Chapter Four
Kate opened her eyes, a simple effort that made her moan miserably, so she let her lids drift shut and burrowed back into her pillow. Or, wait a second—was this her pillow? Her eyes flew open. These were definitely not her dark gray sheets, and wait…why was she smelling aftershave? She bit down on her bottom lip. Maybe because this was not her bed. Where the hell am I?
She sat up, and the quick movement sent a shot of unexpected pain through her skull. Okay, no more quick movements. She pressed her palm to her forehead and inched back against the headboard. Slow and steady. Her eyes narrowed on the pink duffle resting on a trunk at the end of the bed. Her tote bag on the right. Kitten heels neatly to the left—but they were broken. Her face crumpled. Why are they broken? She stared at the shoes as the tiny ball-peen hammer in her head chipped away at a few vague recollections, until…suddenly, everything rushed back.
The breakup.
The meltdown.
The flight from hell.
The martinis.
Oh God. Her eyes slammed shut.
The martinis.
Never indulge in more than one martini. That was her rule. Now as broken as her kitten heels. Worse, after breaking said rule, she’d gone and stumbled drunkenly into her boss’s brother. Literally stumbled into him. Drunk. Oh God. The room spun wildly in some unseen axis as she remembered…
Colliding into him. Climbing into his truck. Babbling about her ex being gorgeous but not a bag of chips, and then…she covered her face with both hands.
Declaring I deserve the chips.
A humiliated moan escaped her. Chip-talking with Jake Wright. The chips expert. Her hands slid down her face. And something else… Had he mentioned democracy? And had she responded with orgasms for everyone?
Or maybe she’d only thought it. “Please, God, let me only have thought it.”
If not, just strike me down now.
She tried to ignore the pounding at her temples, but it was tough. Bed-headed, cotton-mouthed, and wishing she’d downloaded that stress management app before she’d left her apartment this morning, three things became appallingly clear: olives were not a breakfast food, martinis were not one of the four major food groups, and she’d never drink vodka again. Never. The bottle should come with a warning label.
On a sigh, she lifted the strap of her camisole onto her shoulder and reminded herself that facing her mistakes was an important part of the growth and self-actualization process. Today is simply a growth opportunity, she thought, glancing at the boarded-up windows. It was so dark. What time was it? A quick glance at her cell told her she’d been napping. She never napped. Of course, she never drank more than one vodka martini, either. A knock on the door startled her, sending her heart leaping into her throat. Her entire body burned hot and tingly, and not in the good way, more in the panic attack way. She pulled the sheet up to her chin, beyond mortified. “Come in.”
The door opened as if in slow motion, revealing her reluctant host, now clad in a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants and a faded graphic tee. His feet were bare. His hair was damp, longish, curling into the back of his neck. His glasses were different, too. He’d traded the protective eye gear for a sleeker pair of hipster frames. Still unshaven. Scruffy. But cute. Definitely, definitely cute. An inkling shuffled its way from the back of her mind. Had she told him that? Oh my God, had she winked?
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Hey.”
Oh yeah, she’d told him.
“Hey.” Would the humiliation never end?
He cleared her throat and held out the tray. “Not sure what works for you, so I brought everything. Black coffee, microwaved pancakes, my family’s special hangover concoction. And Tylenol.” He stepped into the room and set her options carefully on the nightstand.
Kate eyed what looked like a tomato juice smoothie with a stalk of celery poking out of the glass and attempted a smile as tiny little hammers intensified their clobbering of her temples. “Does it work? The family recipe?”
His eyes shuttered behind the thick lenses, suddenly guarded. “Never tried it myself. More my father’s territory, really.”
“Oh.” She reached awkwardly for the Tylenol. Rumor had it his father had been more interested in gambling and drinking than his family. Her parents called every Sunday, rain, shine, or Buckeye football. Hard to imagine being left by them. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t believe in love. She turned the plastic bottle over in her palm. “This is perfect, thank you.”
Hands buried in the pockets of his sweats, he nodded. “You might want to clean up and change. Winds will be getting high, so a power outage is likely.” His gaze fell briefly to where the sheet had pulled away to reveal the torn seam of her skirt, and he turned away as if the sight of her red panties burned his retinas. His chin jerked toward the door to the right of the boarded windows. “Everything you need is in the connecting bathroom.”
“Thank you,” she said, adjusting the sheet.
He offered an efficient nod. “Storm regulations prevent showering, but I boiled some water, let it cool, and set it out on the sink with soap and fresh towels.”
The slow crawl of a blush burned across her skin. Part of her was touched he’d taken the time to ensure she had what she needed, especially after she’d drunkenly crash-landed in his bed. Such a thoughtful thing to do, so nice. The other part imagined spending the night here, in this boarded-up bungalow, in the midst of the storm, with a man who was a virtual stranger sleeping a few feet away in the next room, and the intimacy felt…honestly, she didn’t know what she felt.
“Probably best to leave and let you get ready.” He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a flashlight with her name on it. Literally. Masking tape. A Sharpie. And her fate written on a Fenix TK60. “We’ll definitely be stuck here for the night.”
Kate accepted the flashlight and attempted a smile.
Stuck here.
For the night.
…
Fifteen minutes and three Tylenol later, a clean, refreshed Kate focused the beam of the flashlight on the note tucked inside her pre-packed bag. A white envelope emblazoned with a mischievous Cupid taking aim from atop a lacy, black nightie. She slipped the card from the envelope and recognized Jane’s distinctive handwriting immediately. Her eyes scanned the message written across the heavy linen cardstock. When in Paradise…
Kate tightened the knotted towel at her chest and surveyed the room with its hurricane panels, neutral colors, and hard masculine furniture. Not exactly paradise. Especially when combined with the words “stuck here for the night.”
A pit formed in her stomach, and she rifled through the bag’s brightly-colored contents.
Bikini. Bikini. Thong bikini. Bikini. Strappy sundress. Bikini. Sarong. She hooked a pinky through the skimpy string-top and wrinkled her nose at the so-called clothing. Not the business casual layers she’d been expecting, but with nudity as her other option…
She dropped the bikini and unzipped a second, smaller compartment, but the pickings were even slimmer. Lacy underwear. Shortie pajamas adorned with a smattering of bawdy conversation hearts.
How was she supposed to face him, wearing pajamas covered in hearts that said, I Prefer My Valentines Naked and All Night Long? The only other items in the bag were a pair of sparkly sandals and this month’s hottest romance novel. Yep, her friend was definitely playing matchmaker.
An annoyed crease formed between her brows. Jake Wright was not her type. Besides, he was her ticket to Cosmo, to a life in NYC, a chance to build her dreams despite expectation. No more. No less. She glanced back at the pink duffle. When she got back to the city, she was going to put her friend through the ringer. Although, in all honesty, it had been her idea to jumpstart the new Kate. Several hours ago, the thought of a short-term romance had sounded…well, better than heartbroken.
But now she was here.
Naked.
With nothing to wear but a towel, a bikini, or the frayed white tee hidden at the bottom of her tote. She reached for the bag, pushed aside a copy of The Sex Factor she’d picked up at the airport and pulled out the shirt. The cotton was irritatingly appealing. Just like her ex, enticing on the surface but empty on the inside. She’d torch it, but a three-alarm fire was not what she needed. What she needed was therapy.
She marched into the adjoining bathroom, splashed some water on her face, and wiped up the sink basin with the shirt. She never wanted to see it again. Never wanted to hear the words “Fruit of the Loom.” In fact, if she never saw another piece of fruit, it would be too soon.
Kate tossed the T-shirt into the trash, sat down on top of the toilet, and let her head sink between her knees. This breakup had been coming for a while. There’d been signs. Nights when he’d come home late. Unreturned texts. Less time spent together. Frayed at the edges.
She pressed her fingers to the dulling ache behind her eyes and drew in a breath on the count of seven. On the exhale, she picked up her phone from the spot on the granite counter where she’d left it and typed out a text to Jane.
Remind me NOT to let you pack my bag for my NEXT vacation.
Not a bad conversation starter. A quick tap on the send button and… Your text cannot be delivered. No power. No cell service.
Obviously, she’d have to deal with her friend later. Right now, she needed to focus on the positives. Despite the hurricane that was knocking down power lines, she was in Paradise. And despite his reluctance, Jake Wright was a major get. Three years ago, everyone had wanted an interview with him. Then he’d disappeared. Vanished. Into the salty ocean air.
Now he was right outside her door.
No headache or slinky sundress was going to stand in her way.
Kate stared at her reflection in the glass shower door and repeated her mantra. “Skills, success…confidence.”
Except she needed more than mere confidence. She needed heavy artillery, some kind of advantage to win him over and convince him to sign on as her bachelor.
Something like…his book.
She opened the bathroom door with the tip of her toe, just enough to spy her open tote. Inside that bag lay secrets. Jake Wright’s secrets. She’d never actually read her bachelor’s bestseller. Sure, she knew the title—who didn’t? But she didn’t know his secrets. She’d bet her fanny there were some insights between those paperback covers. Maybe she needed to do a little research. Find out what made her reluctant bachelor tick.
She snuck a peek at the tray he’d so sweetly provided, and a small knot of guilt formed in her throat. Jake Wright may be a sex expert, but he was also an Eagle Scout, first rank. Prepared. Responsible. Equipped for an emergency like a tipsy bedmate.
Probably saw a lot of those types of emergencies, she thought, following the beam of her flashlight across the tile floor and into the bedroom. She stared down at the pink duffle, her conscience forcing her to rethink her research plan. Less than two hours spent in his company and Kate already knew he wouldn’t like the idea. But if he refused to answer her questions or give her any insight into his romantic desires, what choice did she have? Research was part of her job. She needed to find a way to crack open that non-believing heart of his, and if he refused to budge…well, all’s fair in war and matchmaking.
She lifted the book from the bag and aimed the flashlight at the back cover. No author photo. No bio. She flipped to the front pages.
Copyright? Three years ago. Her mouth quirked to one side. Same as when he left New York. Hard to believe that was coincidental. She turned to the start of the book.
Chapter One: Rules of Seduction.
That pesky knot of guilt moved from her throat to her chest, and she drew in a determined breath. Don’t back off now, Katie. Do your job. Research his seduction strategies and convince him to be Smart Cupid’s Man Candy Crush of the Month. Like Nike said, just do it.
Propping the book up on the pillow, she stacked up a few of the bikinis and wedged them underneath the Fenix so the light shone on the list of sexy rules.
1. Be Spontaneous.
Her gaze slid to her duffle bag and she hooked the sundress—the only reasonable clothing option available—with her index finger. The deep curve of its neckline and the bold floral pattern seemed pretty spontaneous, especially considering that if she had her way she’d be wearing a navy pencil skirt. She stepped into the dress, wriggled the fabric over her hips and settled the thin straps on her shoulders. Damn thing fit her like a glove. Made her wonder how long her friend had been planning the “spontaneous” ambush. She sat on the bed, curled her bare feet under her hip, and kept reading.
2. Master The Perfect Kiss.
3. Pillow Talk (What turns her on?)
4. Learn Your Partner’s Secrets.
How many times had she wished her ex would take the time to learn what turned her on? Greet her in a bubble bath surrounded by scented candles, rather than on the couch in the living room, remote clued into reality television? Hell, she would’ve stripped naked, climbed into the tub, and let the water splash over the side while she seduced him into a mad frenzy. Not that the situation was one of her intimate secret fantasies. But a night like that might just… Her throat went dry as she read the next sexy, little rule. A night like that might just…
5. Blow. Her. Mind.
Eyes glued to the promise of those words, Kate adjusted the straps of her sundress in an effort to distract herself from the sexy hum building inside her body. Clearly, the book had been a bestseller for a reason. After a quick glance at the door, she turned the page and read the next words aloud, her voice a near-whisper. “Embrace your shared moments of humanity and laughter, your partner’s imperfections, and her playfulness—that’s where the sexual magic lives. Invest in her as a person, show deeper interest. It’s not about the sex. The sex is only one factor. It’s about knowing who she is.” Barely breathing, she closed the book.
Yowza.
Kate had known she’d gain some insight into Jake from reading his book, but she never bargained on feeling seduced by his romantic, sexy words. But she had been. Seduced. And now, more than ever, she needed to know how the man who’d written this list had become the man who refused to believe in love. Because from what she’d just read, not only did this man believe in The One, but he’d treasure every inch of her.
And what woman doesn’t want that?