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A Word With The Bachelor
Teresa Southwick
When opposites collide…the plot thickensWhen former Special Forces agent Jack Garner opens his door to Erin Riley, he makes two things clear: he won’t sleep with her, and he writes alone. Clearly, fame and fortune have done nothing to brighten this bestselling author’s brooding manner. But his second book is long overdue, and Erin is there to jumpstart his writing…if not his heart.Bright, chatty and positive, Erin is like a sunny day to Jack’s perpetual night. And even as she struggles to contain her sizzling attraction, she knows she can help Jack have a breakthrough. When the words finally start to flow, Jack starts to wonder if ‘once upon a time’ could become ‘happily ever after.' Now, that would be something worth writing about…


When opposites collide...the plot thickens
When former Special Forces agent Jack Garner opens his door to Erin Riley, he makes two things clear: he won’t sleep with her, and he writes alone. Clearly, fame and fortune have done nothing to brighten this bestselling author’s brooding manner. But his second book is long overdue, and Erin is there to jumpstart his writing...if not his heart.
Bright, chatty and positive, Erin is like a sunny day to Jack’s perpetual night. And even as she struggles to contain her sizzling attraction, she knows she can help Jack have a breakthrough. When the words finally start to flow, Jack starts to wonder if “once upon a time” could become “happily-ever-after.” Now, that would be something worth writing about...
“I’m a private person.”
“You used to be, but not anymore. Not since your book hit the bestseller lists and stayed there.”
“Drip, drip, drip,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“You’re like water on a rock, wearing it down.”
She lifted her chin. “I like to think that’s one of my best qualities.”
“It’s good.” Jack’s gaze dropped to her chest, and the glitter was back in his eyes. “But not your best.”
He didn’t miss much, so she was pretty sure he could tell that the pulse in her neck had just gone from normal to racing. There was only one way to interpret those words and that look. He moved closer and she held her breath, hoping that he was going to kiss her. Heat from his body warmed her skin when he stopped right in front of her.
* * *
The Bachelors of Blackwater Lake: They won’t be single for long!
Dear Reader (#ulink_77d540da-d9e4-5c66-9b64-5ce4c4d289cf),
Writing is a solitary profession, and finding the balance between work and play can sometimes be a challenge. Authors tend to lose themselves in a story and characters, and the catch-22 is getting out of that made-up world to the real one—where one experiences life, observes people and fills up the creative well. And when one doesn’t live alone, carving out the kind of space necessary for your imagination to run wild turns into a delicate dance. It requires both tact and toughness.
In A Word with the Bachelor, bestselling author Jack Garner has the toughness down to a T. It’s the tact part he needs to work on when book coach Erin Riley arrives on his isolated Blackwater Lake doorstep to jumpstart his Muse. Book number two is late, and the pretty, perky English teacher’s presence is the price he has to pay for a deadline extension. But he figures, like every other woman in his life, she’ll leave when the going gets rocky.
The only problem is Jack underestimates Erin’s determination to get the job done. She is the opposite of a pushover and her sunny disposition camouflages the steely resolve that sustained her through the loss of someone important to her. The ex-military lone wolf is not happy about sharing his space, and even more crabby when she tempts him to share his heart. And so the battle of wills is on!
The only thing more fun than writing books is creating a character who writes books. This story is close to my own heart and I hope you enjoy it.
Happy Reading!


A Word with the Bachelor
Teresa Southwick


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TERESA SOUTHWICK lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Mills & Boon.
To educators Andrea Verga Pascale and her husband, John Pascale.
The influence of a good teacher can never be erased and you guys are the best!
When I sit down to write, I’m so grateful to my former teachers for giving me the necessary tools to do what I love.
Never doubt that every student you meet is all the better for having had you in their life.
You touch the world. You teach!
Contents
Cover (#u860724fb-dbc4-5610-80a0-91c6430f47ff)
Back Cover Text (#u9c62694c-a04c-5b11-8a19-b5d6aba232c8)
Introduction (#u710ced4d-7556-5247-aeaf-adda919c6632)
Dear Reader (#ulink_65f80563-374a-5cc7-ad39-27be3e6970f8)
Title Page (#ufef48c68-7252-590a-915c-40260217b2e3)
About the Author (#ubef9e803-63cd-5b5f-b2fd-e30c531d80b9)
Dedication (#ud5e96781-05ee-5b4a-8ac3-62784e0f32ea)
Chapter One (#u2fee7c33-94f4-5619-9c09-c49a3505a561)
Chapter Two (#u36154efc-4dd6-562d-a49c-120185825d63)
Chapter Three (#u89e5a04a-d3f0-5fc3-aeec-7556256bfd44)
Chapter Four (#u1aabda12-84ac-5207-a574-70885743ef0b)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_56217b0c-ba7f-57ba-921e-54092c38e111)
She’d been warned that Jack Garner would be difficult but no one had prepared her for his overwhelming sex appeal.
If Erin Riley had known the author was more buff and better-looking than the guy on the cover of his action-adventure novel, she wasn’t sure she’d have taken this job as his book coach. Quite possibly she was in over her head. She’d already failed the first test by not researching the man she would be working for. He’d just answered her knock on his door and all she could do was stare.
“Are you selling something?” He glanced at her wheeled suitcase.
“No. Sorry.” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m Erin Riley. Cheryl Kavanagh sent me.”
“My editor.” His dark blue eyes narrowed. “Cut the crap.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re here to babysit me.” He glanced over his shoulder and called, “Harley!”
Moments later some black-and-white creature ran outside, stopped beside Jack and looked up adoringly. Erin could respect the feeling.
Jack closed the front door and proceeded down the three steps. “Walk.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant her, but left the suitcase on the porch and hurried after him. That’s when she realized the creature was without a doubt the ugliest dog she’d ever seen. It looked like a four-legged elf, a mythical being straight out of The Hobbit. The thing was small with a hairy head that didn’t look substantial enough to hold up the ginormous ears. Stick legs had tufts of fur by the paws and some kind of garment made of camouflage material covered the skinny, hairless body.
Fascination with the dog would have to wait. She moved quickly to catch up to the man. For him and his long legs it might be considered a walk, but she nearly had to jog to keep up. He was headed toward Blackwater Lake—the body of water from which this small town in Montana took its name.
“Mr. Garner—”
“Jack.”
She assumed that meant he was giving her permission to call him by his first name. “All right. Jack.”
They passed a building on the dock that said Blackwater Lake Marina and Bait Shop. Almost all of the slips in the natural bay were full, and held small boats and some that looked more luxurious and big enough to sleep on.
The scenery was nearly as breathtaking as trying to keep up with Jack. Dark blue lake water stretched ahead of her as far as the eye could see and bumped up against some impressive mountains. Overhead, the blue of the sky was only interrupted by wispy white clouds. It was quiet and serene, a place that on the surface looked to be a perfect writing environment. But if that was the case, she wouldn’t be here.
“So, Jack—”
“Harley, stand down.”
The small dog stopped chasing and barking at the little brown birds that had been pecking in the sketchy grass beside the lake. They took off and the homely animal instantly moved into step beside his human as ordered.
“Girl or boy?” she asked.
“What?” Jack gave her a wary sideways look.
“Is the dog male or female?”
“Male.”
“That’s unexpected.”
“Meaning?”
“I would never have figured a guy like you to have a dog like this.”
“Are you insulting my dog?”
Oh, boy. How did she put into words that she’d been profiling and figured a manly man like Jack Garner would have a big, burly guy dog. Pit bull. Rottweiler. Bulldog. The problem was the ugly little animal didn’t seem compatible with a man who’d spent a good number of years in the United States Army Special Forces Operations, Ranger Battalion. She only knew that from reading his book and the short bio in the back.
Finding the words was like trying to navigate a minefield. “I just... The two of you are—” She sighed.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing.” Aside from not being very attractive. Unlike his owner, who was so attractive her toes were curling. There were a lot of things she could say. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty is only skin deep. Don’t judge a book by its cover. She finally settled on a question. “Why did you pick him?”
“It’s classified.”
He could tell her, but he’d have to kill her? He looked like he wanted to do that anyway.
“Okay,” she said. “What kind of dog is he?”
“A Chinese crested.”
“I see. Sounds noble.” She knew very little about dogs.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Did she get points for not saying that? At least it was the segue she’d been waiting for. “Speaking of books—”
“Cheryl wants to know where mine is.” Anger and frustration were wrapped around the words.
“Look at it from her perspective. Your first book is incredibly successful. Even more amazing because there was no promotion.” He’d refused to do any. “Word-of-mouth has been unbelievably effective. And it’s been optioned for a movie. That’s an impressive springboard for a second book.”
“The manuscript is a little late,” he conceded.
“Nine months late. You could make a baby in that length of time.” Did she really just say that out loud? “Not judging,” she added.
The look he shot her was as black as his hair. In worn jeans and a faded olive-green T-shirt, his toned and muscular body was displayed to perfection. She’d read that it was instinctive for a woman to mate with a strong male who could protect her and any offspring she produced. Right this second her female instincts were going nuts.
“Meaning what?” His voice was low, just north of irritated, and creeping into superannoyed territory.
It was an alpha-male tone meant to intimidate, but if Erin let him get to her now, this book-coach thing was never going to work and she really wanted it to. She wanted to help. To do that, she had to stand up to him right now.
“Don’t play games, Jack. You know why I’m here. You’re late on your deadline and refuse to take your editor’s calls. Or your agent’s, for that matter. Everyone wants to build on the momentum of your phenomenally successful first book. Cheryl said you have the most raw talent of any writer she’s seen in a very long time. So, she sent me here to help you focus.”
“Why?”
“You know the answer to that question, but I’ll spell it out anyway. There’s a lot of money at stake. Millions,” she said. “Your editor is in your corner. She’ll do whatever she can.”
“No, I meant why you?”
He was asking for a resumé so she’d give him a verbal one. Harley walked over and started sniffing her so Erin stopped and bent to scratch his head. “My cousin is an editorial assistant at the publishing house and recommended me.”
“Why?”
“I have a master’s degree in English and literature. And I’ve taught high-school honors English, AP classes and community-college writing courses.”
“Why aren’t you in school now? It’s after Labor Day.”
“I’m a substitute. That means I can tell them when I’m available.” The arrangement had worked when her fiancé, Garrett, was terminally ill. The money was good and after his death a year and a half ago she hadn’t changed her status to full-time. “Do you know Corinne Carlisle?”
“No.”
“She’s one of Cheryl’s authors, a cozy mystery writer. This summer she was having trouble finishing her manuscript. Through my cousin I was hired to—”
“Babysit.”
“Focus her.” Erin had really enjoyed the job and wanted to do more. She and Garrett had talked about traveling the world, but he got sick and they never had the chance. Assignments like this let her go places she might not otherwise see and, if asked, she wanted to do more of this. “She was a delightful lady to work with.”
Harley stood still at his feet and Jack picked him up. It was automatic, instinctive, as if that was their rhythm. “I’m not delightful.”
“Harley might beg to differ.”
Under Jack’s big, gently stroking hand the unattractive animal looked to be in doggy heaven. Erin had the most erotic sensation, as if his hand was brushing over her bare skin. Shivers hopped, skipped and jumped down her spine.
“He’d be wrong.”
“Look, I was able to help Corinne finish her book. I can do the same for you. I’m good at research. I can critique and edit and brainstorm story ideas. And Cheryl strongly suggested that I make sure you eat three times a day. Your home is ideal for this arrangement with the separate upstairs and downstairs apartments.”
A good thing, too, because Blackwater Lake was small. There was a lodge close by, but it had been completely booked and there wouldn’t be more in the way of accommodations until the resort under construction was completed.
The look on Jack’s face showed a lot of regret and it was probably about the fact that he’d shared details of his duplex home with his editor. “My office is up. I live down.”
Erin was very aware that he was trying to scare her off but the technique was useless on her. Jack didn’t know that when you faced cancer with someone you cared about there wasn’t a lot left to be afraid of. “I won’t take up much room.”
With Harley in his arms he started walking back the way they’d come. “I got a message from Cheryl.”
“Oh?”
“If I want a deadline extension you’re the price I have to pay for it.”
“Great.”
“Not.” He stopped walking and stared at her.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want me here.”
“If I could fire you I would,” he confirmed.
“You could give back the advance.”
The glare he shot her almost made his eyes glow. “Abandoning the mission isn’t an option.”
She studied the brooding man. The sight of the dozing, completely trusting ugly little dog in his arms was so at odds with the hostile, confrontational image he was projecting to her. Somewhere inside him was a guy who’d chosen and was good to a small, homely animal. That was a man she wanted to know. And then there was the powerful, startling, confusing and off-putting attraction she’d felt from the moment he’d answered his door.
“I’m here to be of service.”
He stared at her and his mouth tightened. “We’re not sleeping together if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m sorry— What?”
Holy smokes! Her cheeks burned and it had nothing to do with the sun shining down from that big, blue sky. How did he know? She hadn’t exactly been thinking about sex, but close enough to be humiliated by what he’d said.
“I didn’t— I never—”
“I need to know if you can do this job and not look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you any way,” she protested.
He shook his head. “Your face is so easy to read.”
“No, it’s not.”
“And you’re a bad liar.” He looked closer. “Have you even been with a man?”
That question was getting awfully close to the one nerve she had left and she figured it was a deliberate attempt to get on it.
“Yes, I’ve been with a man.” She looked up and met his gaze. If she was really that easy to read he would see her defiance and determination. “I was engaged.”
“That’s need-to-know and I don’t need to.”
“Okay then. I guess we understand each other.”
* * *
Jack didn’t understand Little Miss Perky at all. In the less than twenty-four hours since her arrival he’d been nothing more than barely civil and yet she was still here. Like an eager puppy.
“So let’s talk about the book,” she said, putting a mug on his desk in front of him.
Jack looked at it and didn’t miss the fact that there was now a coaster for his cup that covered the circular coffee stain he’d grown fond of. That was kind of like shutting the barn door after the horse got out.
He leaned back in his cushy leather chair, a splurge from the unexpectedly astounding royalties on his first book, and met her gaze. “Let’s talk about my office instead.”
“What about it?”
He could actually see the oak top of his desk, whereas before only that circular spot had been visible. Pens, pencils, Post-its, a highlighter, et cetera, were...annoyingly organized. His mug with the army insignia on it that was for display purposes only was conspicuously full of writing implements. Yesterday, before she’d shown up, there were yellow legal pads scattered on the ratty chair and thrift-shop tables in this room and now they were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know where anything was.
“Things aren’t where I put them.”
“I tidied up. I was awake early and didn’t want to start breakfast too early in case you liked to sleep in.” She shrugged. “So I made myself useful.”
“In what universe? A man’s office is sacred ground.” The up and down apartments on the property were identical floor plans with two bedrooms and bathrooms. In addition to the isolation out here by the lake he’d liked the idea of separate spaces for work and living. Now Erin Riley had invaded both. Last night she’d slept upstairs in the spare room with unfettered access to his office. That was going to change. “I like my stuff out so I can find it.”
She sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, clearly not discouraged by his inhospitable reception and intending to dig in. “Understood.”
Jack squirmed a little, unable to shake the sensation that he’d drop-kicked a kitten. She was trying to do her job and he wasn’t making it easy. Because he didn’t want her here poking into things. All he needed was time to work through his creative speed bumps.
“If you want to be useful,” he said, “I need supplies. Like you said last night, there’s not much food here to work with.”
But she’d proved to be resourceful and managed to make dinner. With some eggs, a few vegetables and ground beef she’d whipped up a tasty skillet dish. This morning was grilled cheese sandwiches. When he’d reminded her it wasn’t lunch yet, she’d said his stomach didn’t know what time it was. As if he didn’t already know that. Special Forces training highlighted the need for nourishment to keep the body in tip-top working order and sometimes that meant making do with what was available. He’d just been messing with her because that sandwich tasted pretty darn good.
The thing was, her perky disposition never slipped. Like yesterday when he’d said he wouldn’t sleep with her, she’d calmly handled him. The only clue that he’d made her uncomfortable was the high color in her cheeks. Women weren’t top secret to him; he knew when one liked what she saw. And from the moment he’d answered the door to Erin Riley, she’d looked at him that way. If she could see inside him, she’d run in the opposite direction.
Maybe this attitude of his was a way of initiating her, like boot camp, to see if he could get her to crack. If so, that made him a son of a bitch and he felt a little guilt, but managed to ignore it. Her insertion into his life hadn’t been his idea. But like he’d said—he couldn’t fire her. All he could do was discourage her.
So far that was a negative on dissuasion. Her sunny disposition made him want to put on his shades. Looking at her was like coming out of a pitch-dark room into light so bright it made your eyes hurt. Even her shoulder-length brown hair had sunlit, cheerful streaks running through it. And flecks of gold brightened her pretty green eyes. She wasn’t extraordinarily beautiful, not like his ex-wife. But she was vulnerable, yet strong—a compelling combination somehow and he didn’t want to be compelled.
“Jack?”
Hearing her say his name snapped him back. “What?”
“Talking about your work-in-progress might get the creative juices flowing.”
“That’s not my process,” he said stubbornly.
“Okay.” She thought for a moment. “Then let’s talk about what your process is.”
“You’re like a pit bull.” Harley was in his bed beside the desk and he reached down to scratch the dog’s head. Instantly the animal rolled onto his back and Jack almost smiled. “Once you sink your teeth in you don’t let go.”
“Nice try.” Those flecks in her eyes darkened, making them more brown than green. She looked like a teacher who’d just figured out someone was attempting to pull a fast one. “You’re trying to deflect attention from yourself. Let’s get something straight, Jack. This isn’t about me.”
So that flanking maneuver didn’t work. Time for a contingency plan. “I have the situation under control.”
“Good. All you have to do is give Cheryl a firm date for manuscript delivery.”
He couldn’t exactly do that. “I’m still working out some plot details.”
“Okay. So let’s talk about that.”
“Look, Erin, my name and mine alone is on the front of the book. The content is my personal responsibility and I take that very seriously. I don’t write by committee.”
“Ah,” she said, as if just understanding something.
“What does that mean?” He was pretty sure his facial expression wasn’t easy to read, unlike hers.
“I had a similar conversation when I worked with Corinne Carlisle. She was uncomfortable in the beginning of our cooperative efforts. A clandestine collaboration, she called it. I thought that was a personal quirk of hers, or a chick thing.”
“It wasn’t?”
She shook her head. “I believe it’s a writer thing.”
“Call it what you want. I just prefer to work alone.”
His gaze was drawn to her legs when she crossed one over the other. The jeans she was wearing were a little loose and left too much to the imagination because he suspected the hidden curves would be well worth a look. Probably a good thing the denim wasn’t skintight. It would only be a distraction that he didn’t want or need.
“Alone.” She nodded her understanding of his statement. “I heard you were a loner.”
“Oh?”
“Cheryl explained the downside of this assignment. She made sure I knew that you don’t play well with others.”
The words hung in the air between them for several moments. Jack couldn’t tell whether or not that was a criticism. It really didn’t matter. On the upside, maybe she was finally getting the message.
“By definition a loner needs to be alone.”
“I understand.” Her tone was soothing, like a shrink would use, or a hostage negotiator.
“Don’t patronize me,” he said.
“I’m sorry you feel I’m doing that. It wasn’t my intention.” She stopped for a moment, thinking, as if to come up with the right words to make him understand. “I respect your commitment to responsibility in writing the book you want to write. But I have undertaken this assignment and Cheryl is expecting tangible results. I’m not backing down from the challenge of you. It’s best you accept that. So, we have to start somewhere.”
“And you think talking about the story is the way to go.”
“It worked for Corinne.” She folded her hands in her lap. “If you have a better idea that would be awesome.”
“Look, I appreciate your willingness and enthusiasm.” Although he could think of better uses for it. “But I write action-adventure. A woman like you has no frame of reference for that so talking is a complete waste of time.”
“I haven’t been in the military or gone to war if that’s what you’re saying. But I read extensively and go to the movies. I can help you dissect the plot. I have ideas and that can be helpful.”
He’d started his last book as a therapeutic exercise to work through all the crap life had thrown at him. Pulling that stuff up was like exposing his soul. Doing that with her just wasn’t going to happen. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want her to see the darkness inside him.
“Ideas?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the unnaturally tidy top of his desk. “You’re Pollyanna. No offense, but you can’t possibly have suggestions for what I write.”
“Really?” She sat up straighter in the chair, almost literally stiffening her spine.
“In my opinion, yes.”
“It’s hard to form an opinion without information and you don’t know anything about me if you truly believe I’ve had no life experiences.”
“So you were engaged. There was a proposal. Probably a ring. Not a big deal.” He saw something slip into her eyes but it didn’t stop him. He’d been engaged once, too, even took the next step and got married. It didn’t work out for a lot of reasons, but mostly he wasn’t very good at being a husband. “Since you used past tense I guess you broke up with him. Still not gritty—”
“He died. Whether it happens in a war zone or the home front, death is not pretty. It’s raw and painful. I think that qualifies as life experience.”
He studied her and realized his mission, real or invented, had been successful. He’d managed to put clouds in her eyes and make the sunshine disappear.
Damned if he didn’t want to undo what he’d just done.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b6bb9fb5-d013-5e50-bbc8-e66d81e9833f)
Erin sat in the passenger seat of Jack’s rugged jeep trying to figure him out. First he’d said he had no use for her, then later in the afternoon offered to take her into town. She had a long-term rental car from the airport and was prepared to shop on her own, but he’d insisted on driving. His excuse was that they might as well buy supplies together, but she had a sneaking suspicion there was another reason. One that would tarnish his tough-guy image.
“So, Jack,” she began, “I think your ogre act is just that. An act.”
He turned right onto Lakeview Drive, then gave her a quick, questioning look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You were all gruff and abrupt earlier. Patronizing me about a ring, a proposal and a broken engagement being the equivalent of a hangnail in the action-adventure world.”
“It is.” His profile could have been carved in stone on Mt. Rushmore. It was all sharp angles and hard lines.
“But when I corrected your assumption that I was shallow and typical by revealing that I lost someone close to me, I think you felt bad about jumping to conclusions and invited me to go shopping to make up for it.”
There was another glance in her direction before he returned his gaze to the road. “In the army I operated on gut instinct and never second-guessed my actions.”
“That was training for combat situations. In the regular world you replay a conversation and sometimes regret responses. It’s normal. You asked me to go shopping because you can’t take back what you said and are trying to be nice.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.” She adjusted her sunglasses. It was a beautiful day in late September and this road to town went around the lake. The surface of the water sparkled like diamonds as the sun sank lower in the cloudless blue sky. “The problem is that your nice muscles haven’t been stretched in a while.”
“You know what I think?”
“Not a clue,” she said, wishing she could see his eyes behind those too-sexy-for-words aviator sunglasses. “But I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“Damn straight.” He looked over, his mouth pulled into a straight line. “I think you’re a fugitive from fantasyland.”
That would be a step up for her after nursing Garrett through cancer and watching him take his last breath. “Oh?”
“I’m not a nice man. If you were smart, you’d ditch this job and get the hell out of here. Away from me.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“You think I’m fragile and I think you’re a fraud. So what we have here is a standoff.”
“Guess so,” he said. “Sooner or later one of us is going to blink and it won’t be me.”
“Sounds like a challenge or a treaty to me. Maybe both.” It was going to take a lot of convincing to make her believe he was as unfeeling as he wanted her to think he was.
“For the record, it makes good sense to coordinate shopping since you’ll be doing the cooking and don’t know what Harley likes.”
That made her smile. Big bad warrior was hiding behind the world’s most unattractive dog. But she just said, “Understood.”
“You hungry?” The words were unexpected, but they were nearing the Blackwater Lake city limits.
“Starving.”
“Me, too. Let’s get something to eat.” He glanced over quickly as if checking to see whether or not she’d noticed him being nice. “Grocery shopping will go easier that way.”
“I think so, too.” And that’s the first time they’d agreed on anything in the last twenty-four hours.
He stopped the jeep at a stand-alone building near the end of Main Street, not far from city hall. There was a sign on the outside that read Bar None, with crossed cocktail glasses on it.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “I’m driving you to drink.”
“You said it, not me.” But his teeth flashed in a fleeting smile before he got out of the car.
Erin opened her door and slid to the ground, then met him on the sidewalk. The wooden exterior was reminiscent of a miner’s shack and the heavy oak door had a vertical brass handle. Jack grabbed it and pulled the door open for her.
The pulse in her neck jumped as she passed him and walked inside. Heat from his body was enough to sizzle her senses and short them out. That was probably the reason it seemed to take longer than usual for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dim interior after being outside.
“This looks nice,” she finally said.
“It’s okay.”
Lining the walls were booths with leather seats and lantern-shaped lights. Dark beams ran the length of the ceiling and old wooden planks covered the floor. An oak bar with a brass footrail commanded the center of the room.
“Table or booth?”
She scanned the bistro tables scattered over the floor. “Where do you usually sit?”
“At the bar.”
She should have guessed and would have if she wasn’t standing so close to Jack. Worn jeans, gray hoodie over tight black T-shirt, scuffed boots. This was as much a uniform for him as the camouflage he’d no doubt worn in the military. He’d been so right about what she was thinking yesterday. Not so much about sleeping with him, although she’d gotten as far as wondering what he looked like naked. But she found him incredibly hot and was mortified that he’d been able to see that.
Now she needed to conceal the fact that her instantaneous attraction had not yet run its course, or she’d be risking losing this job.
“The bar it is.” She followed him across the room.
It was closing in on five o’clock and there were only a handful of people in the place. Jack headed for the bar and took a seat on one of the stools beside a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man in a khaki uniform.
“Hey, Sheriff,” he said. “I see you changed your mind about leaving town.”
The man smiled and held out his hand. “Good to see you. Been a while, Jack. If you came around more, you’d know that my dad retired and I’m now the head lawman in town.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Erin managed to haul herself up on the stool next to him. Her legs were short; the chairs were high. It wasn’t graceful. Jack looked at her then at the sheriff, but said nothing.
“Hi,” the man said to her. “Haven’t seen you around before.”
She reached an arm in front of Jack and shook the sheriff’s hand. “Erin Riley.”
“Will Fletcher,” he said.
A beautiful blue-eyed redhead walked over to them and stopped on the other side of the bar. “If it isn’t Blackwater Lake’s famous author.”
“Hi, Delanie.”
The woman looked from Jack to Erin and waited expectantly. Apparently she got tired of waiting because she asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“Erin Riley.” He rested his forearms on the bar. “And we’re not friends.”
“Nice to meet you, Erin.” Delanie stared at Jack. “So, if you’re not friends, what are you?”
The silence grew as all of them stared at Jack, waiting for clarification. He finally shrugged and said, “That’s a good question.”
Erin jumped in. “I’m his research assistant.”
“Okay, then. What can I get you two?” Delanie asked. “Food? Drinks?”
“I’d like to see a menu, please. And a glass of chardonnay would be lovely.”
“You got it.” The woman grabbed two plastic-covered sheets containing the food choices and set them in front of her and Jack. Then she opened a bottle of white wine and poured a glass, putting it on a napkin in front of Erin. “Beer, Jack?”
“The usual.”
“How long have you been in town?” Sheriff Fletcher asked.
“A day. So far I haven’t seen much except the lake and marina. And Main Street. But Blackwater Lake is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.”
“Where are you from?” Delanie used a rag to wipe nonexistent spots from the bar.
“Phoenix.” The bar owner and the sheriff were nodding as if that explained a lot. “Don’t judge. There’s a beauty in the Arizona desert, too, it’s just different. I actually haven’t done much traveling, though, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“So, you’re a research assistant?” Sitting at the bar, the sheriff leaned his forearms on the edge of the oak. “Is that a permanent arrangement?”
Erin looked at Jack and he didn’t seem inclined to answer so she was forced to wing it. “Not permanent. Just for the book in progress. I freelance and in between assignments I work as a substitute high school English teacher.”
“So you’re overqualified to read that menu,” Jack said.
She got his point. He was hungry and wanted to get this over with. After scanning the list of options she said, “I’d like a club sandwich and side salad.”
Jack never even looked at the choices. “Burger and fries.”
“Coming right up,” Delanie said, then disappeared in the back.
The sheriff stood and dropped some bills on the bar. “Good to see you, Jack. Don’t be a stranger. Welcome, Erin. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Blackwater Lake. It is a pretty place. Take it from me. I left for a lot of years, but couldn’t stay away. There are good people here.”
“I look forward to meeting them.”
“What’s your hurry, Sheriff?” Jack hadn’t been particularly social so the question was unexpected.
“I have paperwork to finish up at the office. Then I’m taking April out to dinner.”
“Is that your wife?” Erin asked.
“Fiancée.” Will Fletcher’s rugged features softened when he smiled. “But us getting married is long overdue. We’re making plans to rectify that. Can’t be soon enough for me.”
“Congratulations,” she said.
“Thanks. Good luck with the book, Jack.”
Erin had a feeling she was the one who needed luck helping Jack with the manuscript. His cooperation would be a good place to start. “He seems nice.”
“I suppose.”
“He said people are friendly. Have you met a lot of folks since you’ve been here?”
“No.”
“Have you made an effort?”
“No.”
“I’m going out on a limb here and say that everyone you’ve become acquainted with has been a customer here at Bar None.”
There was a challenge in his eyes when he met her gaze. “So?”
“Have you ever heard the saying that ‘no man is an island’? You have to reach out and meet people halfway. On top of that, writing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You have to fill up the creative well. That happens with experiences and to have those, being sociable helps.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good,” she said.
“And, Erin?”
“Yes?”
“It occurs to me that the armed forces of the United States don’t need to stockpile weapons. All the brass needs to do is turn you loose on the enemy to talk them to death.”
She wondered whether or not to be offended by that, then decided one of them needed to be an optimist. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
* * *
The morning after taking her to town, Jack went upstairs to his office, leaving Erin in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. She was a good cook. If his editor ever spoke to him again he’d have to thank her for that. The omelet, fruit, toast and coffee was the best morning meal he’d had in a long time. Whatever he threw together was maybe one step above the army’s MREs—meals ready to eat.
He turned on his laptop and opened the file “Mac Daniels,” which was the name of his ex-army ranger, Special Forces hero. After reading through the pages he’d written, he said, “This sucks.”
If the pages had been printed out, he’d have wadded them up and tossed the balls of paper across the room. They weren’t and he deleted them. Right now he’d take a black ops mission over this. But army rangers never quit and he was literally on borrowed time with this project. After he’d left the military and his wife left him, he’d been pretty sure that being a soldier was the only thing he was good at.
Then he wrote a bestselling novel and the publisher wanted the second book on the two-book contract he’d signed, but he was late turning it in. What if he was a one-hit wonder? Maybe he was only good at soldiering. If he had to throw in the towel on this book, that would prove he’d been right.
The sheriff’s words from yesterday drifted through his mind.
“Work in progress, my ass,” he mumbled. He didn’t need luck as much as inspiration.
There was a knock on the door and since he used the living room of the upstairs apartment for his office, technically the knock was on the office door. If he said nothing, would she go away?
Erin opened it and poked her head in. “Reporting for duty, sir.”
Nine on the dot. It was as if she was punching a time clock. Harley ran inside and settled in his bed next to the desk. Little traitor had been hanging out with her.
Instead of inspiration, what he got was another challenge. “I work alone.”
“Not any more” was what he expected out of her but that’s not what she said.
“Let’s talk about the book.” She moved in front of the desk.
It was exactly what she’d said yesterday. “I’m a writer, not a talker.”
A look crossed her face that said she’d noticed. “Tell me about the story. This is the sequel to High Value Target, so the hero is Mac Daniels.”
He nodded an answer, if only to prove that he was telling the truth about the writer-versus-talker thing.
She tilted her head and shiny, gold-streaked brown hair slid over her shoulder. “I’m curious. When you named this character, did you mean for it to rhyme with Jack Daniel’s, the whiskey? An inside joke? Or was it coincidence?”
Sharp girl, he thought. But the only answer he gave her was a small smile.
“Okay then. Moving on.” She settled a hip on the corner of the desk and met his gaze. “I read the first book. Mac was a reluctant hero and took down the bad guys. What is his goal in this book?”
Jack wanted to squirm and this is where Ranger training came in handy, other than a war zone, of course. He’d learned how to stay in one position without moving for hours. “Mac is trying to stay alive.”
“It’s a good goal.” She thought for a moment. “So who or what is standing in his way?”
“You mean who’s after him?”
“Is someone after him? If so, why?”
Jack was still working out those details. It was what he did. On his own. This was his work-in-progress. His office. And that reminded him. “Look, Erin, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Okay. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m not comfortable with this arrangement.”
“And I’m not leaving.” Her eyes flashed and her expression was locked and loaded on stubborn.
“No. I meant you bunking down up here.” With unfettered access to his office. On top of that, the whole place was now filled with the scent of sunlight and flowers. And...her. How was he supposed to concentrate when his work space smelled like a girl?
“If you’d like I can pitch a tent outside,” she said with more than a little sarcasm.
Jack wondered if that look on her face frightened the teenage boys in her English classes. It sure didn’t work on him. For over ten years his job had been about dealing with life-and-death conflicts. Erin Riley didn’t intimidate him at all.
“That won’t be necessary.” Although the idea was interesting, she didn’t look like an outdoors kind of woman. More a hotel-and-happy-hour type. When she’d shown up and made it clear she wasn’t leaving, he’d figured the spare room up here would be best. It wasn’t. “I’d like to move you into the spare room downstairs.”
“I don’t want to throw your routine off—”
“Too late.” He leaned back in his chair. “The thing is, if I want to work during the night, I wouldn’t want to wake you.”
“Whatever you want.”
Jack happened to be looking at her mouth when she said that and the words turned into something that was a very bad idea. “Okay, then. Your job is to move your things to the spare bedroom downstairs.”
“And afterward?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t have much. That won’t take very long. I’m here to assist. Tell me how to do that.”
Yesterday at Bar None she’d introduced herself as his research assistant. That gave him an idea. “You know, it would help if you looked some things up for me.”
“Great.” That put the splashes of gold back in her green eyes. “What?”
“Why don’t you go ahead and pack your stuff up and take it downstairs. I’ll have a list ready when you’re finished.”
“Okay.”
Erin disappeared down the hall but unfortunately the scent of her skin lingered in his work space. Later he would figure out how to man this place up again, but right now he had to do something to keep her busy and out of his hair.
Jack searched gold and diamonds on Google, figuring either one could put Mac Daniels’s life on the line. As he browsed, something caught his eye. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Say it with diamonds.
Erin came back into his office with her rolling suitcase and a bag she held in her hand. He had a sneaking suspicion that whatever made her smell so good was in the little one.
“I’ve got everything,” she said cheerfully.
“That didn’t take long.”
“Told you it wouldn’t.” She headed for the door.
“Do you need help with those bags?”
“No. You keep working. I’ll be back shortly to help.”
Jack waited for the door to close and noted that Harley stayed where he was in his bed. “Good move, buddy. Never bite the hand that feeds you.”
He typed in some more search words and scrolled through articles, information and sources for all the material. It was interesting stuff, not relevant to his writing, but she might get something out of the research. He printed out a list of topics then went back to his Mac Daniels file.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said to the blank screen, where his fictional character waited for a story. “You’ve been out of the military for a while and all you’re good at is war and training for it. In the first book an old girlfriend sucked you into using those skills. You can handle yourself in a fight because you’re trained to beat the crap out of bad guys. Now what?”
Except for the ex-girlfriend-rescue part that pretty much described himself, not Mac Daniels. Jack made a disgusted sound then leaned back in his chair. He was a piece of work, talking to himself. Well, not technically, since Harley was here, but too close for comfort. At least he knew his own flaws and keeping them to himself was the best way to control them.
There was a knock at the door then Erin poked her head in the room and smiled. “I’m back.”
“Like the Terminator,” he mumbled.
“I love that movie.”
“Really?” He pegged her as more of a romantic-comedy type.
“Yes. You know romance is at the heart of the story.”
“No pun intended.”
She smiled. “What woman wouldn’t want to hear, ‘I came across time for you, Sarah.’”
Jack had never met a woman he’d want to time-travel for. But that was the best segue he could have hoped for. He pulled the sheet from his printer and held it out. “Your research topics.”
“Right. I can’t wait to get started.” She took the paper and scanned it. To her credit, her perk factor only slipped a little.
The average person probably wouldn’t have noticed. Jack was surprised that he had.
Her gaze settled on his and the vivid green was back. “The fine art of romantic talk?”
“Dialogue.”
She glanced down at the paper. “A hundred and one ways to be romantic?”
“Mac spent a lot of time in a war zone.” He shrugged as if to say that explained all.
“Understanding the female mind?”
“If he ever wants to get lucky, Mac might need some help.”
There was a skeptical look on her face—she was suspicious and just a little annoyed. “These topics are important for an action-adventure book...why?”
Jack realized she’d already given him the answer to that question. “The Terminator effect.”
“As it happens, women don’t typically understand the male mind, either. I need more than that to connect the dots.”
“You said you like the movie because there’s a romance at the heart. It crosses genres and broadens the appeal.”
“And?” One eyebrow rose.
“Maybe if Mac has a relationship it could expand my readership to women.”
Her eyes narrowed and the I’ve-got-your-number look was back. “You don’t fool me, Jack.”
“I wasn’t trying to.” Did a half truth make something an out-and-out lie?
“Oh, please. This is you patting me on the head and telling me to run along.”
“Not true.”
“So in all of your own experience you’ve never sweet-talked a woman? Never made a romantic gesture? Or two?”
“Hard to say. I tried.” With his ex-wife. But he didn’t think she left him for lack of romance because she stayed for years while he went through numerous deployments. She left when he didn’t re-up with the army. “But does a guy really know if he hit it out of the park with a woman?”
“You really don’t know how to read people?”
“Hence the research for understanding the female mind,” he pointed out.
She made a show of folding the paper and sticking it in the pocket of her jeans. “I’ll do the research. But don’t for a second believe that I don’t know what you’re up to. This is all about keeping me at a distance.”
Jack didn’t get a chance to respond because she turned and walked out of his office. Just as well. He needed to get to work. And she was wrong about his goal. The phony research wasn’t to keep her at a distance, but to keep her in the dark about the fact that he didn’t have a story. With luck he could fix the problem before she figured out what was going on.
The good news was that it was now quiet enough to work. And the bad news was he had to put some words on that blank page. And, damn it, he could still smell the scent of her skin. That brought to mind images of her smile and the fact that as hard as he’d tried to make her, she wouldn’t back down from him.
Harley stood in his bed glancing from him to the door where Erin had exited. “Yeah, I know, buddy. I’m as surprised as you are that it’s not so bad having her around for a distraction.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_b2be42bf-e6c4-5d6f-8272-77d31cf0cfd2)
In her new room Erin lay on her back trying to get to sleep, but the sound of pacing upstairs was distracting. So much for not waking her if he couldn’t catch some z’s and decided to work. Hard to type when you weren’t sitting in front of a computer.
She was on the futon in the spare bedroom downstairs and it was surprisingly comfortable. That wasn’t to blame for her restlessness; that was Jack’s fault and not just on account of his walking back and forth, hitting that one squeaky board every time. Earlier he had opened the futon to make it flat and she’d been mesmerized by the play of muscles underneath the smooth material of his snug T-shirt.
Then she thought about one hundred and one ways to be romantic. Bring a woman flowers. Make her breakfast in bed. Surprise her with a B and B weekend. Picturing Jack doing any of those things made her smile. Forget romantic. He was barely civil.
A different sound caught her attention. The door to the upstairs apartment closed and heavy footsteps sounded on the outside stairway. Erin tensed, waiting to hear him come inside. She could feel him when he was nearby and every cell in her body seemed to say “notice me.” Which, of course, was never going to happen.
A few minutes passed and she still didn’t hear him come inside. Wide-awake now, she tossed the sheet aside and turned on the light. The room was pretty big but had no personality. Unpacked boxes were stacked on the opposite wall. A lamp sat on what looked like an apple crate turned on end.
Erin grabbed the lightweight summer robe that matched her white cotton nightgown and slipped her arms into it. She pulled the pink satin tie tight around her waist, then let herself out of the room. It was time to find out if there was anything wrong. Then maybe she could get to sleep. One needed all of one’s strength to deal with Jack Garner.
The house was dark and she felt for the hall switch to turn on the light. Brightness spilled into the empty living room. Cool air from outside washed over her and she realized that the front door was open. Looking through the screen, she saw Jack on the porch, staring out at the marina and Blackwater Lake beyond. She turned on the lights in the living room.
Barefoot, she walked outside and let the door close behind her. Between the lights and the screen door it was enough to guarantee he wouldn’t be startled. “Is everything all right, Jack?”
He didn’t flinch in surprise or bother to look over his shoulder for that matter. “Fine.”
“It’s late.” Duh.
“Not for me.”
She moved forward a couple of steps. Earlier when he’d asked her to move downstairs, she’d figured it was about keeping her away from his office space. The part about him working at night didn’t ring true, but apparently she’d been wrong. “So you’re up at night a lot?”
“Yeah.” He finally turned to look at her. “You learn to sleep light, one eye open, waiting for something to happen.”
“Doesn’t sound restful.”
“It’s not.” He slid his fingertips into the pockets of his worn jeans. “But you get used to functioning on little to no sleep.”
“I suppose.”
She could see a nearby full moon just above the dark silhouette of the mountains beyond the lake and there was a sky full of stars. The air was filled with the scent of pine and man, but she wasn’t sure which was more intoxicating. One hundred and two ways to be romantic, she thought.
“Okay, then. I just wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong.”
Before she could turn away, he asked, “Why aren’t you asleep?”
Now wasn’t that a valid question for which she had an embarrassment of answers. No way she’d confess to being distracted by his broad shoulders, muscular back and the romantic notions his research had stuck in her mind. And she didn’t want him to feel bad about pacing. This was his home and moving around at night might be his creative process. She also didn’t want to imply that moving downstairs had been a problem and make him feel guilty. But he’d already told her she was a bad liar.
So, she gave him the truth with a twist. “I was thinking.”
His mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “Why doesn’t it?”
“Because you’re the kind of woman who thinks too much. Shakes things up.”
“In a good way? Or bad?”
“Both,” he said.
She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the job she was sent here to do. That maybe he was hinting at something a little more personal. The thought made her heart race and she had to stop herself from pressing fingertips to the pounding pulse at the base of her throat. He’d know why and that would show him her vulnerability and give him more of an upper hand than he already had.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” Oh, dear God, that was no better and she desperately wanted the words back.
“Oh?”
She saw the gleam in his eyes and felt a shiver clear to her bare toes. “Now that I have your attention—” She drew in a breath. “What I meant was, I’ve been thinking about what the military must have been like.”
“Civilians don’t have a clue.”
“You’re right, of course. But there are basics. You’re expected to follow orders.”
“From a commanding officer,” he pointed out.
“Right. I’m not giving orders. But I was getting at the discipline factor. You’re told where to go, when to report for duty and what job to do.”
“Chain of command is followed,” he admitted. “If not there would be chaos in the ranks.”
“In civilian life we call it a schedule.”
The look on his face said he was bracing himself for whatever she had in mind. “What’s your point?”
“A schedule.”
He moved his shoulders as if they’d tensed up, then stared at her for several moments. “Oh, you mean me.”
“Actually I mean both of us.” She curled her toes into the wooden porch. “You had discipline in the military and it would behoove you to establish that in your writing life.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Who says behoove in actual conversation?”
“An English teacher.”
“Right.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What did you have in mind?”
“Breakfast first. Your mind and body need fuel.” She had not expected him to be even this receptive. “Then we meet in your office for a...let’s call it a status meeting. We discuss what you’re going to work on and you can give me a list of research topics for anything necessary for the story. Think of it as punching a time clock.”
“Don’t tell me. This status meeting would be at nine in the morning.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
“So, what do you think of the idea?”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked.
“Of course. This needs to work for you. It’s all about fine-tuning your process. You’re the author.” She watched him watch her, his gaze flicking over her body, and wished she was wearing jeans and a big, bulky sweatshirt. A thin cotton nightgown and matching robe came under the heading of Didn’t Think It Through. Where was a girl’s body armor when she really needed it? “Sometimes it’s just about putting your butt in the chair. Sheer boredom will force you into doing something.”
“Doing something—” His voice was husky, deeper than normal.
Erin sensed tension in him but had a feeling it wasn’t about her suggestions for his work schedule. “Anyway, that’s what I was thinking about. Give it some thought and let me know in the morning—”
“Okay.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Permission granted. We’ll try it your way.”
“That’s great, Jack.” She was oddly happy that he’d actually listened to her. “Thank you for meeting me halfway on this.”
“This isn’t halfway,” he said, staring at her. “It’s damn near all the way.”
“What? I don’t understand—”
“For the record, it’s not fair to dress like that when you’re asking for something.” There was a ragged edge to his voice and his gaze never left her.
“There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.” That was sheer bravado since moments ago she’d wished for body armor. Then she looked down at the eyelet cotton robe with pink accents and her cheeks suddenly burned with mortification. She realized that with the light behind her, the material was nearly transparent. “Oh, God—”
“Yeah.” A muscle jerked in his jaw.
Erin’s knees got weak and that was a first. No man had ever made her weak in the knees before. “I’m going in now. You should get some sleep.”
“Right.”
There was a mother lode of sarcasm in the single word, yet she felt it like a caress that touched her everywhere. The look in his eyes sharpened her senses and she tingled in places that might not have ever tingled before.
“Good night, Jack.” She tried to make her voice decisive, authoritative, unwavering, but was afraid the words came out weak, wishy-washy and just the tiniest bit wanton.
With all the dignity she could muster, Erin backed up to the door then quickly turned and opened it. She went to her room and shut herself in, then sagged against the door.
“What just happened?” she whispered.
There had been a moment. She was sure of it. Until just a few minutes ago, no man had ever looked at her as if he wanted her more than his next breath. Not even the man she’d taken an engagement ring from. But Jack Garner did.
She didn’t know whether to high-five herself or crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Then an even more off-putting thought struck her. Was that the way she’d looked at him when they first met? When he’d said they weren’t sleeping together as if that’s what she’d been thinking.
How was she going to face him tomorrow morning?
* * *
Jack sat across from Erin at the kitchen table and finished his omelet. It was becoming clear that she was very good at making them. Spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms and cheese—he couldn’t say he’d ever had a better one. The eggs were fluffy and filling. The company...not so much. Since he’d come downstairs for breakfast, the cook had barely looked at him.
Barely was most probably the reason why.
She’d been practically naked on the porch last night and his gut still hurt from the effort it took to keep his hands to himself. The high color in her cheeks was a clue that she was still embarrassed about it. She’d admitted to having a long-term relationship, but there was an innocence about her that was inconvenient. Since coming downstairs for breakfast he hadn’t done anything except eat. There had been nothing to take the edge off the tension. If he left it alone and let her feel uncomfortable, maybe she would take off back where she came from.
He sneaked a look and there was something sweet and vulnerable about her that made him feel like a buffalo at a tea party. Damn it. Probably he was going to regret this, but...
“Breakfast was good.” There, silence broken.
Erin stopped pushing the food around her plate without eating it and looked at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Coffee’s good, too.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it. Some guys think vegetable omelets aren’t very...well, masculine.”
“What guy?”
“My fiancé.”
Jack bit his tongue to keep from saying this fiancé was an idiot. Not only was it bad to speak ill of the dead, but a remark like that would also undermine what he was trying to do in erasing her embarrassment. All he said was “His loss.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Jack.”
“Not really. I’m not a nice guy. It’s just the truth.”
Whatever else he was, wasn’t, or had done, he always tried to be honest. Mostly he was successful, but probably not always. “You’re a good cook.”
“It’s just something I like to do. Guess that’s half the battle. When I was a little girl, I stayed with my grandmother a lot because my mom worked. Grammy let me help when she cooked or baked. I got to roll out dough, cut out cookies and help make soup.” There was a faraway look in her eyes and the corners of her mouth curved up in a small smile. “Those are good memories.”
“I never knew my grandmother.” Now, why the hell had he said that?
“Singular? You only had one parent?”
He looked at her for a long moment, kicking himself for going soft and letting that out. It was too much to hope she’d miss the slipup. “Obviously at a certain point I had a father, but he was nothing more than a sperm donor.”
“You never met him?”
The pity in her eyes made him want to put his fist through a wall. “She always said he was a magician. When he heard my mother say the word pregnant, he made himself disappear.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s a first. But if you feel compelled to comment, just don’t say you’re sorry. I never needed him.” Jack learned a code of honor in the military and did his best to be honest, but that statement closed in on the line that separated truth from deceit.
“You are many things, Jack, but I would never describe you as someone to be pitied.” Then she pointed a warning finger at him. “And don’t tell me I’m patronizing you because I’m not doing that.”
Since that’s exactly what he’d been about to say, he almost smiled but caught himself just in time. That was annoying, one more way she tempted him. Enough of this. After pushing his chair back from the table, he said, “I have to get to work.”
She glanced at the funky pink princess watch on her wrist. “Oh, wow. It’s getting late.”
Only if one was on a schedule, which he’d agreed to in a weak moment when he’d been unable to look away from her practically naked body. “Yeah. It’s closing right in on nine.”
“I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Jack knew he should offer to help but this time was able to hold back the words. Washing dishes with her was domestic and he didn’t do domestic. Not anymore.
Without another word he walked to the front door and Harley followed from wherever he’d been dozing. They went out onto the porch then up the stairs to his office.
Jack sat down in the chair behind his desk and looked at the blank computer monitor for a while. He patted his leg and said, “Harley, up.”
The dog did as ordered then made a circle before settling on Jack’s lap. He scratched the animal’s hairless back and hoped the mindless activity would stimulate something creative or useful. Ten minutes later he still had nothing.
There was a knock on his office door before Erin stuck her head inside. “Rough commute. Am I late?”
If only. “Nine o’clock on the nose.” Damn it.
She took a seat in front of the desk. “Okay, let the status meeting begin. Where are you in the book?”
“Where am I?” he repeated. Harley chose that moment to desert him and jump down and pad over to her. “Well, let me think. That’s kind of hard to say.”
“Yeah. I can see where it would be. Why don’t you start by telling me what you have so far.”
“What I have... Let’s see.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers over his abdomen. “Wow. Where do I begin...?”
Really, he wanted to say. Where? Did he open the story with unknown assailants ambushing Mac and leaving him for dead? Or with a mysterious stranger who contacts him for help because word of his exploits in rescuing the ex-girlfriend’s kidnapped kid from a vicious drug cartel had spread? The best first line would be something like “The pretty, green-eyed woman with sun-streaked brown hair smiled seductively before telling him to forget the book and take her to bed.”
Erin waited patiently for him to speak. When the silence drifted into awkward territory she said, “You know, Corinne Carlisle had a hard time talking about her story, too. It could be an author thing because you’re more comfortable with the written word than the spoken one.”
Helpful of her to gift-wrap an excuse for him. “Yeah, I think you just nailed it.”
“Are you a pantser or a plotter?” she asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you write by the seat of your pants? Or do you know every detail ahead of time when you sit down at the computer?”
Right this minute he wished to be a plotter but was pretty sure the first one described him best. “That’s really hard to say.”
“Okay.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Then let’s talk about your characters.”
Oh, boy. He could really use an interruption about now. A phone call, package delivery, or a little rocket attack. “The thing is, I don’t have all the characters set in stone yet. Still trying to flesh them out.”
“You have Mac,” she pointed out.
Good old Mac. “I do have him.”
“What’s happened to him in the time since we left him at the end of book one?”
“That’s a good question. I’m glad you asked.” Not.
She waited for him to elaborate. So it was safe to say she wasn’t an interrupter. Boy, did he wish she was.
“So,” Jack said. “He’s been kicking around.”
“In Los Angeles? Or has he gone to Dallas, Topeka, or Micronesia?” The perky, trying-to-be-helpful tone was missing in action from her voice.
“He hasn’t moved.” And that was Jack’s fault because he hadn’t moved his main character.
“In the last book he had just left the army and had no plan for his life before being pulled into that case involving his dead buddy’s younger brother, who was married to his ex-girlfriend.”
“Yeah.” Funny how the no-plan-for-his-life part sounded a lot like Jack.
“How is he supporting himself?”
“Odd jobs. This and that.” And in a military operation when you wanted to avoid direct confrontation with an enemy that had superior firepower, a good soldier created a diversion. He took a piece of paper from the printer tray beside him. “I put together some things for you to research.”
Erin’s eyes narrowed as she took it from him, then scanned the list. “Meteors? Dinosaurs?” She met his gaze. “You probably already know that Jurassic Park has been done.” She looked down again. “Jet Skis?”
“All things I’m considering incorporating into the story.”
With careful, precise movements she folded the single sheet several times before slicing him with a look. “What’s going on, Jack?”
“I need you to look stuff up.”
“No, you don’t. You’re trying to distract me and it’s time for you to cut the crap.”
“Is that any way to talk to your employer?”
“Technically I work for the publishing house, specifically your editor. So, yeah, it’s a very good way to address a man who is not forthcoming.”
“What makes you think something’s going on?” Besides the fact that he kept dodging her direct questions?
“Classic avoidance. And to quote Shakespeare—‘let me count the ways.’” She held up her fingers. “You won’t talk about the story, characters or what your hero has been doing. I’m pretty sure that means you have no idea. And every time I push for information, you come up with a distraction. Some ridiculous research stuff that has nothing to do with your genre. One hundred and one ways to be romantic—really, Jack? You even threw me out of my room and kicked me downstairs.” She took a breath. “So call me paranoid and neurotic—”
“Don’t forget punctual,” he added helpfully.
“—but I’m suspicious,” she continued without missing a beat after his interjection. “Your editor would welcome an outline of the project. Not details, necessarily, just the beginning, middle and end of the story. Possibly a one-line characterization of the hero.”
Jack met her gaze, stare for stare. Her perky, cheerful interrogation might have given him a sense of her being a pushover. Now he saw the error of that assumption. She was sunshine and steel.
Still, he couldn’t resist trying one more time. “There’s nothing to be suspicious about. I’m in the process of pulling all the threads together.”
“Then let me see your pages.” She suddenly stood and moved around the desk to look at his computer monitor. “It’s not even turned on.”
“That’s easy to rectify.”
“Okay. Let me see the work you’ve done so far.”
This time Jack did squirm, and Harley had disappeared down the hall so there was no way to keep Erin from noticing. “The work needs editing—”
She held up a hand. “There’s something wrong and I want to know what it is. I’m here to help you finish this manuscript and I can’t if you’re hiding something.”
Her relentless questions were like water dripping on a stone, wearing away the outer protection. Jack was at a crossroads. He knew what it looked like because he’d seen it before in the heat of battle when there was no wiggle room left. Almost always a course of action revealed itself and this situation was no different. Her counteroffensive left him no choice. He had to tell the truth or lie to her and he couldn’t do that.
“So quit stalling and turn on the monitor, Jack. Let me see your work.”
“I haven’t started it.”
“Of course not today. The laptop isn’t even on yet. I want to see what you’ve got so far,” she stressed.
“You don’t understand.” He met her gaze.
“Then enlighten me.”
“I have nothing. There is no book.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_823dfb4d-2882-5ae3-9429-2e88d201081e)
Erin blinked several times, letting the words sink in, while slowly lowering herself into the chair. “What do you mean there’s no book? What do you do up here all day?”
“I write pages. Every single day. Then I delete them because they’re all crap.”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The chant went through her mind as she desperately tried to think of something helpful to say. “Is everything deleted?”
“I have about twenty pages.”
“Let me see them.” Was her voice even and unemotional? She hoped it didn’t show the panic that was slowly creeping in as the magnitude of this situation became clear.
Jack turned on the computer and pulled up a file, then hit the print button. When the last page came out he handed them to her.
Erin started reading and with the turn of every page her heart sank a little more. There was nothing wrong with the writing and there was a wry, masculine voice to the work, but it was all internal dialogue from Mac Daniels’s point of view. Nothing particularly exciting was going on. Quite frankly there was a very high boredom factor but no way could she tell him that. His instincts, however, were right about the quality of these pages.
She looked up and met his gaze. “I have to agree with you. This isn’t your best work.”
“Since you showed up we’ve disagreed on almost everything. I was hoping that streak would continue.” His mouth pulled tight for a moment, then he rubbed Harley’s head when the dog jumped back into his lap and looked at him. The animal apparently felt his tension. “So you think it’s crap, too.”
“I didn’t say that. Don’t panic.”
Jack looked the opposite of panicked—cool, calm collected. And she needed to be that way, too. This was why she was here. But she needed to think.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Instantly Harley jumped off Jack’s lap and began to whine. “Now you’ve done it.”
“What?”
“You said the w word. If you’re not prepared to take him it’s best to spell. W-a-l-k.” There was amusement in his eyes. “There’s very little he likes better. Except maybe raw hamburger. But the w is in his top two.”
“Sorry. I won’t make that mistake again.” She headed for the door, wincing at the sounds of doggy protest behind her.
After going outside, the yelping got worse as she hurried down the stairs. Moments later she heard the door open and in seconds the dog was happily dancing at her feet. He ran several yards away then came back, repeating the exercise several more times.
“You’re not subtle, Harley.” She looked at Jack, who’d come up beside her. “Neither are you.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Miss Riley.”
Instead of rising to the bait, she decided to comment on the fact that it wasn’t his usual time to walk and he’d given in to Harley. “You know you’re spoiling that dog.”
He met her gaze and shrugged. He was either avoiding work or didn’t care. “Harley, walk.”
Jack started after the dog, who instantly ran down the path that skirted the lake. She stared at his back, the man’s, admiring his broad shoulders and muscular back that tapered to a trim waist and really nice butt, wrapped with just the perfect amount of snugness in worn denim. How the heck had those two hijacked her walk?
She could go in the opposite direction but since the whole purpose of her being here was to get his book finished, probably talking to him would be a good idea. Even though she was furious.
His long legs had chewed up a fair amount of distance by the time she’d made up her mind and she hurried to catch up. When that happened, she fell into step beside him. Her mind was spinning from his revelation and she needed to organize her thoughts. If she’d been alone that wouldn’t be a challenge, but the manly scent of his skin combined with the smell of pine effectively made thinking difficult.
Apparently Jack didn’t have any thoughts to organize because after a few moments he said, “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
“I didn’t think you paid enough attention to me to know what’s characteristic for me.”
“In the army you learn pretty fast that paying attention to your surroundings means survival.”
“And you see me as a threat to that?” She was being petulant. He could just sue her.
“Not my personal safety, no.”
“Then you think your way of life is at risk by my being here? You’re wrong, Jack. I’m only trying to help you.” As they walked she met his gaze and tripped over the uneven ground. Instantly he grabbed her arm to steady her. Being touched by him easily scattered the few thoughts she’d managed to gather. She mumbled under her breath, “Pigheaded...stubborn—”
“Harley—” At his voice, the dog turned and headed back. “I heard that.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“Let me take a wild guess. You’re mad.”
“Give the man a prize.” She refused to look at him and only heard the surprise in his voice. “I am so ticked off. You have wasted so much time. Why in the world didn’t you say something when I first got here? When I tried to have a conversation about what was going on? You had numerous opportunities to come clean, yet you shut me out. Why?”
When Harley sniffed at his boots, Jack squatted down and rubbed his head. He looked up and said, “Because I’m used to being the guy who’s inserted into a hot zone to fix whatever is wrong.”
Holding her breath, Erin waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she figured that was as close as he’d get to admitting he wasn’t used to needing or asking for help. She sensed he almost never did it and the fact that he had took all the irritation out of her. Or maybe she was just a pushover because of her acute attraction to him, but that didn’t change anything. There was a problem and they had to find a way to fix it.
“Okay, we know you can write a successful book. You wrote a bestseller.” She knew she’d hit a nerve when his jaw tensed and a muscle jerked. “There’s no reason you can’t do it again.”
“Says who? Maybe I only had one book in me.” He watched Harley sniff the side of the path then pick up a stick, which he dropped at Jack’s feet. He picked it up and threw it as far as he could.
“Your creativity just needs a jump start.”
He tilted his head and looked at her. “What happened to if you stared at a blank screen long enough you’ll get bored and write something on it?”
“I did say that.” She thought for a moment. “But it helps if you know what you’re going to write.”
He snorted. “Are you going to give me the pantsers-and-plotters speech again?”
“That was a definition, not a speech. But I’ll remind you what I said about talking out the plot. Discussing the hero’s goals. His mind-set since we last saw him.”
“Any thoughts on that?” He all but growled those words, as if his asking-for-assistance muscles were rusty.
“Yes. But feel free to tell me I’m full of it. The point is to toss out ideas and see what feels right in your gut.” She slid her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans. “Mac had no emotional growth in the first book because he went into fight-or-flight mode almost right away.”
“So he’s still aimless.”
“Right. Unless he’s independently wealthy, he has to have been thinking about what he’ll do to support himself since leaving the military.” Her mind was spinning. “Come to think of it, we don’t really know why he left. He was a career soldier and his reasoning could be explored in this book.”
Jack nodded absently. “Yeah.”
That was encouraging, she thought. An affirmative instead of sarcasm. She dipped her toe in a little further. “When we get back, it might help to just talk it through and you could take notes. Or record the conversation if you’d rather. Instead of jumping straight into the writing, you can figure out the inciting incident that sets the story in motion, then some loose turning points as a structure for the story.”
“And tomorrow there will still be a blank screen.”
“Give yourself permission to write badly,” she suggested.
His look was wry. “Yeah, because that’s what I learned in the army. Permission to be a screwup, sir.”
“Maybe it sounds crazy, but you might find it surprisingly freeing.”
“And that’s supposed to be creative?” he asked skeptically.
“Won’t know unless you try.” She thought for a moment. “Some authors start their day by jotting down stream-of-consciousness writing.”
“You mean gibberish?”
“Probably not something you’d publish,” she admitted.
“Then I guess you could say I’ve already done that. The pages you read are unpublishable and probably fall into the stream-of-consciousness category,” he said sarcastically.
“That’s not what I meant. You just write whatever pops into your mind,” she explained.
“Sounds like a waste of time if you ask me.”
“It’s just an exercise.”
Erin glanced up at him and felt a little flutter around her heart, the one that made it hard to take a deep breath. The way his biceps strained against the material of his black T-shirt made her want to touch and find out for herself what they felt like.
It was obvious that Jack was in excellent physical condition, which meant he’d retained habits from his time in the army that kept him in shape. She knew he ran three or four times a week. There was workout equipment in the upstairs bedroom. One didn’t just jump into a fitness regime. Maybe she could explain this to him in a relatable way.
“What do you do before a run?” she asked.
His gaze narrowed on her. “Why?”
“Bear with me. I have a point.” Their shoulders brushed as they walked. Personally she was glad the bushes and trees around them weren’t tinder-dry because the sparks would have ignited them. She drew in a breath. “What’s your preexercise routine?”
“I stretch out. Warm up.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at her as if she had a snake draped around her neck. “I thought you had a point.”
“Stream-of-consciousness writing is like stretching your muscles for work.”
“Shouldn’t I put that energy into something productive?”
“The point is to not think about work. Free your mind and let the ideas flow.”
His expression was still skeptical, but he asked, “What should I write about?”
“Like I said. Anything that pops into your mind.”
Jack looked down at the dog, who had thrown himself on the ground at his feet. Automatically he picked up the animal and rubbed his hand over the hairless back. “I still say it’s a waste of time.”
This man was results-driven. He’d spent over a decade in an organized, mission-oriented environment. The creative process was the polar opposite. But if she could give him a focus, he might be more inclined to give it a try.
As they headed back to the house, she watched him with the dog. His protectiveness with the animal. The way he automatically picked up Harley when he got tired. Jack had done the same thing that first day when she’d arrived. There was a bond between the two and that homely little creature might just be what he cared about most in this world.
“Write about Harley,” she suggested.
“What?”
“Stream-of-consciousness warm-up exercises. Think about your dog and jot down whatever comes into your mind.”
With the dog curled happily in his arms, Jack stared at her for several moments. She wondered how it would feel to be safely tucked against his wide chest, wrapped in his strong arms.
Then he shook his head. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”
About you, she thought.
For a moment Erin was afraid she’d said that out loud. Fortunately, the words stayed in her head, where they belonged. He already knew she was attracted to him. If she confirmed it he would say I told you so and send her packing.
* * *
Erin didn’t want to get out of bed after a lousy night without much sleep. And that was all Jack’s fault. He was a bundle of contrasts. Gruff and argumentative with her; tender and protective of his unattractive pet. He measured out a quarter cup of organic chicken or grass-fed beef for Harley’s meals! He was a really off-putting combination of macho and mush.
And she knew very little about him. Was there a girlfriend? Wife? But those questions fell into personal territory, which technically made it not her business. And don’t even get her started on the geographical situation here. Last night she’d heard him pacing like a predatory tiger.
Back and forth. Back and forth. At least an hour. Maybe more.
Then it got quiet and she’d waited for him to come downstairs to bed. That kept her tense and wide-eyed for a long time. Her body tingled and her skin was hot whenever he was in the master bedroom just across the hall from where she slept. She would challenge anyone to try sleeping when every nerve ending was sparking like a live electrical wire.
After starting a reread of his bestselling book, she finally fell asleep sometime after one o’clock. Now it was six in the morning. Soon she’d need to start breakfast, then meet Jack at nine in his office. If she hauled her hiney out of bed there was just enough time to get in some yoga. Maybe some flexibility poses would flex thoughts of the difficult man out of her mind.
She put on her nylon-and-spandex capris and the stretchy, racer-back tank top she wore for workouts, then rolled out her mat. Mountain pose was first. Standing straight, heels down, shoulders directly over hips. Breathe. Then raised arms. Grounded in her heels, shoulders away from ears and reaching through her fingertips. She held that for the required time and went into the standing forward bend. Exhale and fold down over legs. Let head hang heavy with feet hip distance apart. That was followed by the garland pose, which she hated.
For the lunge pose she started with the right leg forward and the left straight and strong, the heel reaching. She repeated switching legs. About an hour later she’d gone through her routine and worked up a sweat. She rolled up her yoga mat and stood it in the corner next to the unpacked boxes stacked there.
After leaving her room she listened for sounds of Jack and heard none. His bedroom door was opened, meaning he wasn’t there, and she thought he’d either slept upstairs or gone for an early morning run. In the kitchen she pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and started to twist off the top when she heard the front door open and close.
Jack walked into the room and his shorts and sweaty gray T-shirt told her she’d been right about the run. He looked her over from head to toe and there was a dark sort of intensity in his eyes.
Erin felt the power of that look slip deep inside, tapping into a place where she wanted to be just a tiny bit wicked. He didn’t even have to say a word to make her respond to him. When she felt as if she could speak without stammering, she said, “Do you want water?”
“Yeah.”
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle, then handed it to him. “So, exercise is the word of the day.”

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