Falling for the Guy Next Door(6)

By: Claire Robyns



Was she the unfinished business he’d come to check up on, that had drawn him back to Corkscrew Bay?

Her pulse raced at the possibility of accepting his invitation. But only for one night. This time she was under no illusions. If she did this… God, what was she thinking?

He’s like a friggin’ fever inside me. Megan turned her phone off and slipped it into her purse. Jack wasn’t a fever. He was a disease. He was malaria, lying dormant inside her body but never gone.

There were more messages between them before Megan arrived home late in the afternoon a few days later. But Jack had toned it down after she hadn’t replied to his invitation, kept the communication light and general.

Except for the one that unsettled Megan more than all the rest. I miss you.

She hadn’t replied to that message either. Hadn’t tried to analyse what those three words meant. It didn’t matter. He’d still leave just the same as he always did. If that one explosive night of her hadn’t been enough to anchor Jack, then no amount of missing, nothing she could do or be, ever would.

When Megan rounded the corner at the top of Bluff Drive, she saw an unfamiliar white car pulled up behind Jack’s Land Rover. She parked around her side of the house and let herself in by the kitchen entrance, trying her utmost not to think about who Jack’s visitor was. None of her business.

She lugged her suitcase up the stairs and hauled it on top of her bed. The beat of a rock ballad pumped the dividing wall. Whoever it was, they’d taken the party up to the master bedroom. In the middle of the afternoon? Classy, Jack, real classy. She unzipped her suitcase, flipped the lid back, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The room was stuffy, the air thick—it had nothing to do with what was going on next door, she assured herself. She all but ran into the adjoining office and flung the window open. The sound of voices below jerked her flat against the wall. She shuffled along the wall, inch by inch, until she could peer around the curtain without being seen.

A girl, she couldn’t be twenty yet, was climbing into the white car, her flowery sundress tugged high as she slid long legs behind the driver seat. Jack clicked the door closed after her and there he stood, with his back to Megan, wearing threadbare jeans and a pale blue T-Shirt and mussed up hair.

The girl rolled down the window and Jack bent forward, his forearms resting on the door through the open window. Megan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the girl’s giggling echoed in her head as Jack straightened and the car reversed into a U-Turn and sped off down the road.

I don’t care.

I really don’t give a damn.

She shrank behind the curtain just as Jack turned and glanced up at her window. Her heart pounded. She didn’t care, but what kind of careless bastard issued invitations to private tours and made claims about missing you and then hopped into bed with an arbitrary girl half his age? Someone needed to scrape the calluses from Jack’s heart and watch them bleed and she’d certainly earned that right.

Before she could come up with a suitable plan, however, another car came chugging up the drive. Megan peeked through the curtains.

An ancient Ford with missing hubcaps and puffing toxic fumes stuttered to a halt behind the Land Rover. The door opened and long, tanned legs slid out. Megan’s mouth dropped as she watched the stunning brunette in a cut-off T-Shirt walk up the cobbled path to Jack’s front door, shorts riding low on her slender hips.

Red mist clouded Megan’s vision.

He knew she was arriving home today.

He was deliberately shoving his callous exploits in her face. Probably regretting the intimacy he’d established while she was in London.

Reminding her that sex was sex and the bodies were as interchangeable as the sheets on his damn bed.

She grabbed her phone and, with a little exaggeration and a lot of truth—yes, there’s a possibility of domestic violence and it’s going to get ugly if you don’t get here quickly—Harry arrived in five minutes flat, hand hovering over the baton clipped to his belt as he sprinted the distance between his car and where she waited on the porch.

Hot Read

Last Updated

Recommend

Top Books