Men Like This (21 page)
Authors: Roxanne Smith
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jack blustered. “Was I supposed to wait around for you to leave me first? Upset I beat you to it? Yeah, that’s right. Emily explained it to me. Old Blake here had plans to get you back, and once you found out about them, you pulled away. Stupid me, I made it about Vickie. I never considered you’d want to give this dandy a second chance.”
Blake had recovered from Jack’s blow to the chin. He snorted. “It was a fling, man. Get over yourself.”
Jack ignored him and kept his cool gaze trained on Quinn.
She crossed her arms. “You’re wrong. I didn’t pull back because of Blake. I pulled back because you lied to me. I asked why you went to see Vickie, and you lied. I gave you a chance. You blew it.”
“Fine. You want the truth? I told Vickie I’m in love with you. There, you’ve got it.”
“I wanted it back in London.”
Blake sniffed. “Jack, you should leave. This isn’t going to happen. Let it go.”
Jack leaned in close to Quinn. “Get rid of that flaming turd before I make good on my heritage.”
“The Fighting Irish. Gotcha.” She turned to Blake. “Listen, I’m sorry, but you should go. Jack and I
—
”
—
”
Jack shouted over her. “She loves me, you wanker.”
“Oh, come on, Q. Is he for real? You love him?”
She sighed. “I tried to tell you I wasn’t coming back. Whether I love him or not is irrelevant.”
Jack put his hands on his hips, mimicking her. “Didn’t stop you from planting a big wet one on him, did it?”
Without another word of protest, Blake marched toward his SUV. Quinn didn’t think he’d return anytime soon.
She turned back to Jack, and the two of them squared off in the dark. She’d fantasized about this moment—a final reckoning. “Am I supposed to believe you’ve spent the last seven months celibate?”
“Not only celibate, but a bloody, sobbing mess on top of it. Even if I’d been searching for it, no woman would’ve had me.”
“Okay, fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk. You’ve got a paper-thin excuse for walking out on me, and I don’t buy it.”
“Look, Quinnie, I never claimed to be brilliant, did I? I made a mistake. Emily told me about Blake’s change of heart and how you were well aware of his desire to win you back. I assumed you kept that bit of information from me because you were going over your options. I’m an idiot, okay?”
She laughed at the absurdity. “I didn’t tell you because I forgot. It didn’t matter. How could you believe I’d prefer Blake? He’s a saltine cracker, and you’re chocolate lava cake. You aren’t even in the same category.”
Jack lifted an inquiring brow. “Suppose you were having soup?”
“I’d skip the crackers to make room for dessert.”
“Chocolate lava cake?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“All right, then.” He pulled her close by the belt loops of her jeans. “You want to come clean now? I second-guessed myself for a long time. I’m certain now, but I still need to hear it, Quinnie. Your turn to tell the truth.”
She sucked in a breath through her teeth in a doubtful grimace. “Gee, I’m not sure. I mean, I fell for the idea of you, the first night we spent together. You might spoil it if I let you in. No one’s perfect.”
“What’s not perfect about me? Go on, let’s get this out of the way so we don’t have to revisit the issue in marriage counseling a decade from now.”
Her heart skittered. “You drink wine straight from the bottle. I’ve seen you with my own eyes.”
“A deplorable habit. I’m still perfect for you.”
“I’m no supermodel.”
“Thank goodness. Did you read in the paper how that last one worked out?”
“You live in London.”
“You will, too. And Seth. Keep going.”
“I’m too boring for you.”
“Nonsense, you’re fascinating. You make goo-goo eyes at maggots and yell at pushy reporters. You write disgusting, horrid things for a living, yet my dog’s eye bogies make you gag. Besides, letting me go would be a huge mistake, especially since men like me aren’t made every day. From what I’ve read, I’m quite the catch.”
She stared at him.
He grinned. “You didn’t expect I’d recognize myself, the playful Irish hero? Or you, for that matter?”
She chewed her lip. “Ezra’s left-handed. You’ll never prove anything.”
Jack tossed his head back and laughed. “Damn you, clever woman. Now, stop making me beg for it. I want to hear you say it. I
need
to hear you say the words.”
need
to hear you say the words.”
She took one last measured look at the man in front of her. Her ideal man. What guy chased a woman to the other side of the world if he only sort of liked her? “Fair enough, Jack. I love you.”
“No, no, you’re doing it wrong.” He crushed her into his chest and bent down to nuzzle her neck. He expelled a breathy explanation into her ear. “This is how it’s done, love. Now, tell me again.”
“I love you.” It came out as a hoarse whisper only because she couldn’t catch her breath.
Ezra had arrived.
Epilogue
London, England
Eight months later
Eight months later
“M
om, I can’t fit my stuff in this suitcase!”
om, I can’t fit my stuff in this suitcase!”
“Bring less. It’s only a few days. Sheesh.” Teenagers.
“Quinnie!” Jack’s voice boomed through the flat.
She rolled her eyes but followed his voice to her office, where he sat with his feet propped on the exquisite mahogany desk he’d gifted her. She gave him her best death stare, but it went unheeded. His eyes never left the stack of papers in his lap.
“Finished?”
He glanced up. “Quinnie, this is brilliant. Really good stuff. We’re talking chocolate ice cream with brownie chunks and fresh strawberries good. A beautiful hybrid of genres. I can’t believe you don’t like it.”
“Speaking of beautiful hybrids, my sister is getting married in two days and she’ll murder us if we miss our flight.”
“Relax, darling, I’d never miss the second Cobb-Buzzly wedding. Though, I still maintain it’s in bad taste.”
Quinn groaned and went limp against the doorframe. “Give it up already, will you?”
“I’m serious. Your poor child. His Aunt Emily is now his stepmother. Does it make his father his uncle by marriage? It’s disconcerting. We should’ve drawn the line after Douglas moved in with my mother. That alone is all the family relation confusion one boy should have to suffer. Might as well move him to Alabama and call him Bubba.”
“Will you stop it? My mother was from Alabama.”
“You said she was French.”
“I say a lot of things. Now, let it go before Seth takes you seriously and says something embarrassing at the wedding.”
“Fine. I didn’t call you in here to argue family dynamics, anyhow. I have an idea for you.”
“About the book?”
“Carla wants to push this under Clementine, but I don’t like it. I’m more than the dashing man in your life, I’m also a fan, remember? My opinion therefore counts twice, and I declare you cannot compromise the brilliance of Clementine Hazel with this half-Clem piece of work. I won’t let you do it.”
“What’s your suggestion, dashing man in my life?”
“It’s simple. You’ll need another pen name.”
She threw up her hands at the hopelessness of it. “That’s the worst idea ever! It took ages for inspiration to strike the last time.”
“Yes, but perhaps I can help with that, as well.” His Caribbean eyes pinned her with a medley of challenge, desire, and mirth that made her flesh break out in goose bumps. “Tell me, love, does the name Quinn Decker inspire you?”
A Florida native,
Roxanne Smith
has called everywhere from Houston to Cheyenne home. Currently residing in Roswell, New Mexico, she’s an avid reader of every genre, a cat lover, pit bull advocate, and semi-geek. She loves video games,
Doctor Who,
and her dashing husband. Her two kids are the light of her life and provide ample material for her writing.
Roxanne Smith
has called everywhere from Houston to Cheyenne home. Currently residing in Roswell, New Mexico, she’s an avid reader of every genre, a cat lover, pit bull advocate, and semi-geek. She loves video games,
Doctor Who,
and her dashing husband. Her two kids are the light of her life and provide ample material for her writing.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Roxanne Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First Electronic Edition: April 2015
ISBN: 978-1-6165-0689-6
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