Falling for the Guy Next Door (3 page)

“Wh—what’s
wrong?” he heaved, worry creasing his brow as his eyes darted from
corners to shadows to bushes and then back to her.

“Jack Marlin,”
she said. “He’s running a brothel next door.”

“You’re
kidding, right?” Harry’s brow creased deeper. Blue, blue eyes
seared her. “Dammit, Megan, did it occur to you that you could be
dragging me away from a real crime?”

She rolled her
eyes at him. “Am I?”

“That’s not
the point.”

“Didn’t think
so.” She nudged her chin at the front door down Jack’s end of the
house. “I’m not kidding. He’s had two girls in there, one straight
after the other.”

A grin erased
Harry’s scowl.

Megan poked
him in the chest. “Very, very young girls.”

“Underage?”

She almost
went that far. Almost. “I’m reporting suspicious activity, Harry.
It’s your duty to investigate.”

“You’re
harassing the poor man,” he countered, “and last time I checked, I
decide which reports of alleged wrong-doing are actually worth an
investigation.”

“I have
photos.”

“Of Jack?”

“Of you,” she
said. “Remember how those railroad braces made your mouth so dry,
your upper lip was forever sticking to them, making you look like a
hungry bunny? Oh, and my favourite, the time we went swimming and
you didn’t realise how transparent white briefs were? Or maybe your
disco phase? So many photos, Harry…”

She shook her
head sadly. “You know, Corkscrew Bay never did pay tribute when you
were promoted last year and my best friend does run the Corkscrew
Weekly. We could organise such a lovely spread—”

“Kate would
never do that to me,” Harry scoffed, but his cheeks were tinged
with red.

“You turned
her down when she asked you to the prom.”

“That was
junior prom. None of the guys in my group went with girls.”

She gave him a
sympathetic look. “There’s no statute of limitations on a woman
scorned.”

Harry changed
tactics. “You could get into serious trouble for blackmailing a
police officer.”

“Oh, don’t be
so stuffy. All I’m asking is for you to take a look next door and
make sure there’s no funny business going on.”

The silence
stretched as he looked at her. Probably trying to decide whether
she was bluffing. “Okay,” he said at last. “But I want those photos
back.”

“Yeah, right.”
She prodded him ahead as they walked down the path on her side of
the hedge.

J
ack muttered a curse as the doorbell chimed below. He
took a long second to adjust his equipment, then straightened and
gave Susie an apologetic grimace. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be
right back.”

“I’m not going
anywhere,” she cooed, fluttering thick lashes his way.

He chuckled as
he left the room and trotted down the stairs. A quick glance at the
hallway clock and he saw it was much later than he’d thought. Megan
was due—he cut that thought with a smile, realising it was probably
her at the door.

She wasn’t
alone, though, and her hazel eyes, peering over Harry’s shoulder,
flashed green with anger.

Jack threw his
hands up and took a step back. “I never reported you as missing, I
swear,” he told her.

“Missing?”
Harry asked, crossing the threshold to stand inside so he could
glance back and forth between them. “Megan was missing? Were
you?”

“Obviously
not,” she snapped.

“Well, if
you’ve come for a drink and a chat,” Jack said, “you’re welcome to
my fridge, but I’m in the middle of something—”

“I’ll just bet
you are.”

Jack folded
his arms and put his back to the wall, his eyes on Megan. Her hair,
a rich chocolate brown, fell to her shoulders and his fingers
itched to tangle in those loose curls. The green flecks in her eyes
were usually more dominant when her emotions were high. The last
time he’d seen them this particular shade of green, her legs had
been wrapped around him and she’d been in the midst of a
climax.

Suddenly his
jeans were an inch too tight and he had trouble focusing as Harry
explained, “Actually, this isn’t a social call. I’ve been called
out by a concerned citizen.”

“Concerned
citizen?” He pulled his gaze off Megan and onto Harry. “What?”

Harry’s lips
twitched. “Megan thinks you’re running a brothel.”

Jack tried to
stop the laughter chortling up his throat. He didn’t succeed. “I
should be so lucky.”

“My thoughts
exactly,” Harry said, grinning.

“You’re
supposed to be here in an official capacity,” she reminded Harry in
a frosty voice.

Jack’s gaze
returned to Megan and the indignant fury staining her cheeks. She’d
never blushed prettily. How long had she been home? How many girls
had she seen come and go? And was she serious about this
accusation?

His humour
faded and irritation took its place. What the hell was going on
inside her head?

He waved a
hand to invite them both further inside. “Up the stairs, first door
on your right. I believe that’s where you’ll find what you’re
looking for.”

Harry’s grin
flattened. “Now, Jack, I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“Since
accusations have been cast, I must insist,” he said mildly. He
angled his body to give the man a wink that Megan couldn’t see.
“Wouldn’t want any lingering rumours to bite me in the arse when
I’m not looking.”

When Megan
held back, he grabbed her arm and guided her up the stairs before
him.

“Where are we
going?” she yelped.

“The bedroom,
of course.”

She dug her
heels in on the stairs runner and glared over her shoulder at him.
“I refuse to enter—to enter that—that…”

“Den of evil?”
he suggested smoothly. “Hive of sin?”

He hadn’t
thought it possible for her cheeks to get any redder, but they were
close to glowing now.

“Yes, I read
that book,” he said softly, his hands landing on her waist to lift
her up the next step. “I won’t say I’ll be trading in thrillers for
romance any day soon, but there were one or two fascinating
scenes.”

“I hate you,”
she hissed, slapping his hands from her waist.

His eyes
roamed over the tight black pants that curved deliciously over her
snug backside and tapered down long, shapely legs. He knew exactly
how to turn that
I hate you
on its head. Heat simmered
through his veins and fed into a lazy grin. He froze the thought
and his grin flattened into a grimace.

He’d hurt her
and nothing had changed; he hadn’t changed. Megan was different
from his usual women. She needed more than he’d ever be able to
give. He’d known that from the start. One moment of weakness, and
he’d screwed up big time. Wasn’t going to happen again.

Okay, the
flirting wasn’t helping. That crack about a private tour was
totally out of line. Megan was hot-wired to his blood. Always had
been. She triggered impulses that bypassed his brain and shot
straight to his groin, but look how badly that had played out.

Game over.

He was here to
pack up Frank’s things and sort out the house.

At the top of
the stairs, she turned a hard look on him before jerking her head
forward again and disappearing around the corner.

The iciness
behind her fury stuck in his gut. Jack admitted then and there that
maybe Megan Lane topped his list of reasons for being here. But to
fix his last mistake, not make new ones.

Their
friendship deserved a more graceful ending than the knock it had
taken.

Except, she
seemed to think him the kind of guy who’d sleep his way through the
teenage population of Corkscrew Bay.

Hell, she’d
called the police on him.

He didn’t even
know what to do with that. And this time, he knew he’d done nothing
wrong.

He stopped
inside the master bedroom to turn the music down before catching up
to Harry and Megan as they reached the door of the guest room. He
pushed between them, deciding work was safer than trying to reason
with her right now. He’d only regret whatever came out of his mouth
and when it came to him and Megan, he already had one regret too
many.

Suzie, draped
in a dramatic pose over the armchair with one hand scooping her
hair from her face and her chin balanced on the other, looked over
their heads to him. “I haven’t moved a muscle.”

“Perfect.” He
gave her a smile as he moved into position behind the tripod that
his camera was set up on. As he glued his eye to the lens and
started clicking, he spoke to Megan, “Kate was around here the
other day, looking for you. When she heard I’d be staying on a
while, she asked me to take the headshots for the Summer Beauty
Pageant entrants.”

“But you’re a
wildlife photographer,” Megan protested, her voice small.

“She didn’t
seem to mind,” he murmured, pulling his eye from the lens to adjust
the light setting. “If you have a problem with that, you’ll have to
take it up with her.”

He heard Harry
apologise for the interruption, heard Megan stomp off, but he tuned
them out and concentrated on his work. Here, at least, he was in
control. Cause and effect was the precise click of a dial. With
Megan, he was never totally sure what he was doing and the effect
more often than not ended up disastrous.

The black of
night was slowly retreating to the grey haze of a frosty dawn. Jack
turned from the window as he pulled his coat on.

“You going
out?” Frank, still in his pyjamas and cradling a mug of coffee,
came through from the kitchen into the front room.

“I thought I’d
get some shots over the valley.” He hitched the camera bag on his
shoulder and grabbed a pair of Wellington boots from the rack
beside the door. “Did I wake you with my shower? Damn pipes were
frozen over.”

Frank
shrugged. “Want me to make up a flask of coffee to take with
you?”

“I won’t be
out long,” he said, shaking his head. “Sunrise is in about half an
hour.”

He was halfway
out the door, and Frank was still standing there, cradling his
coffee and watching. “Everything okay?” Jack asked.

“It’s good to
have you here, boy,” Frank grunted. “Now go on, before you miss
that sunrise.”

Jack swallowed
hard around that and closed the door behind him. His uncle was
getting sentimental in his old age.

As he walked
down the path and out the gate, it struck him that Frank must be
close to eighty. He usually only stopped by Frank’s once or twice a
year, but maybe he should make more of an effort in this coming
year.

His uncle was
getting on, even if he didn’t look it. Frank had farmed a couple of
acres north of Penzance up until three years ago and still had the
robust health of an outdoor man. When Jack had helped him sell up
the farm, the semi-detached house up the hill from Corkscrew Bay
had been ideal. Frank had refused to settle in any town and at
least here he wasn’t completely isolated. The original couple from
next door had retired to Spain last year, but 21b hadn’t stood
empty long.

Jack grinned
at the fleeting impression that had hooked and stuck to his memory
after meeting Megan Lane briefly when he’d come down for a weekend
last August. Now there was a neighbour he wouldn’t mind getting all
neighbourly with.

Unfortunately,
the whole neighbourly thing also put Ms Megan Lane strictly out of
bounds. He liked his relationships short and spicy. That philosophy
would be shot to ribbons if he dipped into the candy jar next door.
That was the kind of grief he could live without.

Pulling his
collar up against the bite of late December, he cut through the
wooded copse that spread from the house. The sound of the ocean
battering the sheer limestone cliff faded as he strolled deeper
into the thick forest of pines until he came to a natural viewing
ledge that peeped over the leeward slope of Bluff Hill. A verdant
valley of evergreen trees and shrubbery fell away sharply and then
rose again gently on the other side.

Jack set his
camera up on a portable tripod, was attaching the timer chord to
keep the exposure open when he heard the unmistakeable whirr of
rotating blades. He fell to his stomach and leant out over the long
drop, surprised to discover a road ran straight down the middle.
His gaze followed the road from where it rounded the bend that hid
the town from view and ended in a stately wrought-iron gate. A
massive perimeter wall enclosed a castle nestled deep in the
valley.

The whirring
blades grew louder and a sleek black helicopter came into view,
slicing the frozen air as it flew low along the valley and then
hovered above the extensive front lawn within the castle walls.
Jack scrambled away from the ledge and onto his feet. At the same
moment, voices from behind reached him through the trees.

“I can’t
believe I’m doing this.”

“Less talking
and more walking, if you don’t mind.”

“I should be
in bed. It’s not even light outside.”

“Your bed’s
right back there. I’m not holding a gun to your head.”

“Well, I’m up
now…might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

“We’re not
going to get to see anything if you don’t—” The owner of the voice
cut off as she stepped into the clearing.

Blue eyes, a
crop of blonde hair, heavy olive green cargo pants, hiking boots
and a pretty decent camera strapped around her neck. Her frown went
from Jack to the tripod holding his camera, then back to him.
“Seriously? Has London run out of socialites trashing each other
for a good story? See?” she flung over her shoulder. “I told you
something funny’s going on and now the paparazzi’s here.”

Before he
could protest, a second woman came barrelling through the trees and
grabbed one hundred percent of his attention.