A Word with the Bachelor (13 page)

“Let me go, Jack.”

He brushed a big hand down her back before rolling over with her beneath him. Gently he touched his mouth to hers. “I'm going to get up—”

“Okay, then I can—”

He touched a finger to her lips. “I'll be right back. I don't want you to move.”

“Okay.” But she couldn't look at him.

“Promise, Erin.” He nudged her chin up, just enough so that their gazes locked and he could see into hers. “Give me your word.”

Good grief he was stubborn. It was a strength and a flaw. Right up there with being too perceptive because she'd planned to make her escape. But clearly it was important to him that she didn't.

She nodded. “I'll stay. Promise.”

When he left her and went into the bathroom she felt exposed in so many ways. Pulling the sheet up over her nakedness only helped a little. Before she had time to blow everything out of proportion he was back and lifting that sheet to slide into bed beside her. Then he put an arm under her and folded her next to his warm body. It was a wonderful place to be.

“So, I was thinking—”

“Uh-oh. That can't be good. You might want to shut that down ASAP.” She was joking. Mostly.

“Just hear me out.”

“Oddly enough, those words aren't making me feel any better.”

“Keep an open mind.”

“Still not making me feel better,” she said, hoping he wouldn't say whatever was on his mind. Somehow she knew it was going to complicate things even more than they already were.

“Sometimes I wish you weren't quite so verbal.” The beginnings of frustration tinged his words.

“It's a gift.”

“And a curse.” But he settled his chin on the top of her hair. “The thing is, I don't see any reason you can't move into my bed.”

Erin's heart skipped a beat, then started up again, pounding very hard. She didn't know how to respond to that. Saying nothing seemed the best way to keep from saying something wrong.

“Or I'll move into your bed,” he offered.

That's how he'd interpreted her silence?

“For the duration of our collaboration.” He waited for an answer that didn't come. Obviously he noted her less-than-enthusiastic reaction to his suggestion. “Erin?”

“I heard you.”

“It makes sense if you think about it.” He was going into close-the-deal mode. “We like each other. We're friends.”

With benefits. But she kept that thought to herself.

“There's no reason we shouldn't enjoy each other for the next couple of weeks. Until this joint venture is over. What do you say?”

“No.”

“Good, I—” The single word seemed to penetrate and he said, “What?”

“Negative on moving into your bed or mine.”

She should slip out of his arms now and try to pull her dignity together to make a graceful exit. Or escape. The second option would be more accurate. But she wanted to hang on to this intimacy just a little longer.

“Is it necessary for me to point out that this is the second time we've had sex?”

“I'm well aware of that,” she said.

“Okay.” Absently he rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. “The first time you could chalk it up to...impulsiveness.”

“Now who's being verbal. This is very uncharacteristic of you, Jack.” The rumble of his laugh vibrated in his chest, tickling her cheek.

“But the second time it's more difficult to make a case for spontaneity. It's leaning toward a pattern,” he pointed out.

“I reject the word
pattern
. It comes under the heading of ‘moment of weakness.'”

“Twice,” he reminded her. “And that tips into pattern territory if you ask me.”

“No one asked.”

“Erin—”

She sat up and slid away from him. “Look, Jack, we know what this is and isn't. In the long run it's better not to take that step. I've learned not to make decisions in haste.”

Before he could say anything else that might weaken her resolve, she got out of bed, gathered up her clothes and left his room. She scurried across the hall into her own and shut the door firmly behind her.

Holding her breath, she waited for him to knock. To follow her and try to change her mind, part of her hoping he wouldn't let her go that easily.

But there was nothing. Only silence.

And when there was silence her mind had the freedom to work overtime. She wasn't ashamed of sleeping with him. But how was she ever going to face him in the morning?

Chapter Thirteen

T
he next morning when Erin didn't show up for their status meeting by five minutes after nine Jack was officially concerned. Last night he'd had probably the best sex of his life. He would freely admit that blood flow to his brain hadn't yet returned to normal when he suggested changing their sleeping arrangements. It was quite possible he hadn't made it clear that sex wasn't the reason. Not the only one, anyway. He was a guy after all.

But he wanted her close. The smell of her skin, the warmth of her body. Something about her made everything brighter, more peaceful, and God knew there hadn't been enough peace in his life.

If he'd said any of that she would have thought he was crazy. Or laughed at him waxing poetic, which might just have been worse. Instead, she gave him a negative and told him she'd learned not to make hasty decisions. He wasn't used to hearing no, but ego had nothing to do with anything. At least not much.

What made him uneasy was that Erin was nothing if not prompt. And stubborn. She'd gone to the mat for her stupid morning meeting. Until she hadn't shown up, he didn't realize how much he'd started looking forward to seeing her for those few minutes after breakfast, before he started working on the book. The one he wrote during the day.

Breakfast had been simple this morning. Eggs, potatoes, toast, fruit, coffee. But the woman who'd cooked it was stewing about something and no work was getting done until he made sure she was okay.

“Harley, walk.”

The dog yipped out a bark and scurried over to the office door, waiting expectantly, giving no indication that he'd noticed their walk usually happened a lot later in the day.

Jack picked up his pet and scratched beneath the furry chin. “I don't think I've ever told you how much I appreciate the fact that you aren't complicated.”

The dog licked his face.

“You're welcome. Let's go find Erin.” One bark signaled the animal's solidarity with that plan.

He carried Harley down the stairs and set him on the porch, knowing he would take off running. Before following, Jack took a quick look in the house, then made sure her rental car was still parked beside the jeep. It wasn't gone, which meant she was on foot as he'd suspected. Private eye Mac Daniels had nothing on him.

Jack started jogging down the path beside the lake to catch up to his dog. About half a mile past the marina he saw Erin, down on one knee scratching and rubbing Harley, who was in doggy heaven. Not a surprise. What was not to like? There was no telling whether or not they'd caught her returning.

Jack slowed to a walk, then stopped beside them. “Hi.”

She didn't look up but kept lavishing attention on the little beast she clearly had changed her mind about. “Who's a good dog?”

“You didn't used to think so.”

“That was before I got to know him.”

Jack waited for more. With Erin there always was, but not this time. Her silence was like the quiet in a war zone before the world exploded all to hell. Waiting was the worst part. This time he could call the shots.

“Now that you know him, what makes you like him?”

“He's loyal, obedient, understanding and loves unconditionally. He doesn't expect anything in return.”

“So looks has nothing to do with it.”

“It's all about character,” she agreed.

Jack had the feeling she wasn't talking about the dog anymore. “They say dogs are a reflection of their owners.”

“Seems like I've heard that.” She looked up then. “I'm not so sure about that in his case. He's not especially abrasive or short—” She laughed when the
he
in question batted her with a paw to let her know he wanted more attention. “That is, he's short but in a noble way.”

“He lets you know what he needs. Never have to guess.” Last night for instance. She'd implied what they'd done was a moment of weakness. A mistake. He couldn't disagree more and it bugged him that she thought so.

“It's a good quality,” she said. “Along with honesty—”

Jack heard the catch in her voice and felt the emotion of it without a clue what was going on. There was a time when her perkiness annoyed him, but not now. He'd give anything for her to challenge him with words and the fire in her green eyes that he'd come to expect when she was making a point.

“What's wrong, Erin?”

“Just tired, I guess.”

Frustration tightened in his gut. He was no expert on women, but was pretty sure
tired
was the same as saying nothing was bothering her. “I've seen you tired and this isn't it.”

“Really, I'm fine.”

He hated that word. Every man on the planet hated that word when a woman looked the way she did and said it in the tone she'd used. Both were clues that she was the exact opposite of fine.

Jack picked up a stick and got the dog's attention. He threw it and the animal tensed, waiting for permission. “Harley, fetch.”

The dog took off like a shot, eager to obey the order. If only it was that easy to understand this woman. “You're not okay. Or you wouldn't have missed the nine-o'clock status meeting. The one you insisted on, in case you forgot.”

“I didn't.” She stood up and met his gaze. “It doesn't seem all that important anymore.”

Negative, he thought. Maybe she didn't realize, but that was when he fleshed out and fine-tuned the scene he was working on. He'd taken her suggestion to write about Harley and it had gone in a different direction, one that would never see the light of day. That writing happened at night and was personal in a way Mac Daniels would never be.

Bottom line: their status-meeting chats were responsible for moving the book forward and it was almost finished.

“You're wrong,” he said. “They are important.”

“I stand corrected. My bad.” She looked down for a moment. “Let's go back and we can talk about the book on the way.”

“Forget the book.”

“I can't. It's my job,” she reminded him.

“And it's my career. But I didn't follow you because of some damn arbitrary schedule.”

“Then why did you follow me?”

“Because—” He blew out a breath. “I made a suggestion last night after we—”

“Slept together.” She met his gaze directly.

He remembered the first day she'd walked with him and the look on her face when he'd challenged whether or not she could do the job without looking at him as if she wanted him to take her to bed. She sure wasn't looking at him that way right now because of what happened last night. And if he had to guess, he would say she looked ashamed. He had to fix that.

“We slept together,” he said. “You need to know that meant a lot to me.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Jack.” The corners of her mouth curved up but it was a sad smile.

Where was the GPS when you really needed it? He was in uncharted territory and could use some coordinates to head him in the right direction. “Do I need to apologize? If I was out of line—”

“Stop. This isn't about you, Jack.”

“Well, it can't be about you. You're practically perfect. Never abrasive. A little short maybe, but no one can hold your DNA against you.” He was trying to get a smile out of her but with zero results so far. “Look, you're the one who stuck it out with your fiancé after a cancer diagnosis. I don't know any woman who, under those circumstances, would keep the ring. But you did. Until the end.”

“Stop,” she said again. “I'm not that nice for staying when he got sick. I'm an impostor.”

He must be missing a piece of this puzzle. “Let me get this straight. He was dying and you didn't leave. You loved him until the end. How is that a bad thing?”

She looked more guilt-ridden with every word and winced at the word
love
. “The truth is I wasn't in love with him. I realized it and was trying to figure out how to break the news that my feelings had changed when he got even worse news. I loved him as a friend and couldn't walk out when he needed me.”

“Okay. Still not seeing the bad.”

“More than once he brought up the subject of a small wedding, but I always came up with some lame excuse. Wait until chemo was over and he would be in remission. Then he was too weak and didn't bring it up anymore.” She shrugged. “On paper we were a perfect match. Both teachers who wanted to see the world. That was about having something in common, not love. I jumped in too soon when I accepted his proposal. If he hadn't gotten sick I would have broken it off.”

The bleak look in her eyes made Jack want to pull her into his arms, but he was afraid if he touched her she would shatter. “First, you're being too hard on yourself.”

“You're wrong, I—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “You said what you had to and now it's my turn.”

“Okay.”

“Second, let me give you a guy's perspective. It would have been more dishonest to take vows. He probably knew the truth and was pretending, too, because it would have been harder being alone. You call it dishonest, I call it courageous.”

There was moisture in her eyes but she blinked it away. “Maybe someday I'll share your opinion.”

“Believe it. I do.”

“About last night—” She caught the corner of her lip between her teeth then met his gaze. “I like you, Jack.”

“So you said last night.”

“That was completely honest. With my fiancé I jumped in too fast and stayed for the wrong reason. If I moved into your bed, that would be jumping in too fast when we both know I'm not staying. As mistakes go, that would be the bigger one.”

As opposed to the mistake of having sex.

Jack had to admit she had him there. He didn't like it but she had him. Before he could think of a comeback, she nodded and walked past him, heading back to the house. Harley followed her and Jack couldn't blame him.

This was a sneak preview of what he would get on her last day with him. Watching her leave. He didn't much like the view. And now there was the devil to pay. He found out what was eating her, that she felt dishonest for not telling a dying man she wasn't in love with him.

Oddly enough that made Jack trust her more. And want her in his bed even more than that. The problem with what she'd confessed was that it took the wanting to a level he'd never experienced before. A place it wasn't safe to be.

It was entirely possible that he wouldn't survive Erin Riley after all.

* * *

Erin put the finishing touches on breakfast and thought about Jack calling her out on missing their meeting yesterday. She had to own taking the coward's way out. It was always the best course of action to face an issue head-on, but she'd headed in the opposite direction. Then he'd tracked her down, kept her honest. Confessing her guilt about not loving Garrett seemed to lift the burden that she'd carried since his death. Jack's words gave her absolution and she would always be grateful. She'd also told him she wouldn't share his bed because she had to leave.

He hadn't tried to change her mind.

What she felt for him was much more than just
like
and if he'd only said “don't go” it would have been enough. But he hadn't. Still, the air was cleared and things went back to normal. Whatever that was. Jack acted as if nothing happened so she would, too. She only had two weeks left so there was no point in rocking the boat.

“What's for breakfast?”

Speaking of the devil, there he was in the doorway. Because winter was coming fast, this morning he was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt with his jeans. It was a good look, but then he didn't have a bad one. When he was near, her heart pounded erratically no matter what he was wearing. Or not wearing. Maybe she should rethink that offer to share his bed...

“Erin?”

“Hmm?”

“Breakfast?” He moved closer and looked at what she was doing. “French toast.”

“You're quite the detective.”

“Not me, but I'm writing one.”

“How's that going?” She dragged a slice of bread through the egg mixture and dropped it in the frying pan. The grease was a little hotter than she thought and it splattered. “Whoa—”

“Careful.” He hovered, ready to intervene. “You okay?”

“Fine. Watch out or you'll get burned.”

“Too late.”

Instantly her gaze lifted to his, but he quickly shuttered any expression and she had no idea what he'd meant. Burned by his wife? By her? Or he'd literally felt splashes of hot oil just now. Change of subject.

She'd heard him in his office again last night. He was putting in a lot of time, a good sign about significant progress on his sequel.

She added three more slices of bread to the frying pan. “So, how's Mac Daniels these days?”

“I'll save that for the status meeting. You'll be there, right?”

“Wouldn't miss it.” Not again.

She had already put the bottle of syrup on the table along with cut-up fruit. When the toast was evenly browned and crispy, she put a slice on her plate and the rest on Jack's. After handing them to him, she grabbed the platter of bacon. “Let's eat.”

“I'm starved.”

He always was. She was going to miss cooking for him—because he seemed to appreciate good food. Going back to meals for one was a sad, lonely and pathetic thought so she gave herself permission to run away just this once and made a conscious decision not to face it until she had to.

Erin sat down across from him and picked up her fork and knife. She cut a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “The weather is turning cold.”

“You're not in Phoenix anymore.”

“I noticed.” She spooned some fruit on her plate. “What is it like here in the winter?”

“Cold. Snow. Tourists come for ski season.” He shrugged.