Three Little Words (8 page)

The amusement in his tone did the trick where all her useless eyelash fluttering failed. Her tears immediately dried up, only to be replaced with a lump of indignation.

Drawing a sharp breath, she glared at him. “Do you often get stuck batting clean-up for your pal?”

“I have to say, this is the first time.” He flashed an incorrigible grin. It made him unspeakably appealing even though he was far from boyhood. “Usually it’s the other way around.”

Josie huffed, envisioning Greg pulling the Galahad all too easily. Bitterness rose like bile. She didn’t want to listen to her brain taunt her for getting ditched in favor of some runny eggs and cold toast.

Of course, she knew she was being petulant and unreasonable, and that nugget of knowledge kept her from lending voice to her inner crazy. This was his son’s wedding. Bad enough he slipped out of the reception with her, he couldn’t ditch the post-wedding brunch in favor of driving batty old Aunt Jo home.

Will gave her arm a gentle rub that smacked of condescension and she stumbled in her haste to extract herself from his grip.

“Whoa. Easy, sweetheart.”

She’d lost the ability to take things easy years ago. Jo held her breath for a moment, like a gawky teenager rather than a grown woman and wondering if the phenomenon was good or bad. In the end, she decided this was one of those rare instances when a woman doesn’t appreciate feeling young again. To counteract his effect on her nerves, she served him up a side of old lady churlishness. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

Apparently, Will had no compunction about embracing his inner adolescent. His teasing grin came off more like a leer. “I think I know someone who wants you to be his sweetheart.”

“Don’t.” For some reason, her one word answer only made his smile widen. She gave her head a shake, hoping to dismiss the discussion. “Listen, the whole thing was a mistake. Okay? I needed to let off a little steam, that’s all.”

He gestured to a dusty white pick-up truck and motioned for her to take the lead. “How steamy?”

A chortle burbled from her. “God, you’re incorrigible.”

“Not incorrigible, just a little bit of a voyeur.”

Appreciating the effortless way he lightened her mood, she let the warmth of his smile envelop her as she fell into the playful banter. “A little bit?”

“Okay, a lot.” His nonchalant shrug made her snicker again. “What can I say? I’m a wild guy.”

Awareness formed a tight, hard knot in her belly. An unsettling tingle of arousal made her walk a little faster. She used to be a wild woman. Once upon a time, she thought she and Will might be a matched set. In many ways they were. But then her life changed and his stayed the same. He clicked the remote and the truck blinked its welcome. Plucking herself from a morass of self-pity, Jo studied his profile as she walked alongside him. Taking each feature individually he should have been an unattractive man, but as a whole the effect was swoon-worthy. No wonder he never settled for one woman. The world was this man’s smorgasbord. And yet, somehow he hadn’t turned into an asshole. She supposed that made him something of a marvel.

“Thank you.” This time her whispered gratitude sliced right through his careless playboy exterior.

He lurched past her to grab the door handle, but the bob of his Adam’s apple told her she’d hit the mark. “It truly is my pleasure,” he said gruffly. Moments later, he heaved himself into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. “Where to?”

“You remember my mother’s house?”

“Vaguely.”

She shook her head at his too cool evasion. “It’s six blocks from yours.”

“Longest six blocks of my life.”

“Well, that’s where we’re going.”

His sidelong look put them back on familiar footing. “A memorable night.”

The understatement prompted a dry chuckle. “Sure was.”

She would have chosen ‘mortifying’ rather than ‘memorable,’ but the pounding in her head left her disinclined to quibble. She should find the incident comical after all these years. The embarrassing denouement of a short-lived love affair with a man with a short attention span should have become girls’ night fodder by now.

The end of their affair marked the beginning of a new life for her. A life she didn’t necessarily get to choose. Their beginning wasn’t too far off the mark for the woman she’d been then. She’d been sitting at the bar at McGivney’s throwing back shots and scrambling for a way out of the noose of responsibility hanging over her.

Her first tango with Jose Cuervo helped to convince her everybody got a little forgetful as they got older. But her mother was only in her late fifties. The forgetfulness was getting to the point where Josie couldn’t brush it aside. Her brother’s voice echoed in her head as she gripped the second shot glass. Mother needed full-time care. They had to move her to a home, or Jo—the one who was still single, childless, and, well, female—needed to give up her apartment, her freedom, and her future in order to care for her. She tossed aside the soul-sucking option as she bolted back shot number two. Her throat still burned when Will walked through the door.

Every time he laughed she was instantly transported to the hot, steamy nights spent tangled together. The steady thrumming of her headboard as he banged her into blessed oblivion. The urgent phone calls—booty calls these days—to arrange their next meeting. Trashy lingerie purchased with the express notion of snaring this man’s undivided attention. She didn’t love him as much as she loved the idea of doubling down against the hand fate had dealt. And somewhere in the thrill of letting him tie her up, she harbored a few crazy, desperate hopes of tying him down.

But Will Tarrant was a rogue through and through. A fact she hadn’t forgotten. The thick, tangy sting of panic and guilt clogged her throat. The memory of Mrs. Burton’s voice blaring from her answering machine. Silky scarves held her bound to the bed. Will’s sexy, gravelly taunts when she strained against them. The minute she heard the words ‘fire trucks’ and ‘smoke inhalation’, the fun and games came to a screeching halt.

She’d never forget his whispered, “Damn,” when she jerked one rickety spindle from the headboard. Rasping and sobbing, panting for breath, she shoved him off the bed, suddenly desperate to get free from the ties binding her to the selfish life she thought she wanted. Will caught on fast. He was also decent enough to dress with amazing speed. He deposited her in front of her mother’s house then disappeared into the night. The following day she found an apologetic message on her answering machine, thanking her for the time they spent together and wishing her well. The gentle kiss-off made her decision to move home to take care of her mother infinitely easier.

And now, he’d come to her rescue after yet another embarrassing display of wanton selfishness.

She sighed as he put the truck in reverse. He paused, his arm hooked over the back of the seat, his foot planted firmly on the brake. Then the bench seat dipped when he shifted his weight. In one smooth move he put the truck in park and killed the engine.

“What’s the matter?”

He turned to face her head on. “What happened to you, Josie?”

The blunt question stole her breath. “Happened to me? Nothing happened to me.”

“You never got married? You live with your mother now?”

“My mother is dead.” The familiar pang came back. The same pang torqued her insides each time she spoke the words aloud. A pang loaded with guilt. And relief. “She died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

His automatic response coaxed a weak smile. The irony of the common condolence never failed to tweak her funny bone. No one was truly sorry when her mother finally passed away. The disease robbed Beatrice Masters of her memory and stole her independence, faith, and security. For over sixteen years she lived in a world ruled by fear and paranoia, surrounded by strangers who spent their days trying to convince her she knew them. A shadow of the woman she once was trapped in a body too vigorous and healthy to allow her escape.

“A blessing.” Letting her head fall back against the headrest, Jo turned toward him. “Or so they say.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“Listen, it hasn’t been a great week, and I’d like to go home and pull the covers over my head.”

“Oh? What happened?”

Sliding him a sidelong glance, she shrugged. “What didn’t? My foot went through the porch. Apparently, I’m harboring about a million termites. On Monday I get to send the exterminator an arm and a leg. I just need to decide which ones I can do without.”

“That sucks.”

Turns out, the simple acknowledgment was what she needed. Shifting in her seat, she turned to face him. “It does, doesn’t it?” His silent nod triggered an avalanche. “I was worried about it, but not anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope. I think I’m going to stick a pot in the hole and plant some geraniums.”

“Geraniums,” he repeated.

Setting her jaw, she turned to look out the window again. “Times are tough and flowers are cheap. The company I’m working for is downsizing.”

“You?”

She nodded.

“That’s bullshit.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She stared into the gloom of the parking garage. “You want to know the real kicker?”

He sucked in a gratifying breath. “What?”

“I turned fifty last week.” She spilled the last tasty tidbit in a whisper. To her horror, tears filled her eyes. “Three for three, huh?”

Swallowing hard, she tried to shake the stat off, but the irony of being bitten in the butt by her favorite number hurt too bad. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling when Will caught two fingers under her chin and turned her face toward his.

“Now that part is total bullshit. You don’t look a day older than twenty-eight, Josie.”

A choked sob broke from her. A torrent of scalding tears spilled over her lashes. Hiccupping softly, she went willingly when he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Shh.” He ran a clumsy hand over her hair and patted her back. “I’m sorry, I meant twenty-five.” He sucked in a sharp breath when another wave of fresh emotion crashed over her. “Shh. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I mean it. I swear you don’t look a day over twenty-two.”

The assertion earned him a watery chuckle, and some of the tension from his body. Jo settled into the warmth of the embrace. “You’re the one who’s a sweetheart.”

“Let’s not go that far.” He released her. “The only reason I didn’t try to hit on you last night was I was sure you were under age.”

She snorted. “I know your type. I’m way too old for you now.”

One side of his mouth kicked up, knocking the smile off-center enough to make him look almost vulnerable. “Hell,
I’m
too old for me now, but you’re still a hot piece, and I’m as much of a lech as old Greg.”

The casual mention of Greg’s name unleashed a fresh wash of mortification. Wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands, she took a shuddery breath. “Oh, God. Greg.”

He cocked his head and pulled a sympathetic grimace. “I think most women say the same thing after the fact. Amazing what dim lighting can do for a guy.”

The utter ridiculousness of his statement scored him shocked gasp from Josie. Will’s crooked smile widened, crowding the corners of his eyes and carving a set of nearly irresistible grooves on either side of his mouth.

“You’re the worst friend ever,” she chided.

“Me? I’m the best friend that jerk ever had.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “You should have stayed, Josie.”

“What?”

“Footwear fetish or not, he’s the real deal. You should have stayed.” He tipped her chin up with his knuckle and looked her straight in the eye. “You should stay.”

“Too late,” she whispered.

Will huffed. “Say the word and I can make it happen.”

“Why would you want to?”

“He’s my best friend.” He raised one shoulder in a shrug and his mouth ticked up on one side. “You’re my biggest mistake. I shouldn’t have let you slip away. Let me do one thing right.”

Warmth spread through her. Cupping his cheek in her hand, she wagged her head in wonder. “You
are
a knight in a dusty white pick-up.”

* * * *

Ben and Kaylin settled in the airport limo, and Greg prized his phone from his pocket. Three feet away, his ex-wife wiped her eyes and waved as though their boy was shipping off to war rather than the Cayman Islands. Having had his fill of Emily’s dramatics and demands, he ducked back into the hotel lobby.

The minute he stepped off the elevator at his floor, the call was bouncing off cell towers. Relief whooshed from his lungs when Will picked up. “Hey, did you get her home?”

“Who?”

Greg heard the teasing note in his friend’s voice, but it didn’t stop him popping off like a bottle rocket. “Josie. Did you take Josie back to her house?”

“Oh, Josie.” Will’s casual dismissal rubbed exposed nerves. “Yeah, I thought I was supposed to bring her to my place….”

His inner drill sergeant insisted he refuse to take the bait. Never one to follow orders well, he bit. “You were not. You were supposed to take her home, keeping your eyes and hands to yourself the entire time.”

“What about my mouth?”

“You wanna get punched in the mouth?”

“Not today, thanks.”

“So, uh….” His brain stalled out. The silence stretched between them like a rubber band. Desperately, he searched for a way to ask for what he needed without sounding like a complete pansy. Unfortunately, he bypassed wimpy and hit moron head on. “Did she say anything about me?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Will snorted when Greg growled his frustration. “You want me to pass her a note in study hall?”

“Stop being a dick.”

“I can’t. Dick is my default setting.” Will snorted at his own joke. “Besides, I knew her first.”

“Are we still in tenth grade?” Greg shot back.

“And to think I tried to talk you up.”

“I don’t need you to talk me up.” A long, tension-charged moment passed. “She’s okay?”

Will shrugged. “Other than a hole in her porch.”

“What?”

“Termite damage. I told her I’d take a look at it.”

He swiped his key card and shouldered his way into the room. A light, floral perfume mixed with the damp musk of sleep and sex. His gut tightened, but he was too keyed up to do anything but allow his pal to jerk his chain. “You don’t do residential work.”