Rev It Up (5 page)

Why, why, oh
why
does
the
lowdown, no-good cad
still
have
to
look
so
frickin’ good?

Couldn’t the universe have taken pity on her, for once, and let wonderboy get fat or go bald? Couldn’t it have allowed him to develop a rather tragic case of full-body psoriasis or fall victim to a series of odd facial tics?

No?

Damn
you, universe!

Of course, if he
had
acquired some strange affliction, bleeding heart that she was, it would’ve probably only softened her toward him.

And she couldn’t afford that.

Oh, no. She definitely could
not
afford that.

Taking a deep breath, reminding herself of the way he’d treated her four years ago, the way he’d treated all of them, she marched forward on knees threatening to give way with every step.

What she wanted to do was crawl into the nearest hole and hide until he went away again—and he
would
go away again; that’s what he did. But since that wasn’t an option, she mustered all the composure she could and blurted the first carefree-sounding thing she could think of.

“I see the years haven’t had any sort of positive effect on your fashion sense, Jake.” Her voice didn’t come out sounding as shaky as her gelatinous insides felt, thank God. She’d never be able to make another JELL-O mold again without thinking of this moment right here, right now, and the way her stomach was quivering inside her. “You’re still wearing those god-awful Hawaiian shirts like you’re auditioning to be the next Magnum PI.”

Although, with his shaggy mop of sun-bleached hair, Coppertone tan, and five o’clock shadow which, at the moment, looked more like the twelve o’clock version, he more closely resembled Josh Holloway.

Crap.

And
yes
, she’d watched each and every episode of
Lost
simply because of the resemblance between the two men…

Crap, crap, crap.

“Magnum PI! Ha!” Rock hooted with laughter, slapping his knee. “Good one, Shell.”

“Mmm,” Jake rubbed his chin, his beautiful, emerald green eyes sparkling with warm humor as he glanced down at the shirt she’d just insulted. The hideous thing was coupled with ratty jeans and a pair of dingy, leather flip-flops. A California surfer until the day he died.

And, man, he made it look good. Heaven help her…

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard two words more oxymoronic than fashion and sense,” he murmured, grinning.
Oh geez. There are those dimples
. “And dude” he added, glancing pointedly at Rock’s faded Green Day T-shirt, holey jeans, and scuffed alligator cowboy boots, “you’re not one to talk.”

“Okay,” Rock admitted, still chuckling, “so a couple of Giorgio Armanis we ain’t.”

“On that we can agree,” Jake said, clinking his beer bottle against Rock’s
.
And just like that, they seemed to fall into their old rhythm, the give-and-take. As if nothing had ever happened. As if he’d never crushed her soul and abandoned them all.

It was all so familiar and heartbreaking, her throat closed up like she’d swallowed the industrial-strength cleaner she liked to use on Franklin’s potty-training toilet. And then she couldn’t breathe at all when Jake winked at her in that flirtatious way he had before tilting his head back and sucking down a mouthful of suds.

She took the opportunity of his distraction to do two things. One, she tried to steady her thundering heart and drag in a much-needed lungful of air before she passed out. And two, she let her hungry gaze travel over his face.

There were webs of fine lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there four years ago, and a little crescent-shaped scar near his left temple. And even given all that, he still looked like he belonged on a billboard selling expensive shaving cream or designer cologne.

It wasn’t fair! Particularly when he dropped his chin, letting his bright eyes leisurely wander down her frame.

Her cheeks heated under his rather…
thorough
scrutiny as if she’d shoved her head in a four-hundred-degree oven.

And
now
she could breathe. She gulped in a mouthful of air like a drowning victim.

Ugh, stop looking at me!
she wanted to shout like a petulant five-year-old. Because, despite the fact that she sported the fuller breasts, wider hips, and slight roundness to her lower belly that no amount of crunches or yoga seemed to remedy—the physical badges of motherhood—he was still watching her the same way he’d always watched her. With affection and humor and sweet, burning
desire
in his eyes.

It made her remember things she thought she’d forgotten. It made her question her decision—

No. She’d given him chance after chance, and all he’d ever done was let her down. He was a rake and a wanderer, just like her dear ol’ dad, and instead of being mad about all of that, instead of slamming into him with vitriol like he deserved, like any
intelligent
woman would do, the only emotion she could seem to conjure up was sadness.

An intense and overwhelming sadness…

“You look more beautiful than ever, Shell,” he murmured appreciatively. “The years have been good to you.”

And how did he
do
that? How did he make her want to believe him?

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the optometrist?” she quipped, pushing back the urge to cry as she stopped beside Rock, bending to give the Cajun’s cheek a sisterly peck before accepting the chair Frank pulled out from around the unlit fire pit.

Okay, Shell, you’re doing good. Just keep up the mild banter so nobody guesses you’re slowly dying on the inside.

“My eyes are just fine,” he declared, the eyes in question flashing to her jean-clad legs when she sat and crossed them.

At least that was one body part that’d bounced back after her pregnancy. She was proud to admit, she still had a rockin’ good set of stems. Although, it wasn’t like he could
see
her rockin’ good set of stems, given they were covered in a tattered pair of jeans.

Okay, and
why
hadn’t she thought to change into something a little more fabulous than an old Texas A&M sweatshirt and this threadbare pair of Levi’s?

Oh yeah. Because she’d been scared out of her mind while walking out the front door of her town house, and all she’d been able to think about was getting this little reunion over and done with
double-time
, as her brother would say.

“
They
” said confronting one’s fears was the only way to conquer them? Well, in her opinion, “
they
” were all a bunch of idiots.

“Hey!” he declared, frowning when she leaned back in the chair. “The ragin’ Cajun gets the love, but I don’t? I haven’t seen you in nearly four years, woman. You better come here and put one on me.” He tapped a finger against his cheek.

And there he went again, regarding her with such genuine pleasure she almost began to wonder if she’d imagined the way he treated her. Then, a brief image of her waiting for him in the rain outside the base stabbed into her brain like a pickax and the harsh words he’d spoken rang in her ear like a death knell.

Stay
strong, Shell. Don’t let him see how much this hurts.

“Rock gets the love,” she grumbled, fighting the tears clogging her throat. That particular memory always evoked the same reaction in her, “because although I don’t know where he’s been recently, I’m pretty positive it was woefully short on friendly faces.
You
, on the other hand…” She gratefully accepted the cool glass of chardonnay Frank handed her. She sure as heckfire wasn’t going to say no to a little liquid courage right now. “…have probably spent the last couple of years with Alpha Platoon working your way through all the base bunnies you’d failed to sample during your stint with Bravo Platoon. And I’m sure they were
extremely
friendly.”

Instead of coming back with a snappy rebuttal as per usual, Jake’s jaw hardened to living stone, his eyes flashing in the low light of the covered courtyard.

Well, at least that took care of those dastardly dimples…

“Some things change, Shell,” he said quietly.

Her heart somersaulted at the solemnity, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on, in the tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” she stared at the scuffed toes of her sneakers, trying to ignore the nearly overwhelming desire to believe him. She was such a softhearted fool. “And then again, some things never do.”

A strained silence settled over the courtyard then, broken only by the sound of Rock’s boots clacking against the pavers when he pushed up from his chair to stroll over to the giant stainless steel grill. He lifted the lid in order to transfer a load of sizzling steaks onto a big platter, and Michelle absently watched him cover the plate with tinfoil before he plopped half a dozen fat bratwursts onto the grill.

All the while, she could feel Jake’s piercing gaze on her flushed face.

Yes, some things never change.

His effect on her body temperature being one of them…

“Woo-ee!” Rock exclaimed, adjusting his sweat-stained John Deere ball cap as he turned away from the grill and let his eyes ping back and forth between the two of them. “Y’all are making me nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room fool of rockin’ chairs. Why don’t you kids just kiss and make up? Let bygones be bygones and all that?”

Let bygones be bygones?

As
if
it
was
that
easy…

She glanced at Jake. Whatever odd tone she’d heard in his voice and whatever strange expression she’d glimpsed in his face vanished when he winked and once again tapped his cheek with a finger. “Yeah, Shell. Let’s let bygones be bygones. Get your fine fanny over here and lay those famous lips of yours on me.”

She knew she had no choice but to set her glass of chardonnay on the ground and push up from her chair.

With men like her brother and Jake, men trained to catch and analyze the smallest blip of human emotion, making a big deal out of one little peck on the cheek was tantamount to waving a pair of semaphore flags and yelling at the top of her lungs that she wasn’t unmoved by Jake’s sudden return.

She couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

So, surreptitiously taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and walked over to him. Hiding the trembling of her hands by lacing them behind her back, she bent at the waist, careful to keep any part of
her
body from touching any part of
his
body, and placed a perfunctory peck on his warm, rough cheek.

Something hard and painful unfurled in her chest as she sucked in the intangible mix of salty sea, warm sand, fresh laundry, and coconut suntan lotion.

Jake always smelled like a day at the beach.

“There, now,” Rock drawled, grinning. “One big happy family.”

Jake closed his eyes at the feel of Shell’s lush, warm lips, and sucked in the sweet scent of vanilla that always surrounded her in a soft cloud.

He remembered the first time he’d ever seen her, the day she’d gotten a job transfer from Texas to southern California, making her San Diego’s newest and brightest pharmaceuticals representative. He’d just pushed through the door of the Clover Bar and Grill when she launched herself into Boss’s arms and then preceded to break into a happy dance that’d had her dangerously curvy hips doing a shimmy-shake that immediately affected him below the belt.

He’d instantly realized three things…

One: She was, in a word, stunning. Or in surfer lingo: a babelini, a California dime, a perfect ten. That is, if most guys thought a perfect ten came in a size ten—which he most certainly did. Not only did she have one of those heart-shaped faces and an Angelina Jolie mouth complete with a little beauty mark, but she also possessed Amazonian princess height and a set of curves with enough kinetic oomph to give a big wave surfer heart palpitations.