A Word with the Bachelor (3 page)

Jack wanted to squirm and this is where Ranger training came in handy, other than a war zone, of course. He'd learned how to stay in one position without moving for hours. “Mac is trying to stay alive.”

“It's a good goal.” She thought for a moment. “So who or what is standing in his way?”

“You mean who's after him?”

“
Is
someone after him? If so, why?”

Jack was still working out those details. It was what he did. On his own. This was
his
work-in-progress. His office. And that reminded him. “Look, Erin, there's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

“Okay. That's what I'm here for.”

“I'm not comfortable with this arrangement.”

“And I'm not leaving.” Her eyes flashed and her expression was locked and loaded on stubborn.

“No. I meant you bunking down up here.” With unfettered access to his office. On top of that, the whole place was now filled with the scent of sunlight and flowers. And...her. How was he supposed to concentrate when his work space smelled like a girl?

“If you'd like I can pitch a tent outside,” she said with more than a little sarcasm.

Jack wondered if that look on her face frightened the teenage boys in her English classes. It sure didn't work on him. For over ten years his job had been about dealing with life-and-death conflicts. Erin Riley didn't intimidate him at all.

“That won't be necessary.” Although the idea was interesting, she didn't look like an outdoors kind of woman. More a hotel-and-happy-hour type. When she'd shown up and made it clear she wasn't leaving, he'd figured the spare room up here would be best. It wasn't. “I'd like to move you into the spare room downstairs.”

“I don't want to throw your routine off—”

“Too late.” He leaned back in his chair. “The thing is, if I want to work during the night, I wouldn't want to wake you.”

“Whatever you want.”

Jack happened to be looking at her mouth when she said that and the words turned into something that was a very bad idea. “Okay, then. Your job is to move your things to the spare bedroom downstairs.”

“And afterward?”

“Isn't that enough?”

“I don't have much. That won't take very long. I'm here to assist. Tell me how to do that.”

Yesterday at Bar None she'd introduced herself as his research assistant. That gave him an idea. “You know, it would help if you looked some things up for me.”

“Great.” That put the splashes of gold back in her green eyes. “What?”

“Why don't you go ahead and pack your stuff up and take it downstairs. I'll have a list ready when you're finished.”

“Okay.”

Erin disappeared down the hall but unfortunately the scent of her skin lingered in his work space. Later he would figure out how to man this place up again, but right now he had to do something to keep her busy and out of his hair.

Jack searched
gold
and
diamonds
on Google, figuring either one could put Mac Daniels's life on the line. As he browsed, something caught his eye.
Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Say it with diamonds.

Erin came back into his office with her rolling suitcase and a bag she held in her hand. He had a sneaking suspicion that whatever made her smell so good was in the little one.

“I've got everything,” she said cheerfully.

“That didn't take long.”

“Told you it wouldn't.” She headed for the door.

“Do you need help with those bags?”

“No. You keep working. I'll be back shortly to help.”

Jack waited for the door to close and noted that Harley stayed where he was in his bed. “Good move, buddy. Never bite the hand that feeds you.”

He typed in some more search words and scrolled through articles, information and sources for all the material. It was interesting stuff, not relevant to his writing, but she might get something out of the research. He printed out a list of topics then went back to his Mac Daniels file.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said to the blank screen, where his fictional character waited for a story. “You've been out of the military for a while and all you're good at is war and training for it. In the first book an old girlfriend sucked you into using those skills. You can handle yourself in a fight because you're trained to beat the crap out of bad guys. Now what?”

Except for the ex-girlfriend-rescue part that pretty much described himself, not Mac Daniels. Jack made a disgusted sound then leaned back in his chair. He was a piece of work, talking to himself. Well, not technically, since Harley was here, but too close for comfort. At least he knew his own flaws and keeping them to himself was the best way to control them.

There was a knock at the door then Erin poked her head in the room and smiled. “I'm back.”

“Like the Terminator,” he mumbled.

“I love that movie.”

“Really?” He pegged her as more of a romantic-comedy type.

“Yes. You know romance is at the heart of the story.”

“No pun intended.”

She smiled. “What woman wouldn't want to hear, ‘I came across time for you, Sarah.'”

Jack had never met a woman he'd want to time-travel for. But that was the best segue he could have hoped for. He pulled the sheet from his printer and held it out. “Your research topics.”

“Right. I can't wait to get started.” She took the paper and scanned it. To her credit, her perk factor only slipped a little.

The average person probably wouldn't have noticed. Jack was surprised that he had.

Her gaze settled on his and the vivid green was back. “The fine art of romantic talk?”

“Dialogue.”

She glanced down at the paper. “A hundred and one ways to be romantic?”

“Mac spent a lot of time in a war zone.” He shrugged as if to say that explained all.

“Understanding the female mind?”

“If he ever wants to get lucky, Mac might need some help.”

There was a skeptical look on her face—she was suspicious and just a little annoyed. “These topics are important for an action-adventure book...why?”

Jack realized she'd already given him the answer to that question. “The Terminator effect.”

“As it happens, women don't typically understand the male mind, either. I need more than that to connect the dots.”

“You said you like the movie because there's a romance at the heart. It crosses genres and broadens the appeal.”

“And?” One eyebrow rose.

“Maybe if Mac has a relationship it could expand my readership to women.”

Her eyes narrowed and the I've-got-your-number look was back. “You don't fool me, Jack.”

“I wasn't trying to.” Did a half truth make something an out-and-out lie?

“Oh, please. This is you patting me on the head and telling me to run along.”

“Not true.”

“So in all of your own experience you've never sweet-talked a woman? Never made a romantic gesture? Or two?”

“Hard to say. I tried.” With his ex-wife. But he didn't think she left him for lack of romance because she stayed for years while he went through numerous deployments. She left when he didn't re-up with the army. “But does a guy really know if he hit it out of the park with a woman?”

“You really don't know how to read people?”

“Hence the research for understanding the female mind,” he pointed out.

She made a show of folding the paper and sticking it in the pocket of her jeans. “I'll do the research. But don't for a second believe that I don't know what you're up to. This is all about keeping me at a distance.”

Jack didn't get a chance to respond because she turned and walked out of his office. Just as well. He needed to get to work. And she was wrong about his goal. The phony research wasn't to keep her at a distance, but to keep her in the dark about the fact that he didn't have a story. With luck he could fix the problem before she figured out what was going on.

The good news was that it was now quiet enough to work. And the bad news was he had to put some words on that blank page. And, damn it, he could still smell the scent of her skin. That brought to mind images of her smile and the fact that as hard as he'd tried to make her, she wouldn't back down from him.

Harley stood in his bed glancing from him to the door where Erin had exited. “Yeah, I know, buddy. I'm as surprised as you are that it's not so bad having her around for a distraction.”

Chapter Three

I
n her new room Erin lay on her back trying to get to sleep, but the sound of pacing upstairs was distracting. So much for not waking her if he couldn't catch some z's and decided to work. Hard to type when you weren't sitting in front of a computer.

She was on the futon in the spare bedroom downstairs and it was surprisingly comfortable. That wasn't to blame for her restlessness; that was Jack's fault and not just on account of his walking back and forth, hitting that one squeaky board every time. Earlier he had opened the futon to make it flat and she'd been mesmerized by the play of muscles underneath the smooth material of his snug T-shirt.

Then she thought about one hundred and one ways to be romantic. Bring a woman flowers. Make her breakfast in bed. Surprise her with a B and B weekend. Picturing Jack doing any of those things made her smile. Forget romantic. He was barely civil.

A different sound caught her attention. The door to the upstairs apartment closed and heavy footsteps sounded on the outside stairway. Erin tensed, waiting to hear him come inside. She could feel him when he was nearby and every cell in her body seemed to say “notice me.” Which, of course, was never going to happen.

A few minutes passed and she still didn't hear him come inside. Wide-awake now, she tossed the sheet aside and turned on the light. The room was pretty big but had no personality. Unpacked boxes were stacked on the opposite wall. A lamp sat on what looked like an apple crate turned on end.

Erin grabbed the lightweight summer robe that matched her white cotton nightgown and slipped her arms into it. She pulled the pink satin tie tight around her waist, then let herself out of the room. It was time to find out if there was anything wrong. Then maybe she could get to sleep. One needed all of one's strength to deal with Jack Garner.

The house was dark and she felt for the hall switch to turn on the light. Brightness spilled into the empty living room. Cool air from outside washed over her and she realized that the front door was open. Looking through the screen, she saw Jack on the porch, staring out at the marina and Blackwater Lake beyond. She turned on the lights in the living room.

Barefoot, she walked outside and let the door close behind her. Between the lights and the screen door it was enough to guarantee he wouldn't be startled. “Is everything all right, Jack?”

He didn't flinch in surprise or bother to look over his shoulder for that matter. “Fine.”

“It's late.” Duh.

“Not for me.”

She moved forward a couple of steps. Earlier when he'd asked her to move downstairs, she'd figured it was about keeping her away from his office space. The part about him working at night didn't ring true, but apparently she'd been wrong. “So you're up at night a lot?”

“Yeah.” He finally turned to look at her. “You learn to sleep light, one eye open, waiting for something to happen.”

“Doesn't sound restful.”

“It's not.” He slid his fingertips into the pockets of his worn jeans. “But you get used to functioning on little to no sleep.”

“I suppose.”

She could see a nearby full moon just above the dark silhouette of the mountains beyond the lake and there was a sky full of stars. The air was filled with the scent of pine and man, but she wasn't sure which was more intoxicating. One hundred and two ways to be romantic, she thought.

“Okay, then. I just wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong.”

Before she could turn away, he asked, “Why aren't you asleep?”

Now wasn't that a valid question for which she had an embarrassment of answers. No way she'd confess to being distracted by his broad shoulders, muscular back and the romantic notions his research had stuck in her mind. And she didn't want him to feel bad about pacing. This was his home and moving around at night might be his creative process. She also didn't want to imply that moving downstairs had been a problem and make him feel guilty. But he'd already told her she was a bad liar.

So, she gave him the truth with a twist. “I was thinking.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile. “Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“I don't know,” she hedged. “Why doesn't it?”

“Because you're the kind of woman who thinks too much. Shakes things up.”

“In a good way? Or bad?”

“Both,” he said.

She had a feeling he wasn't just talking about the job she was sent here to do. That maybe he was hinting at something a little more personal. The thought made her heart race and she had to stop herself from pressing fingertips to the pounding pulse at the base of her throat. He'd know why and that would show him her vulnerability and give him more of an upper hand than he already had.

“I've been thinking about you.” Oh, dear God, that was no better and she desperately wanted the words back.

“Oh?”

She saw the gleam in his eyes and felt a shiver clear to her bare toes. “Now that I have your attention—” She drew in a breath. “What I meant was, I've been thinking about what the military must have been like.”

“Civilians don't have a clue.”

“You're right, of course. But there are basics. You're expected to follow orders.”

“From a commanding officer,” he pointed out.

“Right. I'm not giving orders. But I was getting at the discipline factor. You're told where to go, when to report for duty and what job to do.”

“Chain of command is followed,” he admitted. “If not there would be chaos in the ranks.”

“In civilian life we call it a schedule.”

The look on his face said he was bracing himself for whatever she had in mind. “What's your point?”

“A schedule.”

He moved his shoulders as if they'd tensed up, then stared at her for several moments. “Oh, you mean me.”

“Actually I mean both of us.” She curled her toes into the wooden porch. “You had discipline in the military and it would behoove you to establish that in your writing life.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Who says
behoove
in actual conversation?”

“An English teacher.”

“Right.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What did you have in mind?”

“Breakfast first. Your mind and body need fuel.” She had not expected him to be even this receptive. “Then we meet in your office for a...let's call it a status meeting. We discuss what you're going to work on and you can give me a list of research topics for anything necessary for the story. Think of it as punching a time clock.”

“Don't tell me. This status meeting would be at nine in the morning.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a guess.”

“So, what do you think of the idea?”

“Do you really want to know?” he asked.

“Of course. This needs to work for you. It's all about fine-tuning your process. You're the author.” She watched him watch her, his gaze flicking over her body, and wished she was wearing jeans and a big, bulky sweatshirt. A thin cotton nightgown and matching robe came under the heading of Didn't Think It Through. Where was a girl's body armor when she really needed it? “Sometimes it's just about putting your butt in the chair. Sheer boredom will force you into doing something.”

“Doing something—” His voice was husky, deeper than normal.

Erin sensed tension in him but had a feeling it wasn't about her suggestions for his work schedule. “Anyway, that's what I was thinking about. Give it some thought and let me know in the morning—”

“Okay.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Permission granted. We'll try it your way.”

“That's great, Jack.” She was oddly happy that he'd actually listened to her. “Thank you for meeting me halfway on this.”

“This isn't halfway,” he said, staring at her. “It's damn near all the way.”

“What? I don't understand—”

“For the record, it's not fair to dress like that when you're asking for something.” There was a ragged edge to his voice and his gaze never left her.

“There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing.” That was sheer bravado since moments ago she'd wished for body armor. Then she looked down at the eyelet cotton robe with pink accents and her cheeks suddenly burned with mortification. She realized that with the light behind her, the material was nearly transparent. “Oh, God—”

“Yeah.” A muscle jerked in his jaw.

Erin's knees got weak and that was a first. No man had ever made her weak in the knees before. “I'm going in now. You should get some sleep.”

“Right.”

There was a mother lode of sarcasm in the single word, yet she felt it like a caress that touched her everywhere. The look in his eyes sharpened her senses and she tingled in places that might not have ever tingled before.

“Good night, Jack.” She tried to make her voice decisive, authoritative, unwavering, but was afraid the words came out weak, wishy-washy and just the tiniest bit wanton.

With all the dignity she could muster, Erin backed up to the door then quickly turned and opened it. She went to her room and shut herself in, then sagged against the door.

“What just happened?” she whispered.

There had been a moment. She was sure of it. Until just a few minutes ago, no man had ever looked at her as if he wanted her more than his next breath. Not even the man she'd taken an engagement ring from. But Jack Garner did.

She didn't know whether to high-five herself or crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Then an even more off-putting thought struck her. Was that the way she'd looked at him when they first met? When he'd said they weren't sleeping together as if that's what she'd been thinking.

How was she going to face him tomorrow morning?

* * *

Jack sat across from Erin at the kitchen table and finished his omelet. It was becoming clear that she was very good at making them. Spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms and cheese—he couldn't say he'd ever had a better one. The eggs were fluffy and filling. The company...not so much. Since he'd come downstairs for breakfast, the cook had barely looked at him.

Barely
was most probably the reason why.

She'd been practically naked on the porch last night and his gut still hurt from the effort it took to keep his hands to himself. The high color in her cheeks was a clue that she was still embarrassed about it. She'd admitted to having a long-term relationship, but there was an innocence about her that was inconvenient. Since coming downstairs for breakfast he hadn't done anything except eat. There had been nothing to take the edge off the tension. If he left it alone and let her feel uncomfortable, maybe she would take off back where she came from.

He sneaked a look and there was something sweet and vulnerable about her that made him feel like a buffalo at a tea party. Damn it. Probably he was going to regret this, but...

“Breakfast was good.” There, silence broken.

Erin stopped pushing the food around her plate without eating it and looked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Coffee's good, too.”

“Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. Some guys think vegetable omelets aren't very...well, masculine.”

“What guy?”

“My fiancé.”

Jack bit his tongue to keep from saying this fiancé was an idiot. Not only was it bad to speak ill of the dead, but a remark like that would also undermine what he was trying to do in erasing her embarrassment. All he said was “His loss.”

“That's nice of you to say, Jack.”

“Not really. I'm not a nice guy. It's just the truth.”

Whatever else he was, wasn't, or had done, he always tried to be honest. Mostly he was successful, but probably not always. “You're a good cook.”

“It's just something I like to do. Guess that's half the battle. When I was a little girl, I stayed with my grandmother a lot because my mom worked. Grammy let me help when she cooked or baked. I got to roll out dough, cut out cookies and help make soup.” There was a faraway look in her eyes and the corners of her mouth curved up in a small smile. “Those are good memories.”

“I never knew my grandmother.” Now, why the hell had he said that?

“Singular? You only had one parent?”

He looked at her for a long moment, kicking himself for going soft and letting that out. It was too much to hope she'd miss the slipup. “Obviously at a certain point I had a father, but he was nothing more than a sperm donor.”

“You never met him?”

The pity in her eyes made him want to put his fist through a wall. “She always said he was a magician. When he heard my mother say the word
pregnant
, he made himself disappear.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“That's a first. But if you feel compelled to comment, just don't say you're sorry. I never needed him.” Jack learned a code of honor in the military and did his best to be honest, but that statement closed in on the line that separated truth from deceit.

“You are many things, Jack, but I would never describe you as someone to be pitied.” Then she pointed a warning finger at him. “And don't tell me I'm patronizing you because I'm not doing that.”

Since that's exactly what he'd been about to say, he almost smiled but caught himself just in time. That was annoying, one more way she tempted him. Enough of this. After pushing his chair back from the table, he said, “I have to get to work.”

She glanced at the funky pink princess watch on her wrist. “Oh, wow. It's getting late.”

Only if one was on a schedule, which he'd agreed to in a weak moment when he'd been unable to look away from her practically naked body. “Yeah. It's closing right in on nine.”

“I'll clean up the kitchen.”

Jack knew he should offer to help but this time was able to hold back the words. Washing dishes with her was domestic and he didn't do domestic. Not anymore.