing that he should simply bow to the master and accept defeat. The Colonel had thought of everything. How could he look into those calmly pleading gorgeous blue eyes and say no?

Did he want to basket weave? Er…no.

Did he think he’d enjoy painting? That was a bigger no.

And ballroom dancing? Hell n—

Actually, Jamie thought, stopping short. Upon further reflection that one would probably be nice. Particularly if he’d be taking lessons with Audrey as his partner. His gaze slid over her small feminine frame, lingering broodingly on her delightful breasts and swept up over her plump bottom lip.

A dart of heat landed squarely in his groin and his palms suddenly itched with the unfamiliar need to cup her cheeks and draw her face up for his kiss. The Colonel had told him to do whatever it was he did to make a woman fall all over him, right? Well, kissing played a very significant part in that.

Unfortunately the Colonel had also forbidden First Base.

Audrey’s suddenly heavy-lidded gaze dropped to his own mouth and, though it could have merely been wishful thinking on his part, she seemed to have leaned closer to him.

Then again, Jamie thought as his heart began to race and he lessened the distance between them a little more, the Colonel wasn’t here. Jamie was on a mission and that mission was to prevent her from marrying the wrong guy. If he kissed her, that would help right?

Right.

Jamie stepped even closer, raised his hands and felt her hair slide across his knuckles. He hadn’t even touched her, yet he could feel her warmth against his palms and the sensation made his stomach clutch. His hands found her face and—

“Woof!”

“Damn!” Jamie swore, startled by the deafening bark. He instinctively drew Audrey to him and frantically glanced around.

“Moses,” she chided, turning to face her front door.

Jamie wilted—quite embarrassingly, considering he was supposed to be such a military bad-ass—and followed her gaze. The dog from the photo looked menacingly back at him. The enormous animal had both paws planted on the glass and stood an easy five and a half feet—taller than Audrey, he thought, wondering how the hell she controlled such a beast.

“He won’t bite,” she said. “He’s just curious about you.”

“Right,” Jamie said warily, not trusting that assessment.

Cheeks pink, Audrey awkwardly peeled herself away from him and opened the door, allowing the dog outside. She patted his head. “
Friend,
Moses,” she said sternly.
“Friend.”

The dog ambled toward Jamie.

“Offer your hand.”

Jamie shot her a hesitating glance. “Are you sure he won’t mistake it for a chew toy?”

Audrey laughed. “Trust me, if he thought you were a threat, he would have torn your throat out by now.”

Oh, now wasn’t that a comforting thought? Jamie obligingly offered his hand. The dog sniffed his palm. Then his leg. Then his butt. Then predictably zeroed in on his crotch.

Chuckling again, Audrey grabbed Moses by the collar and tugged him back. “Good enough, old boy. Leave Jamie alone.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, an adorable blush painting her cheeks.

Jamie couldn’t think of anything politically correct to say, so he merely shrugged it off. “No problem. He’s just being a dog.”

She patted the dog again, then looked up, her wary gaze tangled with his. “Thanks for walking me home. It wasn’t necessary.”

Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets. “I enjoyed it. Well, most of it,” he amended. “Your dog scaring the shit out of me, then molesting me I could have done without, but otherwise…” He grinned and shrugged.

A playful smile caught the corner of her lush mouth. “Too bad you aren’t wearing one of those diapers, eh?”

Imp, Jamie thought, thoroughly enchanted and missing that might-have-been kiss. “Right.”

“So I’ll see you in the morning?”

“See you then,” Jamie agreed. His heart curiously lighter than it’d been in months, Jamie loped down the steps and made his way toward his cottage. Adrenaline from the dog-scare still pumped through his veins, his dick throbbed painfully in his jeans and his body ached with the regret of leaving her.

But he was smiling. How screwed up was that?

6

A
UDREY
CLOSED
THE
DOOR
behind her, dropped to her knees and gave Moses a grateful hug. A shaky breath leaked out of her lungs. “You saved me, big guy,” she told him. “From doing something
really
stupid.”

Moses licked her cheek in answer, causing an unexpected chuckle to break loose in her throat. “Oh, Moses,” she said with a shaky laugh. “This isn’t good.”

And she was the master of understatement.

In fact, it was downright horrible.

Being attracted to Jamie Flanagan—and not just merely attracted, but devastatingly so—was so far wrong it should have been unthinkable—even though it wasn’t.

In the first place, she was in a committed relationship, supposedly contemplating marriage to a man who expected an answer by the end of the week. And in the second place, this guy was a friend of her
grandfather’s.

And for whatever reason, that was the one that seemed like a bigger betrayal.

The Colonel had recommended and entrusted him into her care and she fully imagined that her seducing him, kissing him or having wild, wonderful sex with him was not the sort of relaxation therapy her grandfather’d had in mind. She knew all this and yet…

She couldn’t seem to help herself from wanting it.

Audrey was a big girl. She was sexually experienced and sexually responsible. She didn’t share her body with just anyone and she always made sure she was protected. She had too much self-respect to do otherwise. Though she longed to have a family of her own someday and imagined raising that family on this very shore, she instinctively knew that neither the time—nor sadly, the man—was right.

But nothing in her experience could have ever prepared her for the overwhelming do-or-die toe-curling attraction she felt for Jamie. He’d merely smiled at her and something about that lazy
grin had tripped some sort of internal previously-
undetected sexual trigger. Parts of her body which hadn’t so much as tingled in years were suddenly vibrating with a twang of lust-ridden enthusiasm she could feel in her fillings…and other more erogenous places.

As for what almost happened on her porch, Audrey couldn’t explain that either. One minute she’d been standing there, thinking about the rugged yet curiously vulnerable line of his cheek and the next, she’d found herself staring at his mouth.

Then gravitating toward that mouth.

But who could blame her? Honestly, the man had the most gorgeous lips she’d ever seen. They were surprisingly full for a guy, but masculine nonetheless. And when he smiled… Mercy, they were utterly devastating.

Those hungry eyes of his—an intriguing mixture of brown, gold and green—had boldly slid over her body, then sizzled a path over her breasts, up her neck and onto her lips. At that point, thinking for herself had become a thing of the past and she’d merely gotten caught up in the moment. The rest of the world had simply fallen away and nothing had existed but the two of them and the inevitable meeting of their mouths.

If Moses, God love his big drooling heart, hadn’t barked when he had, who knows what might have happened? They might have kissed, then kissed some more, and then she might have dragged him into the house, thrown him down onto the floor and ridden him until his eyes rolled back in his head. She might have had the most powerful orgasm of her life.

Forget the bed, forget a romantic fire, forget all the so-called set-the-mood trappings. She didn’t—
wouldn’t
—need them with him. She needed a hungry mouth, greedy talented hands and that impressive bulge she’d noticed when Moses had inspected his crotch. The mere memory made her laugh.

She pressed her forehead against his muzzle and lovingly scratched her dog behind the ears. “How was it?” she teased, stupidly envious of him.

All right, Audrey thought. Enough already.

Drawing in a cleansing breath, she reluctantly pushed herself to her feet, ambled over to her stereo and plugged in Anna Nalick, her newest artist obsession. She could listen to that melodious voice for hours on end and frequently did. Anna was young, but had a surprising maturity to her lyrics that rang truer than anything Audrey had heard in a long time.

“Breathe” came alive through the speakers and set the mood for her bath. By the time the final chord of the song sounded, Audrey was neck deep in apple-scented bubbles and she could feel the tension melting out of her body. At least most of it, at any rate. There was still a depressingly insistent throb in her sex, but it was nothing she couldn’t take care of herself if it became downright unbearable.

Which was a distinct possibility, she thought, as her thighs tensed with the ache of unfulfilled expectation.

With a helpless half-laugh, half-sob, Audrey bit her bottom lip, then held her breath and sank beneath the water. She stayed there until her lungs burned and her focus had shifted to the ache in her chest, opposing the one in her loins. Ah, she thought, pushing the hair away from her face when she finally emerged from the water. Much better. Her lips formed a weak smile. Nothing like a little dunk to help one get their perspective in order. Drastic times called for drastic, not altogether sane, methods.

Did she still want Jamie? Of course. And she grimly suspected that the more time she spent with him, the more she could expect that malady to worsen. But at least her head was clear enough for the moment to try and put a defense in order, to get her head fully in the game, so to speak.

Because regardless of how badly she might want him, she’d never slept with a guest before and she damned sure wasn’t going to start now.

Not this guy. Not this time.

Not Jamie Flanagan.

Yes, it was unfortunate that he’d mysteriously managed to awaken her inner porn star—when she hadn’t known she’d even had one—but Audrey knew she’d simply have to wrestle her IPS back into submission with truckloads of guilt and a stringent professional attitude. Jamie was here because he needed help. Help, dammit, not sex.

Above all else, she needed to keep that in mind.

Furthermore, she needed to talk with her grandfather and find out exactly what had happened to Jamie’s friend. Merely losing him couldn’t account for that wretched sadness she’d glimpsed in those gorgeous eyes earlier this evening. Granted no doubt losing a close friend would have put it there, but not to the extent she’d seen—
or felt
. There was something more, something else that haunted him and dogged his every step. In fact, though the Colonel had sent him here, Audrey didn’t think her grandfather was even aware of the full extent of Jamie’s pain.

Clearly Jamie had gotten good at covering it up, but that’s what most hurting guys did, right? If they couldn’t beat the pain into submission, pound it into the ground or simply ignore it away, they hid it. God forbid they ask for help, she thought. Help indicated weakness. Jamie, in particular, she knew, wouldn’t be able to stand that, perceived or otherwise. What the fool didn’t realize was that it took strength to ask for help. Men, she thought with an eye roll. They had the emotional intelligence of a goat.

Audrey toed the drain open and levered herself out of the tub. She dried off, then wrapped herself in a towel and, rather than do the sensible thing like dress for bed, she strolled to her kitchen window, inexplicably drawn. After only a moment’s hesitation, she nudged the curtain aside and stared down the hill toward Jamie’s cottage.

To her surprise he was sitting on the topmost step of his porch. The light illuminated his impressive profile in stark relief, leaving the rest of him in dark shadow. A bottle of whiskey—the Jameson she’d had to special order for him—sat at his side, and he held a tumbler of the flickering amber liquid loosely in one hand, allowing it to dangle in the deep V between his thighs.

To a casual observer he appeared unguarded and relaxed, but for reasons which escaped her at the moment, she knew better. It was all part and parcel of the image he liked to portray. Or maybe
had
to portray to keep up the status quo? She sighed softly and rested her head against the glass. That seemed more likely.

If he held it together and pretended like nothing was wrong, then it wouldn’t be. He’d be normal and the rest of the world could simply accept that he was fine, or they could go to hell. Audrey didn’t have any idea where these impressions and feelings were coming from—she seemed to be more in tune with him than with anyone she’d ever met before—but she knew her instincts were right on. Felt the familiar weight of grief and emotion—
his grief and emotion
—seep into her very bones.

She was siphoning already, she realized with a flash of dread, and she’d barely spent any time with him. That certainly didn’t bode well for the rest of the week.

God, why did this always happen to her? Audrey thought with a silent whimper of despair. Why was she attracted to guys who used her up? Why couldn’t she feel this overwhelming attraction for Derrick? Why didn’t
he
make her heart squeeze with emotion and her thighs quiver with want?

Was she simply wired this way? she wondered. Could she only be attracted to men who needed her? How screwed up was that? How screwed up was
she?
It took very little insight to recognize that she was going to be taking a huge risk by working with Jamie. Between the off-the-Richter-scale attraction and this equally driving need to heal his hurts—even if that meant making them hers—she’d be a fool to think she wasn’t teetering on a slippery slope.

And she was going to be damned lucky if she didn’t fall.

Even worse…for him.

* * *

S
INCE
J
AMIE
HAD
long ago learned to fall asleep in almost any position, in any condition, it was no surprise that he enjoyed a restful night. The mattress on his bed was just the perfect combination of soft and firm, the pillows were excellent and the sheets were quality—Egyptian cotton—and had been cool and soft with a hint of some kind of summer rain scented fabric softener.

And the quarter bottle of whiskey he’d had before stumbling into bed hadn’t hurt either.

He would have smiled, but knew from past experience that his face would hurt, so he quelled the urge. Instead, he braced both hands against the shower wall, bent his head and allowed the almost-scalding water to beat down on the back of his head and neck. Between the steam and two fingers of the hair of the dog, he was beginning to feel marginally better.

Jamie liked a drink as much as the next guy, but he ordinarily knew his limit. Hell, he’d been drinking Jameson since his grandmother had made him his first hot toddy. He knew when to stop. So why hadn’t he, then? Jamie wondered, knowing the question was rhetorical.

He would have liked to blame it on the clear, cool night, the nocturnal sounds and lapping lake against the shore. Even better if he could have blamed it on boredom—he’d had nothing better to do than sit in the dark and get hammered.

But he knew better—he’d kept drinking because it had taken the edge off. The way Jamie had seen it, he’d had two choices. He could have either hiked back up the hill and finished what Moses had interrupted—and then some—or he could drink until he could master the urge.

While he hadn’t mastered it by any stretch of the imagination, he’d at least managed to keep his feet planted firmly on the front porch of his “relaxation” retreat. He smothered a snort. Hell, he’d been more relaxed behind enemy lines with rocket-powered grenades—RPG’s in soldier speak—going off in his shadow.

Jamie turned the shower off, slicked his hair back from his face and snagged a towel from the rack. Now, in approximately sixteen minutes, if his internal clock could be trusted, he was supposed to continue this
relaxing
retreat painting watercolors—with Audrey, no less, so that she could personally witness his complete ineptitude—down by the lake.

Satan had a familiar and his name was Garrett, Jamie thought, with a bark of dry laughter which made his head threaten to split in two.

He’d fully expected a call from the devil last night, but he suspected a divine hand had intervened. Because if Garrett had dialed him up yesterday evening, considering the alcohol pumping through his system, he would have most likely unloaded on him. Jamie had needed an outlet for all of this pent-up anxiety and since his preferred method of dealing with angst—sex, of course—was off-limits, that only left picking a fight. His cheeks puffed as he exhaled loudly. And since there was no one here he could reasonably pick a fight with—too bad Derrick had left, Jamie thought, wincing with regret—he’d had no choice but to drink.

The way he figured it, he was going to need a lot of alcohol to combat the attraction. If he factored in the time-to-attraction-to-alcohol ratio, then that meant he’d need an additional say…million bottles of whiskey to go with what he had left? If that didn’t work, he could always see about being chemically castrated for the week. His lips quirked with miserable humor. A man had to have a plan, after all.

Feeling decidedly uninterested in watercolors, but ridiculously pleased to know that he’d see Audrey, Jamie dressed quickly and made his way outside.

“Ah,” the object of his recent lust said. “There you are.” Looking fresh and well rested and entirely too sexy for a woman dressed in an ugly flannel shirt, Audrey gestured to a wide assortment of gear at her hiking-boot clad feet. “Would you mind helping me with this stuff?”

“Sure,” Jamie told her. He easily gathered a couple folding chairs and wooden easels into his arms, leaving her to tote a small bag he assumed held the rest of their painting necessities.

She shot him a curiously hesitant look. “Have you been up long?”

“A grand total of twenty-two minutes. Twenty of which were spent in the shower.”

She smiled and inclined her head. “Ah,” she sighed. “Slept well or barely slept?”

“Oh, I slept well.”

“Good. Did you have time for breakfast?”

“Er…does thinking about it count?”