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Epub ISBN: 9781786531339
Version 1.0
Published by BookShots 2017
The McCullagh Inn in Maine Copyright © James Patterson, 2016
Sacking the Quarterback Copyright © James Patterson, 2016
Seducing Shakespeare © James Patterson, 2017
Cover photography © Shutterstock
The BookShots name and logo are trademarks of JBP Business, LLC.
James Patterson has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published by BookShots in 2017
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What you are holding in your hands right now is no ordinary book, it’s a BookShot.
BookShots are page-turning stories by James Patterson and other writers that can be read in one sitting.
Each and every one is fast-paced, 100% story-driven; a shot of pure entertainment guaranteed to satisfy.
Available as new, compact paperbacks, ebooks and audio, everywhere books are sold.
When I first had the idea for BookShots, I knew that I wanted to include romantic stories. The whole point of BookShots is to give people lightning-fast reads that completely capture them for just a couple of hours—so publishing romance felt right.
I have a lot of respect for romance authors. I took a stab at the genre when I wrote Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas. While I was happy with the result, I learned that the process of writing a romance novel required hard work and dedication.
That’s why I wanted to pair up with the best romance authors for BookShots. I work with writers who know how to draw emotions out of their characters, all while catapulting their plots forward at breakneck speeds.
All three of the BookShots in this omnibus—by Jen McLaughlin, Samantha Towle, and Tabitha Ross—have those same fast plots and heartwarming characters. In The McCullagh Inn in Maine, you’ll read about two people who fall back in love as they repair an old home. Next, you’ll encounter another set of characters who try to deny their attraction in Sacking the Quarterback. Finally, in a brand-new BookShot called Seducing Shakespeare, one woman will sacrifice everything for her heart. You’ve got a book of three romantic BookShots in your hands. I dare you to try to read just one.
James Patterson
THE SICKLY SWEET scent of dying roses drifted over me as I backed down the driveway, moving too quickly to check for traffic first. My heart raced faster than the engine of the stolen Volvo XC90 as I stepped on the gas. All good plans allow for improvisation, right?
My fingernails were digging into the wheel. I forced myself to relax. There was no room for weakness, for panic, in my life. Not anymore. Whatever lay ahead was guaranteed to be better than what I was leaving behind, and it certainly couldn’t be worse than what I’d already survived.
I took a deep breath and held it as I ran a red light, feeling more alive, more like myself, than I had in years. A horn blasted, and I gripped the wheel hard. It was a miracle I didn’t break my swollen knuckles off at the joints. I was temporarily blinded by the oncoming headlights and I instinctively stepped on the gas, tensing as a truck headed directly for my door. The lights veered left and the pickup skidded off the road and into someone’s yard. Not my fault, not my problem.
I never wanted it to turn out this way. Sure, I saw the writing on the wall, kept a bag packed, and made contingency plans, but I was supposed to just disappear. Vanish into the night, be an unsolved mystery. Instead, I was going to have to spend the next couple of days fleeing for my life, hoping no one put two and two together. If I could just make it to the inn …
I screeched onto the ramp for I-95 with the scent of burning rubber filling the car, but I didn’t slow, not hesitating as I headed toward safety. North. I wouldn’t stop until I reached the one place where I knew I could escape. The same place I fled from years ago, with dreams of being something—someone—else. I was older now, and wiser, and I’d learned people never change. My current circumstances proved that point. All you could do was play the cards you were dealt.
No one would think to look for me in the sleepy Maine town I’d once called home, the one I’d erased from my record.
I’d sworn never to go back.
Sirens wailed at a distance, and I eased up on the gas pedal, forcing myself to obey speed limits. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over right now.
Once I put a little more distance between me and Miami, I’d find a rest stop, change my clothes, and wash up. Dyeing my brown hair could wait until I found some hole-in-the-wall to stop at for the night. I’d go blond. No one would expect me to go for that color. I hated blondes.
They led charmed lives the rest of us could only dream about.
My phone lit up, the screen showing a picture from my former life. I cursed. Keeping my eyes on the road, on that horizon, I fumbled around on the seat until I found the phone. Grabbing it, I chucked it out the window. A glance in the rearview mirror showed it disappearing under the wheels of a semi.
I gave a quick look at the object still remaining on the seat. My fingers flexed on the steering wheel. If I could only get rid of the gun the same way.…
This hadn’t been the plan, but then again, neither was murder.
IT’D TAKEN TWO days of back-roads driving before I reached North Carolina. Ditching the car, I hopped on a bus for twelve hours. I looked like a preppy sorority sister going home for the weekend, my society persona left behind with the car. Once I hit the Maine border, I hitchhiked to the nearest used car dealer and bought a rusted old Chevy with some of the cash I’d stolen.
My destination was Hudson, Maine, which was only listed on the most thorough maps, a tiny pinprick of ink among shades of green. If you’ve ever heard people tell jokes about towns where the wild animals outnumber the humans, it’s possible they were talking about Hudson.
This late in the season, most of the autumn leaves had dropped, and the nearly bald tires of my junker car crunched over pine cones as I navigated roads I hadn’t seen in years. Finally, I arrived at the only home I’d ever known, the McCullagh Inn. My aunt, who’d owned it, had died six months ago, leaving me the business. I hadn’t been able to go to the funeral, but I knew a heaven-sent opportunity when it arrived, and so I’d made discreet arrangements to keep the lights on and get a cleaning service to come through once a week.
I’d never told anyone down in Miami about the inn or my life before I arrived there, so if I had any luck left in my bones, no one would search for me here. Sure, it might seem like someone could track me down easily enough, but I came from a long line of less-than-law-abiding folks. There were ways to muddy the water.
My father had taught me to prepare for all outcomes. I knew how to fade off the face of the planet so no one ever found you again. I’d done it once before, when I ran away from home. But now I was back.…
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was where I was supposed to be all along.
I flipped the TV on, muting it as I dialed my brother on the burner phone I’d bought at a Virginia convenience store. I may have tried to go straight, but Paul had stayed in the family business.
I turned away from the morning news and caught a glimpse of myself in the tarnished, ornate mirror over the fireplace. The pale green walls of the foyer and the wood paneling of the living room weren’t doing a damn thing for my complexion, and I could see the faintest shadow of a bruise beneath the makeup I’d slathered on. As I listened to the phone ring, I looked into my own blue eyes, wondering if I knew the person looking back at me. Then I turned back to the news, watching to see if what had happened in Miami had gone national. My newly blond hair swung in its ponytail. I really should’ve cut it, but, hey, even a girl like me is entitled to some vanities.
“Hello?” My brother’s raspy voice cut through the cheap phone.
I closed my eyes for a second, nostalgia making my throat ache. Or it could’ve been the abuse my vocal cords had recently taken. Nothing had a greater hold on you than family. “Paul?”
“Yeah?” Silence. A lot of silence. And then: “Chelsea? Is that you?”
I licked my lips. “Yes.”
“You’re alive,” he said flatly.
“Yes,” I said again, staring at the old tree outside the front window, next to the driveway.
“I’m going to kill—”
“Paul.” I swallowed again, eyeing the whiskey I’d brought out from the kitchen. It would hurt in the morning, but it might be worth the pain. “I need help, and I need you not to tell anyone I called, or where I am.”
There was no hesitation. “What do you need?”
Relief hit me in the chest. It was true what they said about family. “A new ID. A completely new identity, actually.”
“You’re on the run. Again.” At my silence, he sucked in a breath. I’d learned at a young age that people would say anything to fill a silence. “Did you dye your hair yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.” He sighed. “What happened, Chels?”
A phantom gunshot filled the empty inn, and for a second, I was back in that moment. I eyed the table by the front door, where I’d shoved the gun in case I needed it again. It would’ve been smarter to ditch it, but it was the best protection I had right now.
When the silence continued to stretch, Paul cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
I thought of the bruises I was trying to hide, the secrets I carried, and I knew my older brother would see right through me. I had no choice. I needed that ID. It was the only way I’d get my fresh start. “I’m at Aunt May McCullagh’s inn, my inn.”
There was a brief pause.
“The lawyers found you,” he said.
Ignoring the accusation in his tone, I focused on the cloudy skies above the Atlantic Ocean. I’d left all the shades drawn except for one on the bay window overlooking the cliff, where a trail led down to the beach. On either side of the trail was an overgrown garden, filled with lobelia. I’d spent half my life sitting in that window, reading and looking at the storms raging over the ocean while dreaming of a future away from this tiny town. “Yeah, I know. I suck.”
“No argument here,” he grumbled. I could picture him sitting behind the wheel of his car, glowering at nothing in particular. Paul was happiest unhappy. “She left the inn to you, wanting you to fix it up and breathe new life into the place. She never gave up hope that someday, you’d come walking through those doors alive.”
I remained silent again, because, really, what was there to say? The past was done. I couldn’t go back and fix it, even if I wanted to. And those mistakes, those choices I’d made, had turned me into the woman I was. I couldn’t regret that. Now I was here, ready and willing to make a new life for myself. And I’d make this the best damn inn in all of Maine.
Like a phoenix, I’d be reborn once Chelsea O’Kane was dead.
He sighed, dragging the sound out longer than a wave crashing on the shore. “Look. I’ll get you what you’re asking for. Meet me at Joe’s to discuss it.” There was a beat of silence. “It’s the coffee shop on Main Street, in case you forgot.”
How could I forget?
Main Street was the only street in town with any shops. There was a coffee shop, a church, a liquor store, a grocery store, a bar, and a Rite Aid. They were all on one block, with enchanting brick facades and quaint dark-gray clapboard on the old buildings. “When?”
“An hour from now. Don’t be late.”
Exactly an hour later, I walked down Main Street. The second I saw its Victorian architecture, I was comforted by its familiarity. But I tugged my baseball hat down to shadow my face and looked at the cracked sidewalks to avoid the usual small-town curiosity that would inevitably be thrown my way. I was always good at blending in, and I congratulated myself for not losing my touch … until I bounced off a brick wall.
Or, rather, a man.
His muscular arms closed around me, saving me from hitting the ground. The second his skin touched mine, a bolt of desire mixed with the panic that shot through my veins. I jerked back sharply, stumbling backward, and glanced up. The tall man who caught me was handsome, his wavy brown hair swept back off his face, and it was like the ground opened beneath me when I recognized him. Suddenly, that bolt of longing made perfect sense.
Oh, for God’s sake. I couldn’t catch a break. I’d had more than enough drama to fill ten seasons of a soap opera, and all I wanted was to lie low and nurse my injuries, but nooo.
It was Jeremy fricking Holland.
Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be here.
JEREMY HOLLAND HAD been an object of infatuation since childhood—from the time I understood the difference between boys and girls up until college. He’d been a major part of my “wish on a star” phase. We’d been best friends, the kind who were supposed to be secretly in love with each other, so when he got together with the preppy blond cheerleader Mary Walker, I was pissed. When he went and proposed to her like the idiot he was, I skipped town the night before their wedding. I hadn’t planned to return.
And I hadn’t spoken to him since.
I may have googled him from time to time, though. Last I’d heard, he was living in Bangor, dribbling his life away at some desk job.
His gaze met mine, and the casual look in his familiar green eyes brightened to recognition. I quickly turned away—like I should have done the second I realized it was him. My heart raced, and the old undeniable attraction between us jerked back to life like a tangible thing, all because our bodies had bumped against each other on the street.
Damn his muscular arms.
And damn his outdated online profile.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sidestepping his large frame and tugging the baseball hat even lower so he wouldn’t stop me. I didn’t need this. Not now.
I didn’t want him to focus on me.
He easily stepped the same way as me, blocking my escape effortlessly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to drop a few octaves. Between that and my altered appearance, maybe he wouldn’t recognize me. He’d married Mary, after all. How smart could he be? “I’m fine.”
I walked past him, making sure not to brush against him. The last thing I needed was to feel a pull toward him. I was more panicked than I had been during my entire journey from Miami.
“Chelsea?” he asked, his voice dipping sexily. “Is that you?”
I stiffened, a few choice curse words flitting through my brain. But I bit them back, because nothing indicated guilt more than freaking out—and my father had trained me better than that. “Who?” I asked without turning around.
“Chelsea. Chelsea O’Kane.”
I shook my head, balling my fists at my sides, ignoring the way his voice made me feel. All shivery, broken, and empty. “Never heard of her, but I hope she’s pretty if you’ve got us confused.”
As I attempted to saunter away, forcing myself to unclench my fists and keep my body language relaxed, he called out, “No matter how hard your daddy tried to teach you, you always were a lousy liar, Chels. Drop the act, and turn around.”
I took a deep breath and considered my options. If I kept walking, Jeremy would come after me, and the ensuing argument would draw more attention than I wanted. If I faced him, I risked getting sucked back into his “help your fellow man” world, and right now, I could only help one person—myself.
Luckily for me, I saw Paul’s truck turn the corner of Main and Birch. “Whoever you thought I was, trust me, that girl is long gone.”
There was an intake of breath from behind me and I paused, for the briefest of moments, at the sound. I wanted so badly to turn around, to run into his arms and tell him everything that was bothering me, like I’d done when we were kids, but then my self-preservation instincts kicked in. I crossed the street, not bothering to look both ways—in this town, I’d hear a car well before it ever reached me.
Paul’s truck pulled up to the curb of the coffee shop, and I yanked the door open at the same time as he opened his, one foot out the door. He glanced at me in surprise. “I thought we were—”
“Change of plans,” I growled. “Drive. Fast.”
He frowned, closing his door without hesitation. “Is that—?”
“Yep,” I gritted out. “And he recognized me.”
“Shit,” Paul said, jerking the truck into drive. “He won’t let it go at one conversation.”
“I know.” I scanned our surroundings through the passenger window, sucking in a breath. “Son of a bitch.”
Damn it, why did I have such lousy taste in men? The recognition in Jeremy’s eyes scared me more than Richard’s fists ever had. If I wasn’t careful, Jeremy would ruin everything.…
And then I’d be the one facing down the barrel of a gun.
PAUL TURNED DOWN the road that led to the inn, a ramshackle gem framed by old forest. His grip on the wheel was unyielding. He stared out the windshield, flexing his jaw, ignoring me. More than likely he was about to spout the perfect reprimand for this situation—one he’d probably been rehearsing since I’d left. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“Where did the bruises come from?”
Of course he saw them. “A problem that no longer exists.”
He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “What did Jeremy say?”
“He asked if I was Chelsea O’Kane. I told him I wasn’t.”
“That was stupid,” Paul snapped. “Now he’ll be focused on you and why you lied. You need to shake him off.”
I dropped my head back on the seat. Damn it, he was right. And I didn’t need that kind of attention right now—especially not from him. “I’ll find him. Tell him I want nothing to do with him and ask him to leave me alone. He will.”
Paul snorted. “Yeah. Sure he will.”
“He will,” I said, knowing it was true. Jeremy had picked Mary, after all.
There were new wrinkles around Paul’s eyes, signs of a life filled with laughter and worry earned while I’d been away, which made me feel a little emptier inside. Otherwise, he had the same brown hair and blue eyes that were, as always, tinged with something between a touch of mischief and anger at the world.
“What the hell did you get yourself into this time?” he asked.
I shook my head, staring out the window at the trees blurring together as we sped by, my mind still on Jeremy and the threat he posed. I hoped he dropped the idea of reconnecting and disappeared out of my life again. “You don’t need to know the details.”
“The hell I don’t,” he growled. “You’re blond, Chels. Blond. Obviously, shit got real.”
Wincing, I touched my hair self-consciously. I looked ridiculous in this color and we both knew it. “The less you know, the better. Just trust me on this.”
“But—” He sighed. “Whatever.”
I swallowed and glanced in the rearview to make sure we didn’t have a tail.
“You have to admit it’s pretty shitty that you disappeared from my life, only to show up when you need me to get you a new ID, so you can … what? Run again?” he snapped.
“I don’t just need a new ID,” I said softly. “I need Chelsea O’Kane to be legally pronounced dead. And after that, I’m not going anywhere.”
He braked, the tires squealing softly at the sudden movement, and slowly turned to me. “Dead?”
I nodded once, knowing I was asking for a lot, but it was the only way I stood a chance at coming out of this mess alive. “Can you do that?”
He stepped on the gas, pulling into the inn’s circular gravel driveway without answering, but I didn’t make the mistake of assuming his silence was a good thing. I knew better than that. The second he put the truck into park, he turned to me, scowling. “I understood why you ran. You wanted to get away from this life, from Dad’s legacy. You wanted to be clean. Normal. Legit. Right?”
That had been the plan, yeah. But apparently, I wasn’t the type of girl who got clean. Gripping my knees, I nodded, still not speaking.
Paul needed to say his piece, and I intended to let him.
“So you ran, and you never called or told me where you were. I didn’t even know if you were still alive.”
I stared at the faded gray clapboard and peeling blue shutters on the front of the house. The gardens were choked with weeds, but renovating the inside was my first priority. “I’m sorry. I was living in Miami, working as a lawyer, when things went …” I trailed off and made the kaboom motion with my hands.
“A lawyer, huh?” He stared at me, his gaze filled with pain and accusation. “You can’t get any more legit than a lawyer. Can’t remove yourself from this family any further than that, right, Chels? The only thing worse would’ve been becoming a cop.”
“I’d never—” I stared down at my legs. That’s exactly what I’d been thinking when I chose my major. I’d been so desperate to be a better person. That had been all Jeremy’s fault. Him and his do-good attitude that never faltered. “I mean, right.”
“And now you’re here, asking for a favor.…” The crisp wind, carrying the taste of salt water, buffeted the overhanging branches, casting shadows on his face. Paul continued, “Asking for my help.”
I nodded, grabbing hold of my knees.
While I’d done what needed to be done, I was older now, and I never should have cut ties with my brother, no matter what he did for a living. No matter how similar he was to our father.
Coming home to Maine meant safety, but it also meant a chance to start over, to rebuild my relationship with my brother. I needed him and this inn.
“Tell me, Chels. Was it worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. Is that what you want to hear? I thought I could be someone who made a difference in the world, who changed things for the better, but all I did was make things worse. So that’s why I came home to the inn, to you. To start over. Again.”
Paul rubbed his forehead, letting out a sardonic laugh. “How far up shit creek are you? You going to end up in jail like Dad?”
“This isn’t some penny-ante con man scam.” I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “If I get caught? Well, let’s put it this way. You’ll never find the pieces.”
Stiffening, he dropped his hand. “Jesus.”
“Can you do it or not?”
He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “It’s not going to be easy. Declaring someone dead takes a shitload of paperwork.” He let out a long breath, drawing it out. “But I have some connections in Bangor who can pull it off, as well as the name change.”
I collapsed against the headrest. “Thank you.”
“After you’re ‘dead,’ what then? You got a plan?”
“I do what I should have done all along.” I gestured at the inn, eyeing the mildewing posts on the wrap-around porch. “Fix this place up. Open for business. Make Aunt May proud. Stay.”
He cocked a brow. “And when people ask why your last name is different?”
“Divorce.” I twisted my lips. “Or maybe I’m widowed. Whichever draws less curiosity.”
“Divorced, I think,” he said hesitantly. “You’re really staying?”
“Yes. I’m done running. Whatever happens, happens. This is where I make my stand.”
“All right.” He nodded, placed his hands on the wheel, gripping it tightly. “How do you want to die?”
THAT NIGHT, I turned on the big-screen TV. Settling into the corner of the couch with my glass of whiskey, I tucked myself in with an afghan Aunt May had crocheted. My notebook of lists and plans for the inn’s renovation slid between me and the couch. I smiled at the roaring fire I’d managed to get going before focusing on CNN, which was covering a bombing in Kuwait.
Not a shooting in Miami.
I hadn’t eaten all day, but that was okay because I wasn’t really hungry. I didn’t need food, just some whiskey to help me survive the night ahead. Anything to help me sleep, without knocking me out so deeply I couldn’t hear danger approaching.
Even an hour of shut-eye would be nice.
Rubbing my face, I yawned and set my drink down. I froze when someone knocked. The only person who knew I was here was Paul, and he was in Bangor taking care of my identity crisis.
Heart pounding, I stood on the scratched hardwood floors, slowly creeping forward. A floorboard squeaked under my foot and I half expected to hear gunshots, but only silence followed. I opened the drawer I’d slid my gun into, resting my fingers on the cool barrel of the Glock.
Pulling the curtains back hesitantly, I peeked outside. And damned if I didn’t want to use that gun even more than before. Gritting my teeth, I let the doorknob go, glowering out the tiny slit of the curtain opening. Fricking Jeremy Holland. He stood underneath the flickering light on the porch, holding food and a bottle of wine, the soft amber glow making him look too hot for my liking.
There was no way in hell I was letting him in.
He rocked back on his heels and knocked again. When I didn’t move, he grinned and leaned in close to the door. “I can hear you breathing.”
I winced, covering my mouth, which was stupid, because unless he’d become a superhero over the years, he was lying.
“I know you’re in there, Chelsea O’Kane. Open up.”
Announce my identity to the whole world, why don’t ya?
I hesitated, pressing my hand against the door. What were the chances of him giving up and going away? Slim to none. Jeremy would never give up on anything so long as the slightest shred of hope remained.
“I have your favorite Chinese food. General Tso’s chicken, rice, egg rolls, and red wine.” He waited, and when I didn’t unlock the door, he sighed. “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to assume it’s not you in there. And if it’s not you, it’s a trespasser, so I’ll have to call the police.”
I closed my eyes, counting to three. Such a damn idiot. The best way to get yourself shot was to inform a possible criminal that you were going to report him. How had he survived all these years without me around to beat some sense into him?
Oh. Right. With his pretty blond wife.
Mary Walker—no, Mary Holland.
“All right.” He looked the door up and down before stepping back. I hoped he wasn’t about to kick it down. The damn thing wouldn’t stand a chance. “Suit yourself.” I saw him fish his phone out of his pocket.
Fricking Jeremy Holland. Pressing my forehead against the metal, I called out, “Call the cops and I’ll shoot you myself, asshole.”
He laughed, his finger hovering over the screen. “There’s the Chelsea I knew and loved.”
“You didn’t love me,” I replied coolly, resting my hand on the knob. “How’s Mary?”
He didn’t say anything to that. “Let me in.”
“No.” I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. My heart raced and my blood rushed. Knowing he was just inches away, on the other side of this door, made me feel more alive than I’d felt in … years. “Go home. Forget all about me.”
“Not happening. Why did you lie about who you were?”
“I didn’t,” I said quickly. “I’m not Chelsea O’Kane anymore.” I took a deep breath and focused on my story. It was imperative I convince him. “I was married, but he’s gone now. I kept his last name, though. Wanted to leave my ties to the O’Kanes in the past. You know the family motto, keep looking forward.”
“You got married? To who?” he asked, his voice hard.
“No one you knew.”
“Try me.” He jiggled the knob. I sucked in a breath. “Don’t make me break down the pretty pink door your aunt special-ordered all those years ago because it reminded you of a fairy palace. I just want to talk.”
I tightened my grip on the knob. “I’m talking to you now.”
“Doesn’t count.” He sighed. “Open up. Prove it’s you.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned the lock, because there was no way he was going to leave unless I told him to, and I’d promised Paul I’d contain Jeremy. Yanking it open, I glowered at him, breathing heavily because, God, he looked good. He’d changed into a flannel shirt, which was unbuttoned and hanging loosely over a tight gray T-shirt. And those jeans—God, those jeans—left nothing to the imagination. “Happy now?”
His gaze raked over me, and I swore he somehow closed the distance between us without moving, because I could feel it. When he finally met my eyes again, there was a heat that set me on fire. “No.”
“Too bad. Go home to your wife,” I said, stepping back, wrapping my arms around myself, holding on tightly. Being this close to him shook me off my axis. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy if she knew you were hanging around over here.”
He entered the house, shutting himself in with me. I could feel the power radiating off him, and damned if he didn’t smell exactly the same as he used to—like male, cologne, and fresh aftershave. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until his lips met mine like I’d fantasized about for years. Everything else faded away, but I didn’t move. That had been a onetime deal.
After sliding the lock home, he set the food and wine down on the table—the same one that held my gun. I quickly glanced at the slightly opened drawer but focused on the real threat.
Him.
He crossed the room and grabbed my chin, clearly ignoring the back the hell off vibes I was throwing his way. The second his fingers touched my skin, sparks of desire laced through my blood like heroin, as he stared at me like he had every intention of picking up where we left off all those years ago. “You’re blond.”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “So is your wife.”
His grip on me tightened. “You honestly think I would still marry Mary after you and I slept together the night before my wedding?”
JEREMY HELD HIS breath, waiting for her reply. She stared at him with wide blue eyes—eyes he’d never truly forgotten, despite how much time had passed since he’d last seen them. He scanned her face, not missing the bruising on her pale throat and underneath her eye, no matter how much makeup she’d used.
Her blond hair was … out of character.
She was beautiful, of course. Nothing would ever change that. But Chelsea as a blonde was like seeing the White House painted purple. Her lips were as plump and tempting as he remembered, and the attraction between them was as strong as ever. He’d missed her more than he’d thought possible. It felt like it was just yesterday that they had gotten drunk, kissed for the first time, and ended up naked in bed together … the night before his wedding to another woman.
That had been the shittiest thing he’d ever done.
And somehow the best, too.
“You didn’t marry her?” she asked softly, swallowing hard. She winced, like it hurt to do so. It took all his control not to pull her into his arms, hug her close, and demand she let him help her with what she was going through. “I thought we both moved on.”
“How could I, after what we did?” he asked angrily. Even if it hadn’t been morally wrong, he’d realized the truth that night. It had always been Chelsea.
She gripped her arms tighter, letting out a little laugh. “You loved her. What happened that night was …” She faded off and he stiffened. If she said it was a mistake, he’d show her just how much of a mistake it wasn’t.
She sighed. “It was wonderful. But it was just a night. We both knew where your heart really belonged.”
Yeah, he had thought he’d known, too. Until he kissed Chelsea and saw just how very wrong he’d been. He ran his thumb over her jawline softly. “A man who truly loves a woman isn’t going to sleep with someone else the night before their wedding. My relationship with Mary was over the second you and I kissed.”
“Lots of things were,” she muttered, pulling free from his touch and backing up a few steps. “You shouldn’t be here, Jeremy.”
“Because your name change magically erased our connection?” he asked dryly.
“No.” She shook her head. “Because I don’t want you here. You’re part of my past—a past I have no inclination to revisit. I’m moving on. Starting fresh.”
“Funny, because right now, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with, revisiting memories.” After years of searching, he’d be damned if he wanted to waste any more time playing games now that he’d finally found her again. He wasn’t that same stupid kid he’d been before—the one who had been too blind to see what he wanted until it was too late.
She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Well, that sucks for you, because I’m not interested. You broke my heart before. I won’t let you do it again.”
“You broke mine, too,” he said softly—honestly—trying his best to act as unthreatening as possible. If he pushed too hard, she’d take off again. If you looked up flight risk in the dictionary, her picture would be next to the definition. “Why are you here? What are you running from?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Too quickly.
“We both know that’s not true,” he said, stepping closer to her. She stiffened but stood her ground as he reached out and tugged on the lock of hair that always fell into her face. He missed her normal chestnut color. “What trouble did you get into after you left?”
“The kind that’s none of your business,” she spat back, yanking her hair out of his grasp. “It stopped being your business when you asked Mary to marry you.”
“I left her at the altar. For you.”
“Not for me,” Chelsea argued, shaking her head. “I was gone.”
“Yeah.” He stopped once their toes touched. “Guess I didn’t know just how gone you were.”
“Poor you. Go home, Jeremy.”
“I brought you some dinner. Something tells me you haven’t eaten all day, and even if you don’t want me here, you need to at least take the food.”
She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he asked, cocking a brow.
“Taking care of me. This isn’t just like old times. Take your food, and yourself, out of here. I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
He reached out and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m not the same boy, either. This time around, I know what I want—and I plan on getting it.”
She sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. “Good for you. Should I clap?”
“Why are you so angry with me?”
“I’m not angry,” she shot back. “I’m busy.”
He cast a quick glance around the inn, which was in shambles and empty except for the two of them. “Clearly.”
She pointed to the door.
“All right, all right. I’m going.” Laughing, he turned around, opening the door and stepping outside, leaving the food on the table. The second he was on her porch, she started to swing the door shut, but his deep voice made her stop what she was doing. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Chelsea.”
“Don’t count on it,” she shot back, her voice clipped. “I’ll be too busy here.”
“Curious,” he said, his tone soft.
She scoffed at him. “Haven’t you heard what happened to the cat?”
He cocked a brow. “No.”
“Curiosity killed it.”
And with that, she slammed the door in his face, locking it immediately.
But underneath the anger in her voice, he heard it. The fear that caused the slight tremor in her words. Chelsea wasn’t the type to be frightened, so if she was scared of something, or someone? He was going to get to the bottom of this.
Even if it did kill him.
Which it very well might.
THE NEXT DAY, I slept late in an attempt to ward off the hangover pounding inside my temples, but it didn’t get the memo and lingered like a bitch. Should’ve stuck with whiskey instead of moving to the wine Jeremy had brought over. Now I trudged up the cracked cement walkway that led to the front porch, juggling supplies from the hardware store. Pamela Mayberry ran the place now, since her father retired down to Boca Raton. Pamela peppered with me questions, trailing me around the store as I made my selections. It was only through the grace of God that I managed to carry on a polite conversation without snapping. You can take the girl out of a small town, but that small town will never forget her.
It was time to start ripping the inn apart, room by room. I’d begin with the ugly wood paneling in the living room, which would be used by guests as a common space. There would be coffee, croissants, and tea, and soft music playing as the fire roared cheerfully …
That was about as far as I’d gotten.
But it painted a pretty picture.
Smiling, I unlocked the door, almost dropping the bags in my left hand. After heaving them inside, I turned around, breathing heavily, and headed to my car for the next batch. By the time that was inside, my back ached and my palms were abraded. I started to shut the door and froze, fear shooting through my chest. There was something else on my porch, obscured by the dead potted plant to the left of the door.
Roses.
Not just any roses.
Red roses.
I glanced around the yard, looking for signs of anyone watching—waiting. Nothing moved except a few birds in the nearby apple tree. They chirped happily, flapping their wings, completely unaware that I was about to lose my shit. When no one jumped out to attack, I took a deep breath and bent down, grabbing the brass vase before going inside.
Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it, heart racing. I longed to throw them out without reading the note tucked among the petals, but that would be a foolish move. If there was a threat, I needed to face it head-on, not cower behind false ignorance like a scared child. That wasn’t my style. I preferred using my fists for cover instead.
I glanced down at the card—and fear immediately turned to anger when I realized it was a different ghost from the past haunting me. I’d recognize that cursive J anywhere. That son of a bitch didn’t know when to quit. Without thinking my anger through, or identifying the true cause of it, I was in my car heading for town. For him.
Even though I knew rationally that I shouldn’t be doing this, and that I was playing right into his hands by seeking him out, it didn’t stop me. When it came to Jeremy, I wasn’t rational.
Which was why he was such a danger to me.
I couldn’t afford to mess up right now.
Angrily, I aimed for the run-down motel off Main Street, which was the only lodging in town. I saw Jeremy’s late model truck parked in front of the motel and I screeched into the parking lot. It was like it was meant to be—I’d found him so easily—but I refused to look too deeply into that. I wanted to give him the damn flowers back, and make sure he understood that I meant it when I said to stay away, since he seemed to think this was some kind of game.
He should know better.
I’d never been the playful type.
Pulling up next to his truck, I picked up the flowers and marched up to his door. Lifting my fist, I knocked hard enough to wake the dead. The door swung open, and there he was, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats, which clung to certain parts of his body I tried very hard to forget about, thank you very much. The lack of a shirt only highlighted how good he looked, because good God, those abs had to have been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. There was no way those were real.
He’d always been fit, but now …
He was a freaking Adonis.
Damn him.
At my obvious appraisal of his body, he grinned and gripped the opposite side of the doorjamb, leaning closer. “You look good, too, Chels.”
That annoying childhood nickname snapped me out of my haze of abs and pecs. Gnashing my teeth together, I ducked under his arm, barging in his room without invitation.
After all, he’d done the same thing to me.
“Please,” he said dryly, closing the door behind me. “Come in.”
The room was tiny, and being shut inside with him wearing practically nothing was too much. I needed that door open again … better yet, I needed to get the hell out of here. Away from him. “I’m not staying. Keep your stupid flowers and stop showing up at my place. I don’t need you coming by, scaring the shit out of me—”
“Scaring you?” He raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Why the hell would flowers on your porch scare you?”
I lifted my chin, knowing I’d said too much and cursing myself because of it. When would I learn that less was more, especially when it came to Jeremy Holland? “When will you realize all I want is for you to stay away—”
“—from you.” He walked across the room, not stopping until he was directly in front of me, in my personal space, doing the very opposite of staying away from me. “I know. I heard you. When will you realize I don’t give a damn what you want, because I know that you’re hiding something, and I’ll keep asking questions until I get some answers?”
I sucked in a deep breath, watching him closely, my chest rising and falling way too rapidly. He always could read me like an open book, and clearly he hadn’t lost that skill during our years apart. I needed to do something to throw him off balance.
So I did the most unpredictable thing I could think of.
I kissed him.
THE SECOND OUR lips touched, I knew I’d made a big mistake. Huge. It came second only to running away to Miami to chase after a new life. And look where that had gotten me.