Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (60 page)

Now, standing at the top of the two steps that led down to the sidewalk, he debated risking the maneuver just to pick up the morning paper that had been tossed on the lawn despite his repeated calls asking that it be left on the porch. Apparently whoever drove by and tossed the thing had a lousy arm or bad hearing.

Up until his fall off that roof in a freak accident, Jaime had been considered as nimble as a mountain goat. Surely he could make it down a couple of steps and a few feet into the yard with the assistance of a sturdy railing and his crutches.

Feeling like a baby who hadn’t quite mastered his footing, he eased down to the sidewalk, then across the lawn to the newspaper. He stood there staring at it, stymied. Bending with a cast to his hip and staying balanced wasn’t exactly an easy maneuver. He was plotting it out in his head, when he heard a
whish
of sound that announced the sprinklers were coming on. Before he could take a single step, much less grab that paper, he was soaked to the skin.

Uttering a string of profanity, he hobbled away from the sprinkler’s reach, only to look straight into the face of a woman whose chiding expression could have silenced an entire room filled with unruly children.

“Really? Is that any sort of language to use in a neighborhood where children live?” she scolded.

Jaime recognized that look and that tone, because his mother would have said much the same thing, only this woman appeared anything but motherly. She was in her thirties, he guessed. She was slender, with long shapely legs displayed by her running shorts and a surprisingly curvy torso shown off by what appeared to be a sports bra covered by a tank top. Thick chestnut hair had been scooped into a careless ponytail. Now if she were his angel of mercy, perhaps the next few weeks of recovery wouldn’t be quite so painful.

Unfortunately, she didn’t look terribly sympathetic.

“Sorry, that was three weeks of frustration spewing out,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize anyone could hear me.” He tried out a rusty smile, the one everyone told him could charm the halo off an angel. This might be the perfect time to discover if that were true. “I’m Jaime Alvarez.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Emma Hastings. I didn’t realize someone had bought Bayside Retreat.”

“I didn’t buy it. It’s just on loan to me from Mick O’Brien, while my leg heals.”

For the first time since she’d confronted him, her expression warmed. “Ah, you know Mick?”

Jaime laughed. “Doesn’t everyone in this town? He built it, after all.”

“Fair enough. Then tell me this. How do you know him?”

“I’ve worked with him for years,” Jaime replied. “I was lucky enough to get an internship with the company while I was still studying architecture. By the time I’d graduated, I was Mick’s executive assistant and soon after was designing my own projects for the firm.”

Though her expression was warmer, she didn’t look entirely convinced. “I’ve never seen you around town.”

“I’ve handled on-site management all over the country for Mick. I was working in the Pacific Northwest when I toppled off a roof. Mick insisted I come back here to mend. He wants me to think of it as a long overdue vacation. I view it as more of a prison sentence.”

She laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling even brighter than the morning sun on the bay. “A bit of a workaholic, are you?”

“So they tell me.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I love what I do.”

“We should all be so lucky,” she said, her tone hinting at dissatisfaction.

“Deadend job?” Jaime asked. “Want to come in for a cup of coffee and tell me about it?”

“Sorry, I can’t. I have to finish my run and get to that
deadend
job on time.  See you around, Jaime. Can you get back inside okay?”

“I think so, but you might take a peek to see if I’m on the ground when you pass by on your way home.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised.

“And you’ll stop by soon for that cup of coffee?” he pressed, feeling a sense of urgency to get that much of a commitment from her.

“Sure. In the meantime, watch that language.”

“It’s a promise,” he said as he watched her head back to the road and take off at an impressive clip. Clearly she was a woman who took her running seriously. Maybe one of these days, he’d be able to join her.

But first he had to get back to walking on his own two feet again.

***

Emma ran until she was out of breath and her legs felt wobbly. For once her workout hadn’t been about pushing all thoughts of her disastrous marriage or her recent writer’s block out of her head, but getting rid of those delicious images of a soaking wet Jaime Alvarez. His T-shirt had clung to an impressive chest and biceps likely toned by hard work, rather than workouts. Damp, his coal black hair had curled in a way he no doubt detested. And that smile…She sighed just thinking about it. It could curl the toes of an angel.

Yes, indeed, Jaime Alvarez was quite possibly the sexiest man with whom she’d ever crossed paths, so definitely not her type. If she ever had another relationship -- and that was a huge and probably insurmountable
if
-- it wouldn’t be with a man who likely had women falling at his feet. Been there, done that, wrote the book on it. Literally.

Emma had dissected the end of her marriage to a man just like Jaime in a bestselling book. She’d laid bare all of her emotions, every insecurity, every destructive, hurtful act that had chipped away her self-esteem. It had been published as fiction, but there wasn’t a paragraph in those pages that she hadn’t lived.

In the book, though, the heroine triumphed. Emma really envied that.

In real life, Emma had retreated to Chesapeake Shores and taken a job at the library working for her mother, because it was safe and the hours were flexible enough to allow her time to write another bestseller…if only she could. That wasn’t the triumphant ending that had drawn readers to her first book. Rather, it was downright pitiful.

“But I’m going to fix that,” she promised herself as she showered and walked to the library that had been built eight years ago and over which her mother ruled with an iron fist. Emma might have scolded Jaime for his language in her best imitation of Jessica Hastings’ censure, but Jessica herself might well have gone a step further. She would have reported him to Mick as being a bad influence and suggested he be run out of town.

“You’re late,” her mother said when Emma walked into the bright airy library.

No good morning. No asking if everything was okay. That was her mom, a stickler for the rules, even when it came to her only child.

Rather than taking the attitude to heart, Emma focused on her surroundings. Mick had done himself proud with this building. The main room was filled with sunlight filtered by a grove of surrounding trees. In the spring a garden of azaleas bloomed right outside the windows and benches invited readers to sit quietly and enjoy the small, burbling fountain in the middle of the peaceful setting.

Restored by the sight, Emma forced a bright smile. “Sorry. I stopped to help a neighbor.”

Now that was something Jessica understood. She was all about good deeds. “You met a neighbor? How wonderful! Someone new to town?”

“In a way, I guess. He works for Mick O’Brien, but from what he said, he mostly handles Mick’s projects in other parts of the country. He’s here now because he fell off a roof at a construction site and broke his leg.”

“Oh dear. The poor thing must be miserable if he’s used to being busy.” A worrisome calculating expression crossed her face. “You should make a casserole and take it over. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Emma smiled at the predictable suggestion. “Mom, he has Mick looking out for him, which means all of the O’Briens are looking out for him. I doubt he needs another casserole.”

“Then perhaps you can pick out a few books you think he might like and take those by. Now that’s something you’re more than qualified to do. I doubt anyone else has thought of it.”

Emma loved to read, a passion that her mother had inspired in her at an early age. She’d always thought having a librarian as a mom, despite Jessica’s sometimes starchy demeanor, made her the luckiest girl in the world. She’d grown up with unlimited access to the newest books and no one had ever chastised her for preferring to sit on the front porch with a book to hanging out with a bunch of giggling teenage girls and hormonal boys.

Of course, maybe that was why she’d been so unprepared to deal with a man like her ex-husband. He’d been handsome. He’d possessed southern charm to spare. And he’d been determined to win over the only girl in the entire freshman class at the University of Alabama who hadn’t given him a second glance.

In retrospect she’d seen that the whole romance had been about the challenge. Derek Watkins, as she’d discovered much too late, had taken a dare that he could convince the shy little wallflower to go out with him. Emma had said no repeatedly, which had only fueled his determination.

Ironically she hadn’t been playing hard to get. She’d been terrified. A worldly man like Derek had seemed larger than life, a hero out of the pages of a book. Clark Gable as Rhett Butler had come to mind the first time she’d met him, in fact. She’d long since accepted her limitations. She wasn’t Scarlet O’Hara. She wasn’t anybody’s heroine.

But a part of her had apparently wanted to be, and eventually she’d allowed herself to be convinced to go on a first date, then a second. By their sophomore year they’d been a couple. To her shock, Derek had asked her to marry him just before graduation from college. By then he’d managed to convince her that their love had been inevitable, that it was real and lasting.

Only later had she discovered that he was just fulfilling his parents’ demand that he settle down. She wasn’t exactly a trophy wife. She was smart, presentable and eager to please. Apparently that was sufficient proof that the previously reckless, devil-may-care Derek was capable of making good choices and being responsible enough to manage his trust fund. His parents had adored her.

For a couple of years, Derek had put on a good show of being a loving and faithful husband. He hid his affairs. After that, he didn’t bother, assuming Emma was so grateful to have such a prize in her life that she’d ignore the behavior. And, stupid woman that she was, she had until she’d overheard one of their friends whispering about what was going on behind her back and wondering why on earth she put up with it.

Emma considered the evidence to which she’d apparently been blind, did the math and concluded she was the most naive woman on the planet. She didn’t like the label.

The very next day she’d walked out, filed for divorce and moved to Chesapeake Shores to join her mother, who was in full command of the new library and blessedly short on part-time help.

A few months later, after frenzied writing day and night, Emma had submitted her first book to a publisher. A year after that it had hit store shelves. Apparently her story resonated with a whole lot of women, because sales had immediately skyrocketed, which Emma actually found a little sad. Were so many women living lives of quiet desperation that a book about a woman who’d gotten out of a lousy marriage actually inspired them?

“Emma!”

She blinked and saw that her mother was regarding her with a worried frown. “What?”

“I’ve been talking for the past couple of minutes about books I think this new friend of yours might like. Did you hear a word I said?”

“Not really,” she admitted ruefully. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Sometimes I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours,” Jessica said with real regret. “Why don’t you shelve all those books that I checked in earlier? We can discuss books for your new neighbor later.”

“Sure, Mom.”

With a sigh, Emma went to work on the tedious task that would keep her occupied for the rest of the morning. As she shelved the books, she discovered several to put aside for herself, but none she thought might appeal to the man she’d met that morning. Why was she not surprised? All she really knew about him was that he could curse like a sailor, was sick of being cooped up in that charming little cottage, and that her hardened heart had taken a couple of surprising little stutter steps when they met.

That last was more than enough reason to stay far, far away from him.

***

“Why’s your newspaper soaking wet?” Mick inquired when he stopped by for his daily visit with Jaime. He held the soggy mess in one hand, scanning the living room for a trash can.

“Sprinkler came on,” Jaime reported succinctly.

“And the paper hadn’t made it onto the porch,” Mick concluded. “I thought you’d called and explained the situation.”

“Several times. It’s okay. I can survive without the paper. That’s what TV news is for, right?”

Mick gave him a sharp look. “You seem a little testier than usual this morning. Something happen?”

“When the sprinkler came on and soaked me, too, a neighbor caught me expressing my annoyance,” Jaime said with regret. “She wasn’t impressed.”

“And this neighbor was someone you’d otherwise like to impress?” Mick asked, his eyes lighting up. “Female? Pretty?”

Jaime recognized that gleam. He’d seen it often enough. “Yes to both, but get any ideas about matchmaking out of your head, Mick. You’re my boss. My social life is no concern of yours.”

“When was the last time you actually had a social life?”

“I’ve dated plenty,” Jaime said defensively.

“Name one woman you’ve been serious about in all the years I’ve known you. And remember we met when you were still a wet-behind-the-ears kid totally focused on college and work. You’re, what, forty-two now? I don’t see that much has changed.”

“There was Yvette,” Jaime said at once, thinking fondly of the woman with big blue eyes, a pixie haircut and incredible athleticism in bed.

“Yvette was perfectly safe because she lived in Paris and had no interest in moving to the States. Name an available woman.” When Jaime remained silent, Mick gave a nod of satisfaction. “I thought so.”

“Mick, not every man is cut out for marriage.”