Falling for the Guy Next Door (12 page)

“As to why you
insisted on going back to your place last night.” He didn’t wait
for her to launch into another round of excuses about convenience
and practicalities, which he clearly hadn’t bought into anyway.
“I’m off to the magic roundabout. I didn’t want to wake you, but
since you’re up, come with me?”

“Bunny
Island?” Her nose wrinkled in confusion. The roundabout was on the
outskirts of Wherrytown, and that was only eight miles down the
coast.

“I know.” His
grin turned sexy, churning a dimple into the mix. “But Frank
mentioned the place once and it sounds like fun.”

She’d been so
certain he’d leave today; a fact etched into stone and walled
around her heart. Now he was staying. A day longer? Maybe two?
Three? To have fun. And she was invited. “Jack, I don’t…I’m not
even dressed.”

“I’m not
running to a clock,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

A part of her
wanted to happy dance all the way to Bunny Island. A larger, more
sensible part understood that the tectonic plates of her world were
shifting and that could lead to earthquakes. Earthquakes shattered
walls.

She’d bartered
one last day for herself, one last time with him. She couldn’t take
another day with Jack without causing irreversible damage.

Did he not
understand?

She stood
there a moment more, drinking in the sight of him. He hooked his
thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, his gaze on her and his
grin never wavering.

Of course he
didn’t understand.

She’d gone out
of her way to make him see that she could do the casual dating,
hot-sex thing just as good as he could. She’d bludgeoned him over
the head with it and in the process completely forgotten about a
significant conversation from their past. She’d been teasing him
about his fast lifestyle and his response had carved a notch into
her heart. A woman’s body is an extension of the woman herself.
It’s not possible to be attracted to one without the other. He
never slept with a woman unless he enjoyed her company first and
one-night stands didn’t fit that profile.

Their previous
encounter had been the exception, and that hadn’t been
intentional.

“Five
minutes,” she called down, turning from the window to dash through
to her bedroom.

She pulled on
a pair of shorts, sneakers, a long-sleeved T-Shirt, scooped her
hair into a high ponytail and brushed her teeth, splashed water on
her face. With each task, her blood seemed to gather a little more
momentum in her veins, until the buzz forced her to stop. She
braced her hands on the edge of the basin and stared into the
mirror. “You’re racing toward a natural disaster.”

She couldn’t
do this.

She wasn’t
that much of a fool.

Bunny Island
was a large traffic roundabout on one of the quieter roads that led
inland from Wherrytown. Dense shrubbery and wild grass covered the
central hub and had been home to a colony of brown rabbits for as
long as anyone could recall.

The best time
to experience the magic of the roundabout was daybreak: you’d be
sure to spot a couple of bunnies frozen in the glare of your
headlights. Megan had once made her parents circle the island about
twenty times and she wasn’t above detouring past Wherrytown if she
happened to be out and about at dawn. But an actual outing to Bunny
Island was a first for her.

The ‘bag’
she’d seen Jack toss onto the backseat was a blanket that folded
into a carry-pack. They’d stopped for coffees and blueberry muffins
at a 24-hour service station. Jack had spread the blanket out on a
grassy knoll opposite the roundabout and was currently lying flat
in his stomach, fiddling with the camera he’d set up on a short
tripod.

Megan sipped
her coffee as her gaze washed over him. She’d tagged along with a
clear mission in mind. Find out how long Jack was staying, and why,
and erase any little misunderstandings. Yesterday was a once-off
and not to be repeated.

She just
wasn’t sure how to initiate that conversation, so she slanted a
cheeky smile his way instead. “So, this is your idea of showing a
girl a good time?”

“What?” He
gave her a wounded look. “You’re not having fun?”

“Oh, I’m
having fun.” Across the road, movement shook the bushes. “I’m just
not sure this is entirely legal.”

“I don’t see
any ‘Don’t stake out the bunnies’ sign.”

She brought
her gaze back to him. “You need headlights if you want to catch a
frozen bunny, you know. That’s why we generally drive around the
island,” she said, twirling her finger in a wide circle for
emphasis, “instead of picnicking on the side of the road.”

“A car will
come along eventually.”

“Hmm, that’s
what you said about mama seagull.” She finished her coffee and
crumpled the paper cup.

He rolled onto
his side, leaning on one arm and facing her. “You’re never going to
let me live that down.”

“The nest was
empty!”

“Which we
discovered after I risked life and limb scaling that cliff to get a
better view of the ledge.”

“The ledge was
seven feet off the ground, you idiot.” She popped the ball of
crumpled paper at him, aiming for the forehead. He smoothly raised
a hand to deflect the ball before it hit him. She pulled a face.
“My point is: sunrise waits for no man. You need a plan.”

“Such as?”

She pointed at
the Land Rover parked a little further down the road. “I could
drive a few laps around the island and you’d get all the photos you
want.”

His brow
arched. “You’re talking about engineering the scene?”

“Is that
cheating?” she asked, wondering if there was some or other
photographer’s code of honour he’d sworn an oath to.

“It’s
downright boring,” he said. “A part of the thrill lies in the
waiting for that perfect shot, the uncertainty, the surprise, and
sometimes, even, the disappointment when it doesn’t come.”

“So basically,
disappointment thrills you?”

He chuckled.
“It makes the successes that much sweeter.”

“If you say
so.” Megan wriggled down so she was lying on her back and stretched
her legs out, folding her arms beneath her head. “Lucky for you,
Wasting Time is my best buddy. I’ve been known to go an entire day
with nothing but the conversations in my head for company.”

“That’s one of
your most endearing qualities. Most people start fidgeting after
half an hour, or feel the need to chew my ear off to fill a
void.”

She blinked
and a shadow loomed over her.

He’d slid up
to her at a perpendicular angle, propped up on his elbows. “My
wildlife stakeouts were strictly a solitary affair until you came
along.”

Why did he
always look ten degrees sexier when he was saying things like that?
She felt her body soften beneath his gaze, melt in places that went
beyond physical desire.

“So, that’s
what you like best about me?” A smile tugged lazily at her lips.
“My ability to shut up?”

“Oh, I
wouldn’t say that.” His eyes went to her mouth and a moment later
his lips followed in a slow kiss that stole her breath and most of
her senses.

Common sense,
however, prevailed, and it told her she wasn’t strong enough to
survive much more of Jack’s loving without her heart cracking wide
open. She slid one arm from behind her head and pressed it to his
chest. “What are you doing?”

His eyes
creased into his grin. “After last night, I think you’ve memorised
my instruction manual back-to-front.”

“Oh, I know
how exactly how you work.” She gave a firm push, knocking his elbow
out from under him.
You leave.
“I don’t think we should take
this further. Yesterday was fun, but it wasn’t a beginning, it was
an ending.” She swallowed hard and forced her words to come out
evenly. “I think we should just be friends.”

He came back
up, muttering, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking
about you and me. And how it’s over.”

“Over?” he
growled, his expression one of disbelief. “What the hell happened
to burning through the passion?”

She had no
intention of going into the details with him, of baring her soul.
The best way to get him to listen, she realised, was to stop
waffling and get blunt.

“Been there.
Done that.” Pulling off her shrug of casual dismissal should have
won her an Oscar nomination at the very least. She looked into his
eyes, saw the confusion there, and almost relented. But one step
backward, she knew, would degenerate into a marathon. “Moving
on.”

His eyes
narrowed on her, his jaw clenched—no doubt on a choice of pretty
curses. Megan immediately saw her mistake. She’d interrupted him
mid-stride, messed with his pride. But she didn’t have the luxury
of waiting for him to end this his way, or even wondering why
hadn’t already done so.

The far off
rumble of an approaching car cut the silence building between them.
“That’s your ride,” she said.

“When you’re
ready to tell me what you’re so pissed off about, I’ll be here.” He
rolled back to his camera and glued his eyes to the lens. “This is
far from over.”

Megan flipped
onto her stomach and turned her eyes on the bunny action rippling
through the undergrowth of the traffic island. What was she
supposed to say now? It has to be, Jack, before I fall for you
completely, before you break my heart into so many pieces, I’ll
never recover.

The problem
was, that’s exactly what she should say. Nothing else would send
him scuttling faster, put the distance she needed between her and
temptation.

But she’d done
the humiliation thing last time round and she couldn’t, wouldn’t be
the wounded party left behind again.

This time, it
was her decision.

No
regrets.

“Jack,
yesterday was great. Last night was…” She gave a breathless
sigh.

His eyes
remained glued to the camera lens. “Not as amazing as it would have
been if you’d stayed,” he said gruffly.

The way Jack
spoke, the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her… He wrapped
her in his world with the kind of age-old promises that had never
needed words. But those promises came at the price of heartache and
one day, possibly tomorrow, she’d have to pay in full.

“Perhaps,” she
said softly. But she never could have spent the night, and wasn’t
that the point? Her and Jack, well, all they were good for was a
one-night stand. She couldn’t even sleep in his arms without
dreading the repercussions when she woke. How could they possibly
make anything else, even a brief affair, work?

Logic told her
everything was different from that night at Smugglers Inn. She’d
offered him no-strings-attached sex and he’d thought twice, and
then again, before accepting. The rest of her, however, still froze
as if she were the bunny and that memory the headlights.

J
anuary, earlier this year

The small
restaurant of Smugglers Inn had emptied out until there were only
two other tables occupied. The storm blowing in from the Atlantic
had picked up tempo within the last half hour, rattling the windows
in their ancient frames and rushing nervous diners through their
meal. Jack wasn’t too concerned. They only had a couple of miles to
drive home and he was in no hurry to end the evening.

Megan’s stare
was thoughtful, somewhat distant, as she swallowed a mouthful of
seafood pasta. His lips quirked in amusement he didn’t try to hide.
A frown creased her brow. His grin deepened.

“I’ve got it!”
Her eyes lit up, sparked with excitement and premature confidence.
Her fork clattered against porcelain as she pushed the bowl of
pasta aside. “Someone here in Corkscrew Bay…someone you know,
actually, is the granddaughter of a Duchess. Well, a Dowager
Duchess really.”

“Is that so?”
His gaze dipped to the fullness of her lips.

She folded her
arms on the table and leaned in to declare, “You’re shocked.”

“Mildly
surprised,” he countered, lifting his gaze. Her eyes narrowed on
him and he offered a compromise. “If I can’t guess the person in
question, then we’ll call it in at shocked.”

“Fair enough.”
She settled back in her chair.

“Obviously
it’s a woman,” he mused, concentrating on keeping his gaze from
sliding to that delicious mouth again. One taste and apparently he
was a slave.

“Obviously,”
she snorted, reaching for her glass of wine, which only had one sip
left in it.

“And someone
close to you.” He caught the proprietor’s eye and signalled the
burly man over.

“How do you
figure that?”

“You said it’s
someone I know.” That crossed everyone from the list except Frank
and the townsfolk he’d met through Megan. The frequency of his
visits to Corkscrew Bay had increased over the last year, but only
his uncle and Megan, always Megan, had been the draw and he never
stayed long enough—never had the inclination—to involve himself
outside their circle.

He glanced up
as the proprietor approached with the offer, “I’ve two rooms
available if you folks are of a mind to stay warm and dry.”

“Thanks, Liam,
but we’re fine,” Megan answered.

“An Irish
Coffee to warm our bones before we head out?” Jack asked her.

“Definitely.”
She turned her smile on Liam. “I’ll have mine with Kaluha instead
of whiskey.”

Liam gave them
a doubtful look. “The storm’s whipping itself into a right
frenzy.”

Megan laughed.
“We’ve seen worse.”

“So we have,”
Liam muttered sagely. “So we have.”

Once he’d
departed with their order, Jack moved them to one of the cosy
rawhide sofas crowded around an enormous hearth. Heat blazed from
the crackling logs and slowed his blood until he was seriously
reconsidering Liam’s offer.