SOMEONE WAS WATCHING me. I didn’t worry, though, because a) I knew everyone on this island, and b) anyone with a lick of sense wouldn’t come near Lucas Sullivan with a wheel-belt grinder in his hand. So I took my time finishing off the edges of the steel guitar I’d been working on, smoothing it down on all sides before flipping off the machine. Pushing up my mask, I wiped at the sweat on my brow courtesy of the muggy heat inside the garage, something even the breeze coming in through the open door hadn’t been able to cool like I’d expected.

As I took off my helmet, the hair on the back of my neck prickled, telling me all I needed to know about my visitor. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew. That wasn’t just anyone standing behind me—it was Jackson.

Fuck, it was a good thing I’d turned the damn machine off first.

Closing my eyes, I said, “What are you doing here?”

Tentative footsteps shuffled along the concrete. “I was told to come by.”

“What?” My eyes flew open as I wheeled around. And sure enough, there he was, Jackson Davenport, standing there in grey dress slacks and a white button-up and tie. Even with his sleeves rolled up, he looked out of place in my dusty workshop. Out of place, maybe, but every hair on his gorgeous fucking head was still remarkably in place even with thirty mph winds. I narrowed my eyes. “Who told you to come by? Wait, no. Let me guess. Shaw?”

“Shaw? The bartender guy?”

“Sounds like something that asshole’d do,” I muttered, yanking off my gloves. I threw them on top of the workstation and then crossed my arms.

“Actually, I’m here about the artwork. Mike from the galleria called you, and you said to swing on by, so…here I am.”

Oh. Right. The piece. Fuck. Wait…Jackson wanted my work? And he had the audacity to come here and—

“I didn’t realize it was you,” he said.

Sure you didn’t, I thought, even as my gaze traveled over his body. Jesus, did he have to look so good? The rain had caused his shirt to stick to his chest and biceps, revealing just how huge he really was. He looked like he spent all of his time in the gym, not going to business meetings or whatever it was he did now. Though if I had one guess, I’d say he worked for his father. That had always been the plan…

“Would that have changed your mind about coming?” I said, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to kick my own ass. I didn’t care what the answer was, and it didn’t matter why he was here; it only mattered that he left.

Jackson seemed to think it over for a moment and then shook his head. “No. I still would’ve come.”

And wouldn’t you know, my body responded to that with a shiver I prayed to God hadn’t been visible. Damn traitor. He broke your heart, I reminded myself. He almost broke you.

“I should’ve known it was you, though,” Jackson continued. “You’re a talented guy. Always have been.”

Talented with my hands, you mean? Why, yes, I am, and you would fucking know. Right then, though, I wanted nothing more than to use those hands to rip the bastard apart, to tear his heart out the same callous way he’d done mine. How could he stand there so calm and collected, like there wasn’t enough tension in the air to strangle us both? Because you meant nothing. Because he’s a rich daddy’s boy who got everything he wanted. Because you trusted him and he lied.

The blood boiled in my veins, but I tried to keep my face casual. If he didn’t care, then neither did I, and I’d be damned if I’d show weakness in front of this man. The sooner he was back out of my life, the better.

I nodded over at the piece I’d set out earlier. “It’s over there.”

“Great. Thanks.” He went over and knelt beside it, and then his big hands ran over the steel with reverence. “This is really beautiful, Lucas.”

Keeping my mouth shut, I continued to watch his fingers smooth over the curves, his admiration evident. He stroked it like it was the greatest thing he’d ever touched, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away, as much as I wanted to.

“Mike said you’ve got a big following. That they can’t keep almost anything in stock.” Jackson’s blue eyes, one much darker than the other, flicked up to me, and he smiled.

Ahh, so this was how it would be. He’d small-talk me in an attempt to be friendly, and then he’d get what he wanted and leave. Well, fuck that. He wasn’t getting niceties from me.

“I stay busy.”

“I believe that.” He finally caught on that I wasn’t in the mood to chat, because his smile faded and he stood up. “How much?” he asked, pulling his wallet out of his back pants pocket.

“Nothing. It’s yours.”

Jackson’s hand stilled. “I’m here to buy your artwork, not steal it.”

“I don’t want your money.”

He looked down at the bills he held and then back up at me. “Something wrong with it?”

“Yeah. It reeks of your old man.” The venom came out before I could contain it, an automatic reaction, like I was a snake that’d been stepped on.

And there goes my poker face. Ah, fuck it.

“Wow.” Jackson gave a low whistle and raised his brows, but shoved the bills back inside and tucked the wallet into his pocket. “Okay. Now we’re getting down to it.”

With a snort, I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. We’re not getting down to anything. You’re gonna pick up that piece, get in your car, and drive back to where you belong.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You got what you came for, and like I said, I’m a busy guy. Enjoy.”

A sudden gust of wind blew in, sending one of my blueprints flying off the table and turning my attention away. I snatched it before it could disappear out the open door and then shoved it inside one of the worktable drawers. The rain was starting to really pick up outside, and as much as I hated to do so, I needed to wrap things up for the day. So much for a few more productive hours. I unplugged all the machinery and put away my helmet and gloves, ignoring Jackson so that he would take the piece and get the hell out.

“No.” Jackson’s voice rang out strong and clear, and when I turned around, his shoulders were squared and the look on his face said he had no intention of going anywhere.

But I was in a shitty mood now, so I shrugged. “No, you won’t enjoy?”

“No, I’m not leaving. Not yet.” With his strong jaw locked tight and his eyes blazing, he had my cock leaping to attention like it was starving and only his mouth would satisfy. “You didn’t give me much of a chance to say what I needed to say on Friday, and if I have to force you to listen today, I will.”

At the word “force,” and the image of him doing just that, I had the urge to reach down and adjust myself, but my self-control was stronger.

“Careful, Jackson. You might remember how much I enjoy that.”

He swallowed. “Lucas, I need—“

BAM! The wind kicked in one of the garage doors, the heavy wood slamming shut so hard that some of my tools on the wall nearby fell to the floor. With a curse, I ran over to pull the other door closed, but the gusts were too strong, keeping it plastered to the wall outside. I grunted and yanked on it again as the rain slapped at my face, and then Jackson was beside me, his strong arms easily jerking the door forward, and we managed to pull it far enough that the wind helped slam it shut.

I wiped my face on my shirt sleeve, and when I glanced up, Jackson ran his hand through his wet hair and lifted a brow.

“It’s getting bad out there,” he said.

Yeah, no shit. And the weather worsening didn’t seem to motivate him to head toward the door, and if he stayed here any longer—

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“So you’ve said.” I didn’t see what could be so important, not right now. Not ever. Jesus, why couldn’t he have left ten minutes ago when I’d told him to? With a sigh, I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, “Where you stayin’?”

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

Jackson hesitated. “The Rosemont.”

Fuckin’ hell. The Rosemont was off the island, and with the way the storm was beginning to hit, he didn’t have enough time to make it back there before things got bad. Great. Just fucking great. Anywhere else and I would’ve sent him on his way, but no. He had to make things difficult. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but now I didn’t have a choice.

I swiped the car keys out of his hand.

“What the—” he said as I pocketed the keys and pushed by him to rehang the tools that had fallen to the ground. He stayed close on my heels, protesting the whole way. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I can’t let you leave now. God forbid a waterspout intercept your ass on the bridge. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

“Lucas, give me the keys. It’s not that far.”

“Too fucking bad,” I said, flipping off the garage lights and pitching us into darkness. Then I pushed open one of the doors enough to slip through and held it until he reluctantly followed, and then we both ran the short distance to the back porch.

Yeah, I hadn’t thought this through. Having Jackson in close quarters while we rode the storm out? This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all, but I wasn’t a complete asshole sending people off with a death wish.

Once we were inside, I kicked off my shoes in the mud room and grabbed a couple of beach towels, tossing one in his direction and drying my face off with the other. My clothes were soaked, and I didn’t chance looking over at Jackson to see that his were the same. They’d be clinging to every muscle he had, and I didn’t need to see that.

Stalking off down the hall without a word, I let him follow. I did have to mentally congratulate myself on the way to the kitchen, though—at least I kept the house clean even though I rarely had visitors.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

I opened the fridge, grabbed a couple of water bottles, and then tossed one in his direction.

“Was I supposed to be ecstatic to see you? Happy to spend a few hours stuck in close quarters while the storm passes?” I shook my head and then downed half the bottle in one long gulp.

“You act like I did this on purpose.”

“Didn’t you?”

Jackson looked at me then with a no-bullshit expression. “You know better than that.”

I finished off the bottle and tossed it in the recycling bin. “Wrong. I don’t know anything about you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower before we lose the water. There’s another one down the hall and to the right if you want one,” I said, already halfway up the stairs to my bedroom. Then I realized who I was leaving downstairs and added, “Stay. Don’t stay. Whatever.”

“You took my keys.”

“Guess you’ll have to walk if you wanna leave, then.”

“Lucas.”

One word from him and I was looking over my shoulder and into his earnest eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

Yeah, you’ve said that before, I thought, before continuing up the stairs.