Chapter 2
“Christ, has he always been so … so … There are no proper words. Male! That’s the word! I can’t believe I punched him in the nuts. How humiliating!” Chrissy gave herself a self-deprecating thump to her forehead. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
Growing up, Chrissy had always had a crush on Jack, but his jerkiness overshadowed the crush. In fact, it crushed the crush. Every time she found herself swooning over Jack, and she had swooned often, he’d do something to remind her of what an ass he really was.
Slade had always ignored her and pushed her away. But whereas her brother completely overlooked her, Jack never did. He was always the one who brought her straight back home when she snuck into one of their backyard cage fights. He always scolded her when she did something he considered to be reckless, like joining the girls’ basketball team. He told her: “You’re gonna get hurt, Chris. You’re a munchkin. What do you know about basketball?” Or like that one time, senior year of high school, when she wanted to go to a party hosted by the head cheerleader. The plan had been to sneak out of the house after her father went to bed. Her best friend, Veronica, had lent her some clothes and helped her with her hair and makeup. Chrissy even decided against glasses that night—it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see two feet in front of her. She had been so excited. It was a cool-kids party, and she and Veronica were going to flirt with Roger and Nick, some wrestlers on the varsity team. She was sure Roger would finally notice her; she was, after all, wearing a tiny denim skirt. That night she had planned to indulge in her first kiss, and Roger was the target. As soon as they arrived at the party, they noticed the crowd cheering around a table where a game of beer pong was under way. One of the teams the crowd was chanting around was none other than Slade and Jack.
After gulping down big red cups of beer, Slade and Jack glanced sideways and saw Chrissy. Both guys glared at her. Slade rolled his eyes, annoyed, and said something along the lines of “go home.” She shook her head and stomped her feet. Yes, stomped her feet. Just like a toddler. Jack didn’t even bother to talk; he grabbed her by the wrist, dragged her into his car, and drove her home, all the while lecturing her on why she shouldn’t and couldn’t be at the party. The excuses mostly centered on how she’d cramp their style while they tried to get laid. The worst part was that Veronica, her best friend of six years, completely stopped talking to her after that night.
Lots had changed since then. She wasn’t the same naïve and defenseless little girl any longer. She was a woman. A woman who’d been through a lot. She had lived in the worst parts of the world and survived. She’d been through hell and back in her personal life and survived. That stupid love-struck teenager was gone, and now every time Jack gave her one of those panty-dropping dimpled smiles, she’d remember how mean he had been to her growing up and how he’d ruined her relationship with her best friend. How he’d never seen her as anything other than Chris the Priss, a dorky little sister in need of a protective big brother. How he had stifled her and never let her do what she wanted. But she had managed just fine for the last decade, and she didn’t need a man to watch over her like that now. If Jack thought he could swoop in after eleven years and push her around like he used to, he was totally mistaken.
I am woman, hear me roar! Roar!
She had riled herself up, and only snapped back to reality as she approached her house, Jack still driving his cruiser in front of her car. “He’s an ass. Keep chanting that to yourself, Christine. Don’t let the gorgeous looks confuse you. Ass. Ass. Ass …”
God, she wanted to see that ass.
Naked.
In her bed.
No, wait! That’s not right.
A few moments later she pulled into the driveway of Slade’s house and he pulled into his.
“Were you talking to yourself?” he hollered from across the lawn as she got out of the car.
“Huh?”
“I couldn’t see too well since it’s dark out, but I thought I saw you in my rearview mirror talking to yourself. You’re animated when you talk, and your hands were flailing around, like you were having a conversation with someone.”
She laughed, though to her ears it came out sounding a little hysterical. Humiliation seemed to be the theme of the day. “Just singing. I sing sometimes,” she lied.
He looked at her questioningly for a moment, but apparently decided against commenting. “Come inside. I have to look for the key. I haven’t used it in years.”
She leaned against her car. “It’s okay. I can wait here.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Just come in.”
She pushed off the car, let out a breath, and walked—well, hobbled, since she was missing one heel—across Slade’s front lawn to his. Jack opened the front door of his house and moved aside to let her inside first.
“Do you mind if I take my shoes off? It’s hard to walk with one four-inch heel and one flat shoe.”
“Sure. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Chrissy couldn’t stop stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking. She couldn’t believe how different he looked after all these years. He had always been tall, and that hadn’t changed—she estimated he was at least six foot three now—but he’d been leaner back then. Skinny, actually. And whereas he used to have long dark blond hair that, when he didn’t have it tied back, would always annoyingly fall into his face, now his head was shaved—not completely bare, but almost. Only the slightest stubble of hair adorned his head, and she imagined it felt like prickly sandpaper. It was the kind of bald head that made women want to rub it. She was certain it was shaved purely for esthetic purposes, probably to add to his bad-boy image.
He was extremely bulky, and she was sure there were muscles on top of muscles hidden under his uniform. Wide shoulders, wide neck, and thick biceps. The smooth lines and boyish features of his face had disappeared and been replaced by harder and more defined lines that came only with age. To someone else, his dark brown eyes and chiseled cheekbones would seem intimidating, but not to her; she knew he was all bark and no bite. Well, maybe a little bite. Plus, on those rare occasions when he smiled, the glorious dimples on his face softened his overall I’m-a-badass-so-beware look.
He was currently sporting a five o’clock shadow that matched the short length of hair on his head. It made her imagine how it would rasp against her inner thigh. Where did that thought come from? In addition to his khaki shirt, his police uniform also consisted of ugly khaki shorts. However, they were far from ugly on him. The shorts strained against his burly thigh muscles. My God, one of his thighs was almost as wide as her entire body. Okay, not quite, because she wasn’t exactly petite, but standing next to him made her feel tiny.
As he made his way up the set of stairs, Chrissy took off her shoes and looked around. The layout of his house was identical to that of her old house right next door. But it wasn’t exactly as she remembered. Jack’s mom had decorated the place on the kitschy side, with knickknacks everywhere and not a single inch left undecorated. But now Chrissy stood in a simple and warmly decorated bachelor pad. “Warm” and “bachelor pad” could have been an oxymoron, but not in Jack’s home, she noted. Even though it lacked a female’s touch, the furniture was nice and airy, typical of Florida beachfront properties. The television was huge but didn’t take up the entire wall the way most men’s electronics usually did. And instead of it hanging on the wall with a lawn chair planted in front, it was set atop a nice wooden hutch opposite a white linen sofa with blue decorative pillows. Closer to the kitchen, there was a round wooden dining table with matching chairs. She turned the corner and walked into the kitchen, which had been redone. There were brand-new stainless-steel appliances surrounded by dark wood cabinets with granite countertops. Everything was simple and tasteful. The wall that faced the ocean had been replaced by windows. If it hadn’t been night, she would’ve been able to see the ocean from the living room. She stood by the window and squinted. She could faintly hear the ocean and see the outline of the sea oats and sea grape plants that gently swayed with the ocean breeze.
“Hungry?” The gruff voice startled her.
She turned around to see Jack leaning against the doorframe. “No, I’m okay. Just looking at the view. Trying to, at least. It’s too dark. Your house is lovely. You did all this?” She waved her arm around.
“I did.” He nodded proudly. “When my parents moved away, I got rid of most of my mom’s leopard-print chairs, gold-plated vases, and anything and everything pink and zebra-striped.”
Chrissy laughed. “She always did have interesting taste.”
“She still does. You should see their apartment. It’s awful. I don’t know how Dad puts up with it. Anyway, I went on a shopping spree and basically bought a display that was already color coordinated and combined. ‘Island Chic,’ it was called.” He air-quoted the name. “So I didn’t have to think too much. It was all already done for me at the store.”
“Well, still, you have good taste. You could’ve chosen something like ‘Space-Age Chic,’ but instead you went simple and classy.” She giggled nervously. All of a sudden she couldn’t seem to get a handle on her nerves.
“Is that a compliment? I think that’s the first time in twenty years I’ve heard you say anything nice to me.”
“Well, it’s hard to say something nice to someone who’s always being an ass.”
He looked a little sorry, which made her feel guilty for having insulted him—yet again. She’d never been in this situation with Jack before. It was unsettling. He slowly stalked over to her, and her heart started to beat faster. His eyes looked down toward her mouth, and Chrissy began to think he was going to kiss her. That was the last thing she wanted. Don’t kiss me. Don’t kiss me. She could feel his breath by her neck as he reached over a few inches above her head and to the right and flipped a switch, then stepped back. Damn it, why didn’t he kiss me? He nodded toward the window, and she turned around.
“What I really wanted to do was make sure I could see the ocean from the house at any time. That’s the whole point of living by the ocean, isn’t it?”
“Wow, Jack. That’s amazing. It’s beautiful. You did good. Real good.” She couldn’t help but smile. With the outdoor floodlights on, she could see the beach. It was eerie to see it deserted. She was used to the action-packed beaches of Miami. But this was different. There was a boardwalk that went from his backyard over small sand dunes and sea grass to an empty beach.
The fact that Jack was merely inches away unnerved her, so she quickly took a step to the side and changed the subject. “So about that key?”
He gave her a wary look and held out a shoebox full of keys. The box jingled. “It’s one of these.”
“Shit.” She plopped down on the chair right in front of her.
“I know. There are a lot of keys in here. Let’s go next door and try them one by one.”
“I don’t want to put you out. Are you still on duty?”
“No. I was on my way home when I pulled you over.”
“Well, I’m sure I’m interrupting some sort of date or something. I can do it myself.” She reached for the box, but he pulled it away.
“It’s no trouble. The only plan I had was to make myself a sandwich and plop in front of the television with Drogo for the next forty-eight hours. But if you don’t mind waiting, I’d love to take a quick shower first. I’ve been on duty for twelve hours now, and I feel grimy.”
“Drogo?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“My Chihuahua,” he said. He opened a door and out came the smallest dog Chrissy had ever seen.
“Oh my goodness!” she squealed, and clapped her hands together. She loved animals and instantly reached for the tiny little dog with the spiked collar, but Jack quickly scooped up the pup with his palm before she had a chance to touch the little guy.
“He bites. He’s a quarter pit bull,” Jack said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, please. How can that tiny little beauty bite?” Chrissy went to reach for the dog again, but Jack moved the animal behind him. His hand was larger than the dog. “You must be kidding about the pit bull thing.” Chrissy laughed.
“Trust me. He bites and growls. The whole nine yards. He has a Napoleon complex. Thus the name Drogo.”
Chrissy looked at him quizzically. “Uh … sorry. I don’t think I know what or who a Drogo is.”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry ’bout it. It’s just the name of a character, Khal Drogo, from a show I watch. The guy is big and tough, and I was watching the show one night when this little thing came to my doorstep barking and growling at me like the character. I opened the door expecting to find a German shepherd.”
“Hmm. Not a lot of television in the places I visit overseas.” She put her hands behind her back and moved forward a little to speak with the tiny black dog with huge bulging eyes. The animal looked so at odds with its big owner. “I’ll make you love me. Just you see, little Drogo,” Chrissy cooed.
Jack laughed. “Don’t call him little, he hates that. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s bitten several people. All of whom underestimated him. Including your brother. Actually, he bites your brother a lot,” he snickered as he set the dog down.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be careful. Go ahead and take your shower. I’ll make you a sandwich while I wait.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course. Still like ham, cheese, and butter, or did we finally graduate to mayo, mustard, lettuce, and tomatoes?”
“Nope. Still the butter. Vegetables are for girls. Ham and cheese is man food,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t believe you still remember.”
“How could I forget? I made you sandwiches every day the entire summer before my junior year of high school, so you and Slade could beef up and kick ass in the ring.”
“That’s right. I forgot about that. That’s the year we got into cage fighting. How’d you get stuck making us sandwiches?”
“Dad made me. He said that you two needed calories for the amount of hours you were working out, and he didn’t want you guys passing out. He was at work, and so were your folks, and I wasn’t doing much that summer, so I was tasked with the honors. I always tried to change things up, but you’d get grumpy when it wasn’t the usual ham, cheese, and butter. Slade was always peanut butter and jelly.”
“Well, the ham, cheese, and butter are in the fridge and the bread is in the pantry. Get to work, woman.” He winked at her and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered.
“Oh, sorry. Force of habit, I guess. I always dump my shirt in the basket in the laundry room.” He pointed behind Chrissy. “There’s a lady that comes once a week to iron them for me.”
Unsure where to look, although really she wanted to stare at his bare chest, she made herself busy in the kitchen while Jack placed his gun and holster on the kitchen counter, tossed his shirt into a large basket, and headed upstairs. While she made the sandwiches she carefully placed a few bits of ham and cheese by her feet for Drogo, who cautiously made his way closer and closer to her until he finally reached the scraps, sniffed them, and then walked pompously away, not bothering to taste them. Chrissy laughed. She knew animals, and food always got them on your side. She was going to figure out what the pup liked to eat, and win him over. If all she accomplished while in town was winning Drogo’s affection, so be it.
After she finished making Jack’s sandwich, she placed it on a plate with some potato chips she found in the pantry and grabbed a beer for him. Then she slumped down on his couch. It had been a long day.
That morning, after almost a year of dating, Gary had broken up with her via text. Yes, text! She had been upset about the breakup but not devastated. What had stung the most was the casual send-off. She had seen potential in Gary. He was a good guy. Like Chrissy, he was a doctor. But unlike Chrissy, he was a filthy-rich plastic surgeon who didn’t understand why she had to be “traipsing around godforsaken countries.” He wanted a wife who’d stay home, have his babies, and have dinner ready for him when he arrived. What did he think this was, the 1920s? He’d hoped she would tire of all the traveling and settle down with him in Miami. What she hadn’t told him before the insensitive text was that she hadn’t renewed her contract with the nonprofit that organized her trips overseas and was planning on taking a job offer at Miami West Hospital. Not twenty minutes into her pity party, complete with anger and vindictiveness as the guests of honor, she had received a call from Slade telling her he’d been arrested on charges of assault and battery and needed bail money. Within an hour of the call, she was on the road heading north to Tarpon Springs.
As soon as she arrived in town, she’d gone straight to the jail, where she spoke with Officer Ramos, who was handling the case. He let her know what time Slade’s arraignment would be the next morning, and suggested she hire a bail bondsman. She asked if she could please see Slade. Officer Ramos agreed to a five-minute visit. Of course, Slade looked like his normal nonchalant self. As if the five-hour drive she’d made and the fact that she would need to cough up money to get him out of jail were no big deal. As if it were her duty to help him. Not a “Thank you, sis, for dropping everything and bailing my ass out of jail.” Not even a “How are you doing, sis? It’s been years since I’ve seen you.” Nothing. But she owed it to him and their dad to help him. He was her brother, after all. He’d do it for her.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Irritated, she had walked out of the jail after her very brief visit with her brother and stumbled on a crack on the sidewalk. A crack that was now the proud owner of one beautiful red four-inch heel. She’d tried to pry it out, but the heel was jammed in too tightly. So she left the heel in the middle of the sidewalk, stood up, gathered her dignity from the ground, and straightened her black dress. Head held high, she wobbled, like a pirate with one wooden leg, all the way to her piece-of-shit car and started for her old house. But the tire went flat, which was the reason for the call to AAA. After waiting an hour for AAA, she’d thought that nothing else could possibly happen. But of course the fates had been out to get her, and she had been stopped by Officer Domineering.
Now, about twelve hours after being dumped, she was sitting in her childhood neighbor’s house with a five-pound beast growling at her and refusing to eat the ham and cheese she had offered. Plus she’d probably have to spend an hour searching through a box of keys. She’d definitely fallen down the wrong rabbit hole. She should have just broken into the house, skipped the bath, and gone straight to the nearest bed. Exhaustion overtook her body. She tucked her legs under her on the couch, trying not to think about the hellish day she’d just had.
“I hope I didn’t take too lo—” Jack strode into the living room to see a tiny sleeping ball on his couch. She looked so small on his big white sofa. It was quite the contrast: her long straight pitch-black hair and black dress against the white of the couch. Her alabaster legs were tucked under her, her head rested on the arm of the couch, and her dress had unceremoniously inched up her thighs. Drogo was sitting on the floor, inches from Chrissy’s face, staring. It was odd, because he normally went in for the kill—okay, maybe not a kill, since his teeth were tiny, but he definitely tended to bite. Instead, he was just sitting there staring at her. Not exactly a friendly stare-down, but not menacing either. People never believed Jack about the pit bull blood that ran through Drogo’s veins, but it was true. What kind of man would have a girly little Chihuahua? Not a real man, and Jack was a real man. His dog had spirit, even if that spirit didn’t match its size. And when the dog bit, his jaw locked and didn’t let go. Pit bull for sure. Real men had pit bulls.
He looked over at his dining table to see that she had set the sandwich and a beer on a place mat she’d found in one of the drawers. It felt nice to have someone at his home, taking care of him. Not wanting to wake her, he grabbed a small blanket he kept by the television and went to drape it over her, but Drogo ran toward the blanket, bit down, and pulled on the corner. Jack pulled harder, but the feisty dog wasn’t letting go. He yanked the blanket up, but the dog held on, dangling a foot off the floor. Damn dog! A year later and the dog still hated people—Jack included.
After a somewhat long tug-of-war, Drogo finally admitted defeat and released his death grip on the blanket, scampering back to his corner—most likely to plot revenge. The pup kept his eyes on Jack, showing off all of his little razor-sharp teeth in a move that clearly was meant to intimidate. If the dog could speak, he’d say: You win this battle, Daniels. But it’s on now! Jack softly draped the cover over Chrissy. He then went to the table and tried not to think about the woman who was sleeping on his couch. When he was finished, he put the plate in the dishwasher, grabbed the box of keys, and headed out toward her house. And of course, the last key he tried, after trying all three zillion keys, was the one that unlocked her door. “Yes!” he said out loud, to no one.
Jack crossed the lawn back to his house, where he was greeted by a squeaky growl from Drogo. Jack rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to disturb Chrissy, but he felt bad leaving her to sleep on the couch all night. He crouched down with the intention of waking her, but just as he was about to gently tap her shoulder, he found himself pausing to admire her for a few moments. Asleep, she displayed no signs of the feisty attitude he’d witnessed earlier. She looked like an angel, even with her black-rimmed glasses partially crooked. He reached under her with both arms and lifted her effortlessly. Drogo eyed him cautiously but didn’t bother moving. As if by instinct, she snuggled closer to him, and he could smell her soapy scent. He started walking toward the door, but apparently the movement startled her and she jerked, causing her to fall right out of his arms.
Hastily, Jack reached down and pulled her up to her feet, their bodies brushing against each other on the way up, her hand lingering on his forearm. “Shit. You okay?” he asked.
“Y-yeah.” She pulled her hand away as if she’d been electrocuted, straightened her skirt, and leaned back against the wall to put some distance between them. She looked at him as if she were prey and Jack were the big bad lion. There was a sudden electrical spark between them, and it took him about a year to move his attention from her legs all the way up to her big blue eyes.
“What were you doing?” Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted. Her chest moved in and out, causing his eyes to want to dart down to the swells of her breasts, but he kept it controlled and arduously maintained eye contact.
“Sorry, Chrissy. You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. I was going to carry you home. I found the key and was able to unlock the door while you were sleeping. God, you smell good.” He hovered inches from her face, both his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. She was caged in. His head moved down to her neck and she felt him breathing in her scent.
“Oh. I guess I was tired. I must have dozed off. Did you eat?” She was talking a mile a minute.
“Yeah. Thanks, it was delicious.” His thumbs, having a mind of their own, reached toward her face and caressed her cheeks. Drogo growled, and Jack hushed him. He noticed her eyes glassing over, though they never left his, and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. The sight of her pink tongue sent him over the edge.
“And wh-what are you doing now?”
“I’m getting ready to kiss you.” His voice was husky and low.
“Oh.” She licked her bottom lip and whispered, “Is that a good idea, Ja—”
He placed his index finger on her mouth to quiet her. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”