скачать книгу бесплатно
Reaching across the bar, Jen squeezed Marcie’s arm and plastered on a bright smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Two short weeks and you’ll be a married woman.”
Marcie all but glowed as she glanced across the crowded room to where Mark Snyder, her fiancé, chatted with a table of customers. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, often joked about. The two lovers. “Yeah,” Marcie said in the midst of a dreamy sigh.
Mark looked up as if he felt Marcie’s eyes on him and then motioned for her to join him. Obediently, Marcie darted from behind the bar. Jennifer sighed in relief, happy to have a few minutes alone.
Grabbing her purse, she decided she’d go freshen up. A little mascara, a dab of powder, and she would have a new mind-set. Her plan intact, she swiveled around on the bar stool and started to slide off.
The minute her feet hit the wood floor, she was stopped dead in her tracks as she crashed into a rock-hard chest. She stood stunned for a long moment as strong hands, familiar and warm, settled on her arms and sent an electric charge pinging around inside her, awareness instant, hot. Her body knew what her mind desperately burned to reject. Bobby Evans was standing in front of her. Touching her. The scent of him, rawly male, intensely masculine, and so damn arousing, insinuated into her senses. Seeped through to her bones.
Slowly, her eyes traveled upward, taking in his towering six-foot-three frame—first sliding over denim-clad hips, then a soft black tee, a broad defined chest and finally his longish, fair hair that framed intense blue eyes. Those eyes now connected with hers. The impact was nothing shy of a head-on, steam-engine collision. Hot and hard. Just like his body and their sex life.
He was older now, a man fully developed and now thirty. Time had served him well; he was bigger, broader and even more appealing than before—tanned with fine lines around his eyes that spoke of experience, depth. And a life she hadn’t been a part of.
“Hey, Jen.” His voice was a deep baritone; his tone, intimate. Familiar. The same tone he’d used when he’d whispered naughty things in her ear during lovemaking.
She swallowed a sudden tickle in her throat. The things she had done with Bobby were, well…beyond pleasure. They were downright delicious. The man had a way of stripping away inhibitions and leaving nothing but the two of them, alone in the world. But that was then, and this was now.
“Bobby?” she asked, as if she were surprised. Well, she was, actually—surprised, that was. Which was something she’d be taking up with Marcie, wedding or not.
“You look good, Jen,” he said, in an embarrassing reminder that she had on her softest, most worn Levi’s and a pink T-shirt that said I love my cat, and that was about it. No jewelry. Not even fancy shoes.
It was that kind of day. A Thursday she wouldn’t soon forget. She’d put down a dog that morning, one she’d treated for years, and watched the owner bawl like a baby. Exactly why she’d been anticipating this daiquiri and some laughs. But she’d made it through that, and she would make it through seeing Bobby again.
Marcie was right. She needed to heal. She needed to put Bobby behind her, once and for all. New beginnings were upon them. Jennifer straightened.
“You do, too,” she said, managing a cool edge to her tone despite the tiny quaver, not quite suppressed. His hands still rested on her arms, making her skin tingle. She would have stepped away from him, but the bar stool was behind her and, besides, she wasn’t going to run. Or hide. Or let him believe she couldn’t deal with him being around her. She was an adult. She could deal. Casually, she added, “I’m surprised you’re here so soon. I thought you would arrive closer to the wedding.” The big day was a full two weeks away.
“Better early than late,” he said, his hands dropping from her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He offered nothing more in his answer, and she asked nothing more in return. They just stood there. Staring at one another. Close. Too close.
What did he see when he stared at her? Was she what he remembered? More? Less? She told herself that what he saw mattered about as much as the peanuts on the counter. A lie she swore to make truth. But his gaze slipped to her lips, and she knew he was thinking about kissing her. She was thinking about kissing him, too, and hated herself for that weakness. It would be so easy to lean in close to him, to lift to her toes, to see if their kiss still tasted of wildfire and passion. The temptation rippled through her with such demand, she wanted to scream. And yes—run.
That was not what a grown, respectable, confident woman did. Not obviously, at least. Since running wasn’t an immediate option…
Delicately, she cleared her throat. “How long will you be here?” Inwardly, she cringed. Why had she asked him that? And why was she searching his expression for a hint of his reaction to both her question, and to seeing her again?
And she found what she was looking for. There was a familiar intimacy in his gaze that touched her heart and her body. There was warmth to their nearness, a subtle sizzle, forcefully demanding her acceptance.
His brow inched up slowly. “Were you asking because you want to know how long until I leave, Jen?” He paused a split second. “Or because you want to know how long I’m staying?”
She knew what he was asking. Was she glad to see him? Yes. No. She didn’t want to be, but she was. She didn’t want to feel like that. Her life was fine without him. She’d spent far too long asking why he’d left. Now she simply wanted him to go away. Again.
Marcie’s scream saved Jennifer from responding. “Bobby!” she yelled as she launched herself at him. Within seconds, she was giving him a bear hug.
Jennifer knew opportunity when she saw it. She ran. Darted toward the restroom. The one stall was thankfully vacant, and Jennifer quickly dashed inside, shut the door and slid the lock into place with a firm twist of her wrist.
Bobby had never been one to allow a girl her privacy. When he wanted to fight, he wanted to fight. When he wanted to talk, he wanted to talk. Even when she didn’t. Well, they just made love until she did.
That thought sent a rush of heat spreading through her limbs, and her hands shifted to her arms where he’d touched her, branded her. After all these years, she still wanted him. She wasn’t sure whom she was more angry with. Marcie for giving her all of three minutes of warning that Bobby was about to show up or Bobby for making her all hot and bothered after leaving her heartbroken.
“Neither,” she whispered into the wood-paneled restroom. She was ticked at herself for allowing Bobby to be such a big deal. He’d done her wrong, and she deserved better than him. It didn’t matter that he was long, strong and packed with sex appeal. It didn’t matter that old feelings had rushed over her upon hearing he would be attending the wedding. What mattered was what he had done to her and what she would not allow him to do again—hurt her. Right.
She was going back out there to show him she was not affected one way or the other by his presence, and darn it, it was going to be true. Okay. Maybe not true tonight, but at some point in the very near future it would be. For now, she’d settle for pretending.
Jennifer turned to exit and hesitated. Maybe she’d dab on a bit of makeup. Not because she wanted to impress him, but darn it, looking good was revenge in itself. Having him show up when she was looking beaten, broken and makeup-less was not helping with the confident, I-am-so-over-you attitude she hoped to convey.
She stepped to the mirror and tried not to cringe at the sight she’d made for Bobby. Hair in disarray, face and lips pale. She reached for her purse and then realized that if she returned to the bar with even one peep more of color, he’d decide it was on his behalf. And it would be.
Pursing her lips, she forced herself to let her purse drop back to her side. But the more she looked in that mirror, the more her hand itched to grab a tube of lipstick and some blush. She reasoned with herself. Looking like crap was better than being the stunning ex he’d lost out on. It would be her way of saying that he wasn’t worthy of a fuss. Right. She so hated this plan. But she was sticking with it. She turned away from the mirror.
Sooner or later she had to go back into the bar, and face Bobby. Better now than later so she could make her excuses and go home. Alone. And then allow herself one night of self-pity, perhaps a big bubble bath. Then, eat chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.
Yep, that was the plan. And it was a great one until she pulled open the door to find Bobby standing in the tiny, private hallway, waiting for her.
2
TALL, BLOND AND GORGEOUS, Bobby was a dominating presence in any room, let alone the tiny hallway outside the restroom with only a nearby stairwell up as her escape. And his eyes, crystal-blue with little specks of yellow, were downright spellbinding. Especially when they pinned her in an intimate inspection that said he remembered every last inch of her and was picturing those inches right here and now. It was…arousing. It made her head spin and her heart race. Yet, still he wore that unaffected, cool, in-control edge that had always been Bobby, and had obviously grown more frustratingly sexy with time and maturity.
“Your hair is longer,” he said. It had been to her chin when he’d left. It was to her shoulders now. “I like it.”
That observation upset her on some level she didn’t try to understand. Perhaps it was because he assumed he had a right to like or dislike anything about her life in the here and now. Or because of the fluff of his comment, addressing nothing but yet accentuating everything.
“Don’t,” she said flatly, wishing she couldn’t smell the spicy male scent that was so Bobby, filled with memories of hot nights and playful mornings. “Don’t do the small talk and compliments. You’re here. I’m here. Happy wedding to Marcie, and please let me out of this hallway.”
His eyes, those damn crystal-blue eyes, studied her all too attentively, heating her inside out. He didn’t immediately speak. Didn’t move. Or did he? A sway forward. Yes. If anything she felt as if he’d come closer. The tiny hallway shrank, if that were even possible, and judging from the claustrophobic, trapped feeling making her heart thunder in her chest, it was.
“We should talk,” he finally said in that deep voice he’d once used to whisper wicked promises in far too many public places. Like this one.
“Look, Bobby,” she said, grabbing the frame of the door to steady herself. The solid door behind her reminded her how locked into this up-close-and-personal encounter with Bobby she really was. “I know you want to smooth things over between us for Marcie’s sake. Done. Smooth. Nothing else to talk about. Welcome home. You look good. You like my hair. Great. See you at the rehearsal dinner.”
His expression didn’t change, nor did his body position, which remained close and radiating heat. “Just like that? The past is behind us?”
“Right,” she agreed, trying to smile but failing miserably with a weak attempt that was more a twist of her lips. “Behind us and all is well.”
His hand went to the frame above her head, and this time there was no question that he was removing the space between them. Mere inches separated them and she could barely breathe. “Then you shouldn’t have any problem coming upstairs and having a drink with me,” he suggested. “For old times’ sake.”
Jennifer’s mind was spinning. She’d lost a dog today. Then found out her best friend, whom she didn’t believe would ever deceive her, had been secretly conspiring with Bobby. This had been an emotional, confusing day, that clearly wasn’t over yet. Because now, standing in front of her was not only the man who had secretly always held her heart, despite breaking it, but also the man she’d lain awake worried for, many a night. Fearful of the day she’d hear Bobby had died on some Army mission.
“No,” she said firmly, her hand coming up and, Lord help her, almost resting on his chest. “I don’t want to do this, Bobby.”
He caught her hand and electricity shot up her arm. “Do what, Jen?” he asked, and then settled her hand to that delicious wall of muscled chest. “And you can touch me, Jen. I never bite unless you want me to. You know that.”
This time she did willingly touch his chest, shoving him away. “Damn you, Bobby Evans. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want you to bite me or not bite me, or tell me my hair looks good. You left. Fine. But there is nothing between us now, and I won’t be your local bedroom pit stop while you’re here.” She steeled her spine. “Now. Let me by so I can go home before I…” Do something embarrassing and cry. Her eyes prickled and that made her mad. She shoved his chest again. “Let me by.”
He released her hand but he didn’t move; he ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Jennifer. This isn’t how I planned this.” There was something akin to real, raw emotion in his eyes now, all that coolness gone. And she knew she had to get out of here, before she did something foolish and asked exactly how or why he’d planned anything with her.
“Let me by, Bobby,” she repeated, her voice low, calmer than she felt. Way calmer than she felt. And to her total utter relief and displeasure, he did.
BOBBY HAD TAKEN his share of blows over the years, most of which had come from U.S. enemies. A few from his Army buds during drunken altercations. Being the sober guy who didn’t want to turn into his drunk father, in the middle of a bunch of drunks, turned into a bucket of laughs or a gutter of irritation. Sometimes both got the best of a guy. But being rejected by Jennifer hit him harder than any combination of those blows—like a Mack truck head-on.
He had a lot of explaining to do, including why the night before he’d enlisted pushed him over the edge, convinced him he was his father’s son and would one day become his father. Bobby doubted anything he could say would easily convince Jennifer he’d left because he loved her, to protect her. But the night he’d gone…it had been a bad night that had grabbed him by the throat and held on for years to come. Still did if he was honest.
Bobby dragged himself up the stairs, a beaten dog with his tail between his legs, only to find Marcie standing at the top, hands on her hips. “Bobby! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming tonight?”
“And here I thought the hug meant you were glad to see me,” he said dryly, stopping midway to the top, once they were eye level.
“I am,” she replied, sounding not the least bit convincing. “But your timing majorly stinks. Tonight, I told Jennifer you were coming to the wedding, and then a few minutes later, of all times, you pay a surprise early visit. Do you know how that makes me look?” He would have answered, but she didn’t give him the chance. “She thinks I planned this. She thinks I knew you were coming tonight and I didn’t warn her. She’s completely ticked at both of us, at me. She’s not supposed to be ticked at me, Bobby. She’s my maid of honor.”
Nothing like kicking a dog while he was down. “I know,” he said and then vowed, “I’ll fix it.”
“Eventually,” she agreed. “But I don’t have time for eventually, Bobby. My wedding is in two weeks.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Jeez. It’s Wednesday, Bobby. The combo bachelor/bachelorette party is Friday night and not only is Jennifer helping me set up, but now you’re also here. Look, if Jennifer shuts me out, it’ll tear me apart. You have to find a way to fix this right now.” She shook her head, crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her voice cracked as if she might cry. “She wouldn’t even look at me when she stormed toward the door.”
“I’ll go see her,” he said quickly. “Once I ex plain—”
“Don’t.” Marcie held up a hand and added quickly, “Not yet.”
“You said now, not later,” he reminded her, more than eager to charge after Jennifer. Damn it, letting her walk away had been hell. An excuse to see her again suited him fine.
“I know what I said,” Marcie fumed. “But not tonight. In case you forgot in your seven years away, she never responds well without some space to process. Let me call her and explain everything. Then you go see her. Let her sleep on this.”
“This meaning me.”
“Yes, you!” she said. “You broke her heart.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you did and now that you’re back she needs some space. That’s the way she deals with things.”
He remembered. He remembered everything about Jennifer; it had taken mere seconds once he’d seen her again.
“Bobby,” Marcie warned. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Please. Wait and let me talk to her.”
Seven years had been far too long to wait, Bobby thought, his mind tracking back to the gut-wrenching three days when Mike had been in ICU. Life was precious and short. When Mike had pulled through, he’d had his fiancée waiting for him. His Jennifer. Bobby had come for his.
“You have until tomorrow morning,” he conceded. “Then I’m going after her.” He walked up the stairs and didn’t give her time to argue, knowing full well she would.
Tonight, seeing Jennifer again, he knew the past and present were still one and the same. He’d been raised by a single drunk father, and one dark night, he’d let that father convince him he would be the same one day, that he’d destroy Jennifer’s life as his father had tried to do his. But that was then and this was now and it was clear neither he nor Jennifer had fully put their relationship behind them. And he wasn’t going to screw up and run from the future as he had the past. Nor was he giving Jennifer time to either. He had to know what could have been—and he knew now, she did, too. Even if she wasn’t willing to admit that fact…yet.
WITH A GRUMBLE, Jennifer hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. She glanced at the digital display in confirmation of the early hour, six-thirty, and grumbled again before shoving aside the blankets. She had to be at her vet clinic by eight-thirty to open at nine. Usually she’d snooze a little longer, but she saw no point in trying. Not after yesterday, a day where she’d endured the tragedy of putting down a beloved pooch, followed by a visit from the man who’d been the most important relationship of her life.
Suddenly, a furry, big-eared kitty was on top of her, purring with demand. “I know, Julie. You want your special morning food.” Jennifer ran her hand over the kitty’s fur, though at one year old, she was hardly a kitten anymore. A big, pampered baby was more like it.
She hugged her friendly pet. The two J’s. Jennifer and sweet kitty, Julie. Them against the world, and Jennifer was okay with that. Right. Okay. With. That. No Bobby. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, slid into her mind.
With a sigh, Jennifer set Julie on the floor. Julie gave her a demanding meow, followed by several more, as in ready for that food—now. “Well,” she murmured, “you do have demanding down well.”
Julie meowed louder, as if proving that point.
Sternly, playfully, Jennifer warned, “Wait, you little fur ball!” She quickly reset her alarm, and snatched her cell phone from the nightstand. Reluctantly, she turned it back on.
Marcie had called a good half-dozen times last night but Jennifer had nothing to say to Marcie. Not now. Not until she cooled off. Obviously Marcie thought her upcoming wedding gave her the right to do whatever she wanted. To some extent that was true, but within limits. And Bobby hit every limit Jennifer owned. Of course, with the party tomorrow night, she’d have to face her sometime then, but that gave her a day with her work to get past any remaining hurt feelings.
Jennifer shoved her feet into hot-pink slippers, glad for a small smile Julie produced as she attacked one of them. Jennifer grabbed her hot-pink, knee-length robe, a shade lighter than her cotton boxers and tank top, and slipped it over her shoulders.
She didn’t do lack of sleep well, but when she was forced to, she did cranky exceptionally well. In fact, she could almost feel the crankiness rolling off her in big, powerful waves. Easier to deal with than the emotion beneath it, the ache of facing Bobby, and realizing, despite all he’d done to her, she still reacted to him. Still wanted him. She quickly brushed her teeth and considered the shower.
“Coffee,” she murmured, heading to the navy-blue, rectangular-shaped kitchen. Its shiny compact prettiness had sold her on the condo, despite her lack of skill in the cooking department. She eyed the dishes in the sink she’d forgotten the night before. “Lots of coffee. I’m going to need lots of coffee.” Thank goodness, despite sleep deprivation, she would have her animals to keep her busy and force more smiles today.
And on that note, Jennifer put the meowing kitty out of her misery, and filled her food bowl. Next, she snagged the coffeepot and headed to the sink.
Holding it under the water, Jennifer froze when a knock sounded on her front door.
Jennifer set the pot down on the counter and turned off the water, the thundering of her heart exploding in her ears. Another knock and she steeled herself to answer the door. She pulled the sash to her robe into place and tied it a bit more firmly than necessary. As if a cotton tie would somehow protect her from what—correction, who—was waiting for her on the other side of that door. She could do this. She could face Bobby and be strong. She was strong. She was happy. Bobby showing up didn’t change anything.
And because she was a smart girl, who’d lived alone her entire adult life, she did the smart thing, not to mention the thing that gave her a chance to stall, but that was beside the point—she called out rather than opened the door. “Who is it?”
“Man bearing gifts,” came the all-too-familiar voice, all-too-richly buttered with memories and heat. The kind of heat only one man had ever conjured in her. That he still got to her, that he stroked her into arousal so effortlessly, with a simple spoken word filled with memories, agitated her almost as much as the idea of a gift. Did he really think a present would erase seven years of silence?
“Go away, Bobby,” she said, her voice irritatingly raspy with uncontained emotion. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
“You want this,” he assured her. “I guarantee it.”
“I don’t,” she said sternly. But I want you, she added silently, hating him for having power over her after all this time. She firmed her voice. “Go away, Bobby.”
A beat of tension-laden silence followed before he replied, “Venti White Mocha, no foam, no whip, extrahot.”
Her eyes went wide, jaw slack. The nerve of him to bring her favorite drink, to use the past against her. This was manipulation, and it was wrong.
Jennifer forgot the robe, the hair sticking up, the lack of makeup. Forgot the hidden fear of facing Bobby again and somehow shattering into the emotional wreck she’d promised herself she was not. She yanked open the door, fully intending a verbal attack and falling flat on her proverbial face the moment she brought Bobby into focus.
He stood there, a mere few feet away, dangerously sexy. Denim clad—God, how the man made denim look delicious—light blond stubble shading his jaw, crystal-blue eyes twinkling with awareness and mischief, holding a Venti Starbucks, a box of her favorite donuts and, damn it, her heart. He still had her heart. And she knew, in that moment, he’d had it for far too long. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the way he’d left her.
His coming home for the wedding was a good thing. Good because now she could face him and get over him. Now, she could take back her heart, once and for all.
3
HOT ON THE SPOT. That was Bobby when Jennifer opened her door in her skimpy robe, displaying miles of leg and sexy, slender curves. In fact, he was so hot, the Texas sun might as well have been at high noon—because he sure was. Hot. Hard. Aching with need well beyond the physical. With memories of Jennifer waking up in his arms, in his life.
“Peace offering,” he explained, indicating the coffee and the box of chocolate-covered Krispy Kremes she so adored. “For showing up unexpectedly last night. I have jelly-filled in the car for Marcie. She’s pretty upset at me for getting her in trouble with you and she’s still letting me stay at her place. She didn’t know I was coming into town early, Jen.”
She bit her lip, the full bottom one he’d like to bite himself. Oh, yeah. He remembered nipping that lip, then softly licking it. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then on the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said flatly.
His gaze lifted to the stubborn set of her jaw, the one telling him how desperately she was clinging to resolve to keep him at a distance. Translation. This was working.
He offered her a gentle smile and a verbal nudge. “Oh, come on, Jen,” he urged. “Let me in.”
She gave him a dubious look, and finally said, “Letting you in my door means I want the coffee and donuts. Nothing more.”
