Lauren's eyes had glittered with fury. “You bastard.” She spat the words at him. “It won't take me long to find someone to take your place. But how many women do you know that will let you do to them what you did to me? And you know you loved everything we did together. The wilder, the better, baby. You'll never be able to forget that kind of sex, lover. That kind of heat. Who else can give you what I can?"
The bitch of it was that she was right. The sex between them
had
been hot, and she had allowed him to explore the darker side of passion, the kind of passion that he craved, the kind of sex that he had needed ever since he was a teenage boy just beginning to experiment with the bodies of the girls he fucked. Maybe that was the reason he'd been so convinced they were meant for each other. Now he knew otherwise. She wasn't worth it. No woman was.
She'd stormed out of his apartment, and he felt a twinge of pity for his father. But nothing could persuade Jack to stay. He'd devoted most of his adult life to the electronics firm that his father had begun and built into a major company and he didn't owe it any more.
A few friends had applauded his decision. Most, however, had thought him crazy to throw away the comfortable life he'd had as senior vice-president of Cole Electronics, despite what had happened. After all, his father was owner and CEO, and Jack was the heir apparent, not just of the company but also of all the rest of the money and property.
Jack's old college buddy, Beau Dalton, had been one of the few people who had supported Jack's decision. Which he supposed was the reason for all this introspection. The letter he had recently received from Beau was in his back pocket, and he knew that he had put off answering it for too long. He reached back and grabbed it. Opening it, he reread the brief note.
Jack, I need a favor. I don't know if I ever told you, but my Aunt Abigail Montgomery is a writer. She's looking for somewhere quiet to work, and when she told me the kind of place she was looking for, I immediately thought of that second cabin you have. I know how important your privacy is to you, but I really don't think that my aunt will be a problem. So what do you say? I'll be waiting to hear from you.
Beau
Jack refolded the letter and once again let his gaze take in the beautiful mountain scenery. Damn. He really didn't want company, but he owed Beau. This was the first favor his friend had ever asked for. And he was probably right. A middle-aged writer couldn't be that much trouble. He'd seldom see her. Jack shrugged in resignation. He'd write and tell Beau “okay". He only hoped it wouldn't take very long for her to finish the book.
Aunt Abigail Montgomery. God. What a name! Why were aunts always named Abigail or Gertrude or Hazel? Jack had already conjured a picture of Aunt Abigail in his mind. The image was a cross between Beau and Miss Naomi Lockhart, his fifth-grade teacher. A rail-thin woman with scraped-back brown hair and a thin moustache, she'd wear orthopedic shoes and those little half-glasses he somehow associated with writers and English teachers. With any luck, she'd treasure solitude as much as he did.
Abby Montgomery turned her truck toward the front of the cabin and parked. She leaned her head back and rested it against the seat. Man, was she ever glad to get here at last. She really should've had more sense than to drive straight through from Gulf Shores to this small town nestled in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains. Anyone with any common sense at all would have taken the trip in easy stages. But not Abby. Oh, no. She reached up to rub the back of her neck and her hand encountered something warm and wet.
She opened her eyes and smiled. “You're tired, too, aren't you, baby?” she crooned to the huge golden retriever sitting behind her in the rear seat of the Explorer. She reached over and scratched Bear behind the ears. “Well, here we are. Finally. I just need to find this Mr. Jackson Cole and get the key to the cabin. Then we'll get all settled in, okay?” She grinned and opened the door.
After hopping down and letting Bear out, she strolled toward the cabin. Pausing, she took a deep breath and looked around. The cabin was rough looking, but Abby found it oddly attractive. Tall pines towered over the cozy building with its front porch swing and brick chimney. The wood was a dark reddish color and reminded Abby of the house her grandmother had lived in before she passed away.
Abby turned and caught her breath. The view was breathtaking, and she spent several moments just soaking it in. No wonder Mr. Cole didn't mind the near-inaccessibility of his home. Almost anything would be worth waking up to this view every morning.
Bear was sniffing around the cabin, and Abby called him to her before knocking on the front door. After waiting for several minutes with no response, she tried the doorknob. It opened easily beneath her hand. Walking into the cabin, she scanned the sparsely furnished room.
"Mr. Cole? Mr. Cole, are you there? It's Abby Montgomery.” No response. Abby shrugged and looked down at Bear. “Looks like he's not in here, sweetheart. Maybe he's out back."
She walked through the living room and the adjoining kitchen and pushed open the back door. As Abby stepped outside, she looked around. A huge deck ran the length of the cabin, with a gas grill and picnic table off to one side. Scattered around were an old-fashioned glider and a few Adirondack chairs. Some trees in the yard held white blossoms, and she wondered if they were dogwood.
Abby took in the view from this side of the cabin as well and wasn't disappointed. The yard sloped down and to the right, where a small pond lay nestled amongst a stand of trees. As she watched, she saw a fish jump at a dragonfly that flew too close to the surface. An old stump with an axe embedded in it was at the opposite side of the yard near a small shed, but there was no sign of the man she was looking for.
"Well, rats. I wonder where he is. Beau said that he'd be expecting us.” She turned and went back inside. “Hmmm. Bear, do you suppose Mr. Cole would mind if I made myself a cup of coffee? No? Me either.” She searched through the cabinets and found what she needed. A moment later, a pot of coffee was brewing, and Abby was trying to hold back a yawn. “Goodness. I guess that's what I get for leaving so early this morning."
She shook her head at her own stupidity and poured herself a cup as soon as it was ready. Propping against the counter, she let her mind drift back over the conversation she'd had with Beau when he had told her about this place. As usual, she had been bemoaning the fact that she couldn't work at home. There were constant interruptions that were affecting her ability to concentrate on her novel. Not to mention her worries about her former assistant who, for some strange reason, had become convinced that they were more than just employer and employee. He'd not done anything very bad but had spooked Abby. The day she'd fired him had not been a pretty scene.
Scotty had accused Abby of betraying him with other men. Of “whoring herself out” just because she'd gone on a couple of casual dates. Stunned and off balance, Abby had tried to calm him down, to remind him that they were nothing more than writer and assistant, that she considered him a friend, but that was all. He had gotten even more irrational, asking her why she would say such a thing after all they had meant to each other. That she was just like every other woman and couldn't be trusted. The argument and recriminations had grown more and more heated until Abby had finally ordered him to leave. When he had slammed out of the apartment, Abby was thankful. Despite the fact that he hadn't laid a hand on her, on some primitive level she had been afraid that he might.
That night she left a message on his answering machine saying that she thought it best that he find other employment and for him not to bother her again. She'd mailed him his check with an extra two weeks pay, and afterward she tried to put the whole ugly scene out of her mind. She didn't know what had set him off, but she wasn't willing to risk another confrontation.
Even though he had not returned to the apartment and had seemed to accept the fact that he would no longer be working for her, she had gotten a couple of hang up calls that she suspected might be from Scotty. When a flower arrangement of white roses had been delivered to her house with a note reading, “I'm so sorry. Please, won't you forgive me? Scotty,” she had become even more concerned.
Beau had agreed with her that it was best to err on the side of caution. They had met at their favorite seafood place for lunch where he had proceeded to worm the whole sorry story out of her.
"What you need is a place with no telephone and no doorbell and no well-meaning neighbors. A place where all there is for you to do is eat, sleep, and write. A place where Scotty can't find you.” Beau had glared at her with a fierce expression on his face, protective instincts on alert.
She'd tensed, wanting to deny that there was any reason to worry, and then sighed in resignation. “You're right. I know you're right.” She'd agreed, trying to think of a spot she could go hide out. She dismissed most of the places she knew and had just about given up on the idea, when Beau spoke.
"I think I may know a place.” Beau had captured her attention with that remark, and when he had proceeded to explain to her about his old college buddy's place in the mountains, it had sounded ideal. “Do you think you could arrange for me to borrow the cabin?” she'd asked.
An odd twinkle had lit Beau's eyes. “Oh, I think so."
Abby smiled at the memory and finished the last of her coffee. She walked into the living room and poked around. There was no TV set, but there was a CD player and a wide assortment of CDs from which to choose. She slipped an old country and western favorite in and sat down on the comfortable sofa to wait for Mr. Cole to show up. Within minutes, she had kicked off her shoes and tucked them under the couch.
Even with the coffee she had drunk, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. As the sounds of a man's voice singing about wasted love and cheating women drifted around the room, she sank down lower and lower. Bear curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace, and soon they had both fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Jack stopped his Jeep beside the SUV in front of the cabin. It looked like Aunt Abigail had arrived while he was gone to get the mail and pick up a few groceries. He still couldn't believe he had agreed to let some strange woman use the extra cabin indefinitely. At least he should have set a time limit, dammit—but it was too late now. He glanced around for the woman but saw no sign of her. Realizing that she must have gone into the house to wait for him, he grabbed the mail and a grocery bag from the backseat and then gazed at the Explorer in puzzlement.
Not quite the vehicle he had expected an “Aunt Abigail” to drive. Mud was splattered down the white doors, and the antenna had one of those little smiley-faced balls, only this one looked like a little bitty smiling Dracula. Weird. A bumper sticker on the back read, “
Writers do it in novel ways."
He tried to ignore a faint feeling of unease and strode toward the house and across the porch. Entering through the front door, he set his packages down on the entry table before turning around to face the main part of the room. Right away, he saw the dog sprawled before the fireplace on his hooked rug. Its head lifted from its paws, but it made no threatening moves.
It wasn't the dog that held his attention, but the woman who was asleep on his couch. Long red-gold hair rippled in waves over her shoulders and trailed down to brush the floor. Her features were delicate, not strictly beautiful, but there was a piquant, almost pixyish quality there that he found very attractive. Her tip-tilted nose was dusted with freckles, and her chin held a small dimple. Jack's eyes moved to her moist lips, the lower one just a bit fuller than the upper, and then roamed down her white throat to the firm breasts, which rose and fell in time with her deep breathing. Her shirt had ridden up, and he could see the indentation of her navel above the waistband of her pants. Jack felt a tightening in his jeans as his eyes studied the sleeping figure before him. Definitely not Aunt Abigail.
His hands clenched as he acknowledged his reluctant arousal. His current lifestyle had offered little chance for feminine companionship. Admittedly, there had been times when he sought out women for his casual attentions, but they were easily available and easily discarded. All he wanted from them was a hard fuck and a quick goodbye.
Now here was some strange woman sleeping on his couch—invading his territory. A woman who had already captured his unwilling interest and, considering his hardening cock, it was plain that he would find her hard to ignore for any length of time. Hell, he could picture himself going over to where she lay, pushing up that little top that she wore to capture her full breasts in his hands, massaging them, and plucking at the peaks until they stood pleading for the attention of his mouth. Peeling down those jeans, he would plunge his cock into the wet passage that lay between her thighs. She would be tight and hot, so ready for him. Just imagining the strong clasp of her body around his dick had him hard as stone. He had reached down to unsnap his jeans before he caught himself.
What the fuck was he doing? He couldn't believe he was standing here daydreaming about screwing the brains out of some unknown female. Who was she? Why was she sleeping on his sofa? She looked a bit like Goldilocks, but he sure as hell wasn't Papa Bear.
His anger gained momentum the longer he watched his unwanted visitor, rattled by his body's reaction. He took a step towards her, and the dog, which had been quietly observing him, rose and growled low in its throat. Jack halted, and drew back, not wanting to provoke the animal. But the sound had awakened his mysterious guest. As her green eyes blinked open, she saw him standing before her and sat up, one hand automatically reaching out to calm her pet.
"Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
Abby blinked up at the furious man whose heated stare made her uncomfortably aware of her tousled hair and rumpled clothing. As she straightened her shirt, she tried to collect her thoughts. Her sleepy eyes registered his harsh, male features and well-muscled body. Coal-black hair was a sharp contrast to the clearest, bluest eyes Abby had ever seen. But what was even more obvious was the tense stance of his body and the tight set of his mouth. His rampant masculinity dominated the room. As his furious gaze raked over her curves, she felt it in every pore of her body. Dangerous, she thought. He was very, very dangerous.