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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—”
