Down in Flames by Sarah Ballance (1)

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Down in Flames Copyright 2010 Sarah Ballance

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb

When Jack Gellar returns to Jefferson Heights after five long years and an unforgettable betrayal, is his appearance the last thing Molly Coleman needs in her tragedy-stricken life . . . or the first?

Molly just lost her entire family, and now her home and business are both on the line. An unexpected encounter with the one man who can put the pieces back together leaves her reeling, for he can just as easily destroy what little she has left. Jack has a lot to prove to win her back, but when a lapse in judgment turns into an ultimatum he can’t refuse, will his choice bring them together or tear them apart for good?

Chapter One

"Make it black, please."

The familiar male voice tore through Molly Coleman with a physical force. Even as she turned away, praying her long hair would keep her identity hidden, his eyes set fire to her. Sensations fought their way to the forefront of her mind—warmth, lust, anger. Definitely anger.

Molly couldn’t begin to guess what brought him back to Jefferson Heights after five long years. But whatever the reason, she knew one thing—as sure as he stood there, Jack Gellar would turn her fragile world upside down.

Again.

She stole glances as he took his coffee and stepped away from the counter to a chorus of recognition, low murmurs tittering through the crowd. She cursed herself for staring after him, but watching him maneuver through a room was an addiction in itself. His long legs carried him effortlessly; his faded vintage tee clung sinfully to every carved muscle as they flexed beneath the thin fabric. As he moved, he held the rapt attention of every woman in sight. Not that Molly noticed.

"Well, hello, stranger." Lacey Austin drawled a greeting from behind the counter. The feisty blonde, a recent transplant from the Deep South, had been in Jefferson Heights for over six months, yet still managed to turn heads wherever she went. Although they’d only known one another for a short while, Lacy had been there for Molly during the most difficult time in her life, quietly picking up the pieces after her grandparents death and trying to keep their farm and her small greenhouse afloat by herself. If she discounted Jack—and boy, did she ever—Lacey was by far the best friend Molly ever had.

Frustrated, Molly scowled at Jack’s retreating form and tried not to notice the delicious cadence of his body in motion. The Monday morning traffic filled the small cafe to the walls, and as he glided through the room, he somehow managed to brush against every pair of breasts he passed. Not that Jack Gellar being surrounded by a crowd of women counted as news. Who could blame them? His ass in those jeans belonged on a billboard. She’d like to see the rest of him hanging from one as well.

"If his head gets any bigger he won’t make it back through the door." Molly trailed her fingertips through her hair—not to smooth it, she told herself, because it didn’t matter what she looked like for him. She stole another glimpse of Jack out of the corner of her eye and tingled from head to toe. She wondered against her own stubborn will just how much of the old Jack remained in the smoldering hot vision that just walked back into her life. None, she decided. No one could look at that body and think

"friend"—not even her, and especially not after what he’d done.

"Okay, what do you know?" Lacey’s green eyes glittered, following him move by move, just like every other feminine pair in the room. She leaned over the counter as if there could be any semblance of intimacy in the packed coffeehouse, ready for the scoop.

"Consider yourself lucky that you haven’t already met," Molly said, mentally pinching off the few memories of him she could handle from so many she’d locked away. "Jack was the quintessential boy next door. We grew up together." Molly stopped short of telling her the rest—about how they drifted apart and how he’d crudely tried to bring them together again. A flush crept up her cheeks at the unwelcome memory of her so-called date with Jack Gellar, the legendary playboy of Jefferson Heights. Before he left town five years ago, he could have had any woman he wanted with a mere crook of his finger. And if rumor could be trusted, he’d actually had most of them. All but one, anyway.

"Well, honey, that’s not all ya’ll did together for you to call him a jerk." Lacey cast another appreciative glance in Jack’s direction. "Lucky girl!" She exaggerated fanning herself with a stack of napkins before tucking them in a dispenser.

"We didn’t do anything together." Molly snorted. "Seems that was the problem. He took me to the park outside of town, and when I found out his idea of stargazing involved random acts of nudity, I told him to get lost."

Lacey’s eyes grew wide. "So what happened?"

Molly shrugged. "He got lost. He left me there and I had to walk a few miles home in the middle of the night." Angry, bitter emotions flared as she remembered the moment she realized his intentions. At first, he’d just stared at her, but in the next instant he'd been back in his truck, roaring down the highway before she had the chance to shoot him the first look in history that actually did kill. Lacey’s mouth fell open. "You can’t be serious! I can’t believe you never told me about him!" Her gaze darted to Jack. "Look at that," she hissed loyally. "He must have every 20-something woman in here drooling over him!"

Lacey nailed him on that one. The small café was packed with fluttering eyelashes and women panting like dogs, and their tails probably couldn’t have wagged any harder if he handed out bowls of kibble. Molly wondered how many of them he’d slept with, then immediately regretted the thought when a curvy blonde joined him at the table. Carla – the only woman in town whose reputation rivaled Jack’s

"Obviously frat life didn’t change him for the better." She muttered the words with sarcasm, cursing the heat that slid from her face down into her chest. She tried resisting the urge to look at him again, but stole another glance in spite of herself. Tall, dark, and undeniably attractive, he was the kind of man who made a woman shudder with longing. She’d never admit it, but she’d thought of him way too often over the years—and not always in the negative light he so richly deserved. The unfortunate truth was no man had ever gotten to her the way he had. She’d caught herself wondering "what if" so many times, but the odds of a guy like him settling down were next to nothing.

Lacey rang up another customer and scooted back over to Molly. "I don’t know how you managed to turn that one down." She giggled, loyalty apparently forgotten. Molly sighed. Neither did she. He’d caught her off guard five years ago, dousing any chance of a renewed friendship with an expectation of sex she simply hadn’t seen coming. Her rejection was automatic from shock; it came without consideration of her reckless attraction to him. And in spite of what he’d done, she wanted him more now than she had even then, but she’d be damned if she would admit it. Not to Lacey, not to herself, and certainly not to Jack Gellar.

Jack sipped his coffee, wincing at the sting of the hot liquid, and nodded absently in the direction of the blonde who’d settled in next to him uninvited. Casey? Candy? He thought briefly but couldn’t remember her name, not that he really cared to. He had known her for years, and her stale conversation droned on as boring now as it had been then. He had no idea what she was talking about, but from the way she purred and prowled around him she left little doubt about what she wanted, but Jack wasn’t interested in relieving old times. Not that her obviously "enhanced" rack wasn’t interesting, but he only had eyes for one woman.

Molly Coleman.

Jack recognized her instantly, a pang filling his heart when he saw her sitting at the counter. She had her back to him now, her long brown hair falling in waves, recklessly teasing his senses. Streaks of candied gold highlights curved through her mane, practically begging for the stroke of his hands. He wanted to touch her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before, and, as luck would have it, she was the one woman he couldn’t have.

He’d earned his reputation in high school, bedding more than his share of girls, but Molly had always been different. He flushed at the memory of the night he sped away, leaving her standing on the gravel in his dust. The look on her face haunted him, even as he’d left sleepy Jefferson Heights for college on the East Coast. The playboy had gotten a pair of finance degrees and had settled down.

More importantly, he’d grown up over the past five years, but he wasn’t surprised to find his reputation alive and well in his hometown. That much was obvious from the hushed conversation surrounding him.

The coffee shop was the only one on Main Street, a trait typical of the few onehorse towns that dotted the farming region of the Midwest. In what stood as either a tribute to small town life or an utter lack of creativity, the wooden sign across the storefront simply read "Coffee." In either case, the place was packed. He hadn't expected to run into Molly so soon after his return, but it appeared the entire town started the day in the creaky old building.

Technically, of course, he hadn’t run into her yet. Her back remained to him, her rigid form a roadblock to any hospitality he might hope for while she chatted with the lively blonde who’d handed him his coffee—his fourth cup of the day. Still, even after fifteen hours on the road, Jack felt more alive than he had in years. After a long and utterly dark night had given him plenty of time to think, the sun had crested brilliantly in his rearview without a single building to scar the streaks of pink and orange lighting the sky. The early summer air pelting him through the open windows had smelled not of smog but of earth. Ultimately, it had led him home. Straight to Molly.

Before he moved to Jefferson Heights, he'd carried the stigma of bad times wherever he went, his tattered clothing a dead giveaway he wasn’t like the rest of the kids. But neither was Molly. A tomboy to the hilt at seven years old, she’d never judged him or looked down on him. Wide eyes shining, she'd simply befriended him without qualification, and for the first time in his young life, he'd managed to escape his broken past. He eyed her from across the room, not surprised by her initial reaction to avoid him. He’d have to be insane to hope for anything more after what he’d done to her, but in an odd sort of way, the whole damned night had changed him for the better. Falling in love would do that to a person, he mused, but the thoughts grazing his mind as he watched her now had precious little to do with love.

He wanted her, plain and simple. Wanted to touch her—hell, he’d spent five years thinking of all the ways he wanted to touch to her, only to learn now that his memories didn’t do her justice. Unnervingly sexy in a natural sort of way, casual and carefree, she didn’t have to paint herself beautiful. She just was. And, in spite of himself, he had no way of resisting her. Not then, and from the looks of her, not now.

The blonde chose that moment to drape herself across his shoulder and lean into him, interrupting his thoughts and dragging him back to the present. Molly picked the same split second—just as the woman’s too-pink lips began to blow unwanted promises in his ear and her ridiculously long fingernails started to trace a path down his arm—to turn around.

Molly’s glare speared him from clear across the room, and his heart plunged into the worn floor beneath his feet.

Molly shouldn’t have been shocked to see Carla draped all over Jack. Small towns held no secrets, and Carla always had a thing for him. They’d been out a few times on those so-called dates of his in high school, and the torch obviously burned bright, even after so many years. Carla held a lot of torches for a lot of men, however, and her reputation as a home wrecker was well deserved.

Jack stood, brushing Carla off in a heap, and began to cut through the maze of people and chairs, clearly headed in Molly’s direction.

"I have to go, Lace." She muttered the words, breaking for the door before Jack could get through the crowd. She had her pride. Her world was already falling down around her, and damned if Jack Gellar wasn’t poised to be the final blow.

Chapter Two

"Molly!" From behind her, Jack called her name in a breathless way that reminded her of the sex they hadn’t had.

She willed herself to disappear. No such luck. It wasn’t as if she’d actually be able to climb into her truck and roar off before he caught her, but the irony of the thought left her with an odd sense of satisfaction.

"Molly!"

The gravel crunched as Jack jogged past her, swinging around in her path to cut her off. Although the sun still hung low in the morning sky, the summer heat had already settled in. Jack’s shirt, dampened by the humidity, clung to every muscle, and she silently cursed the temptation of his rock hard physique.

"Hey." Jack breathed the word, walking backward with rapid steps to stay ahead of her stampede.

Molly didn’t let up. She’d run him down if she had to. Not that she actually could, but the idea of ending up in a tangled heap with him wasn’t all bad. Properly executed, she could pin a knee in his groin, maybe an elbow. Of course, she could think of a few other parts of her body she’d like to position there as well.

"Jack, how have you been?" She kept her voice even, but on the inside she glowered. Seeing him now in the flesh, with that ridiculous pleading look in his eyes, sent wicked passion curling through her.

"I guess I owe you an apology." He flashed a deliciously crooked grin. Molly fought the urge to taste it. She imagined sliding her tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at his lips, feeling those strong arms hold her close.

"For what?" She couldn't let him off that easy. She was going to make him say it. He stared at her as if she should have known, with no explanation required. "For ditching you."

She blinked at him. Well, hell, he’d said it. Had she really waited five years for that?

"Thanks." She stepped around him and headed for her truck.

"Molly, please wait."

Something in his voice stopped her in her tracks. She hesitated, bracing herself, before turning to face him. The emotion in his eyes poured into her, eroding the hardened edges of her soul. For a moment she saw the old Jack in front of her.

"That didn’t come out right," he said, his voice softer. Tender, even. "What can I say? It sucked. I’ve thought about what I did to you every single day for the last five years, and in all of this time I still haven’t come up with a good way to say I’m sorry." Molly stared at him, speechless. Some incorrigible part of her heart caved, taking the rest of her stubborn pride down with it.

"You’ve thought of me every day for the past five years?" She angled toward him, trying to avoid the sun-drenched flecks of gold flickering in his hazel eyes, resisting the urge to coax away the flop of hair that brushed the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, Molly." Sincerity raked his voice, unexpected and not entirely unpleasant. Could she believe him? Did she even want to?

He took a step forward, lining his body up with hers and cocking his head ever so slightly in her direction. If she looked up to meet his eyes, his lips would be just a breath away.

It would be so easy to fall against his hard body, to press against him and let him envelop her. She tried not to imagine him burying himself inside of her, filling her in a way no man ever had before. She didn’t want to think about the way her emotions would flail and how her fingers would claw helplessly at his glistening back as he thrust into her again and again, sending her screaming over the edge. Or did she?

Molly lifted her eyes to meet his, leaning imperceptibly closer. Her heart pounded in her chest. If Jack really spent the last five years thinking of her, then she just had one thing to say.

"Good." And with that, she turned her back on him and got in the truck.

* * * * *

Molly paced up and down the aisles of her greenhouse, too lost in thought to do much more than cast a blank stare over the rows of plants. For the last few years she’d grown flowers, fruits, and vegetables straight through the long Midwestern winters, earning a respectable living by selling them fresh to the local market or baking them into homemade pies and pastries. Her respectable living, however, didn’t account for the overwhelming financial burden she inherited.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Her grandfather had been in the process of replacing his old tractors with the best money could buy—the most efficient and largest machines on the market—when her grandmother’s cancer diagnosis blindsided all of them. Three months after they buried Bonnie, George was gone, too. Now, the modest mortgage on the farm combined with the staggering amount owed on the equipment proved too much for Molly to handle. The bank had been more than lenient, with some of the payments coming up on a year overdue, but they had a business to run too, and generosity could only go so far.

Molly had tried to sell the new tractors, but no one else could afford them, either. To make matters worse, the land lay empty now with no chance of turning a profit. She was sinking. Fast.

Finished with her walk-through, Molly let herself into the small, attached office and plucked the radio on. A stack of papers waited for her, but her mind lingered on Jack.

Last Molly heard he’d gotten a high dollar job offer in New York during his senior year of college. Investment banking. She wouldn’t have guessed it, but when he left her she learned the hard way she didn’t really know him.

She’d spent five years remembering an eighteen-year-old Jack with a mixture of anger and longing and for the life of her she couldn’t decide which was worse. In the space of one morning, however, she’d found one thing to be true: Parts of her body that hadn’t been alive in months were suddenly coursing with electricity and desire. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and tried desperately to get the man out of her head. Instead, she found herself fantasizing about his hands on her, rough on her skin, driving her to levels of pleasure she could only imagine. Memories of the kisses they shared five years ago tangled with desires of the present. She could nearly feel his touch as one sexy kiss after another trailed a wicked path down her body. She saw Jack, with those sexy dark locks of hair falling in his eyes and just the hint of stubble shading his jaw, gazing up at her playfully from between her legs. That slow lazy grin of his would melt molasses in the dead of winter. She could practically see the self-satisfied smile spill from his lips as he taunted her with his fingers, moving them slowly in and out of her hot, wet body.

"You sure look good."

Molly jumped and nearly tumbled out of her seat, kicking the file cabinet and sending a pile of peat pots to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" A flush rose over her cheeks. "How long have you been standing there?"

Jack leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. His gaze ate her alive. It roamed over every curve of her body and she said a silent prayer of thanks there was no way he could know how turned on she'd gotten with her thoughts of him. Her nipples betrayed her, though, pressing against the thin tank top. Her breathing grew shallow with a need she didn’t want.

Damn it. She had to get him out of there before she made a complete fool of herself.

She grappled with the best way to pull off such a feat when the familiar notes of an old love song filled the small office.

She inhaled sharply against the stabbing pain the music evoked. The soft melody rocked her, bringing her back to a warm summer night from a lifetime ago. Through the eyes of a child, she could see her grandparents swaying together on the porch after dinner while she and Jack chased fireflies just outside of the warm glow of the porch light. The feelings that rushed through her at the memory were gentle and warm and laced with sadness. When her eyes met Jack’s, the awareness of a shared past fired between them.

"I think we have some lost time to make up for." With a soft look full of understanding, Jack reached out and touched Molly’s face.

The intimate gesture melted the last of her defenses and she sank against him. Jack took her in his arms without hesitation. In an odd sort of way, he was all she had left from the safety and warmth of her childhood. Her resolve crumbled as Jack pulled her close, murmuring "I heard about your grandparents. I miss them, too," in her hair. The tears came, then, and Molly clung to Jack with all she had. His arms were strong and steady, she a puddle of sobbing mush, but he enveloped her and held her, wordlessly, while she let go.

The stress of the last year crumpled over her. Molly’s eyes ran all over the thin fabric of Jack’s tee shirt, but he held her as she cried against him.

"I’m sorry," she said with a sniffle, breaking the long silence.

"For what?" His voice was tender.

"For that." Molly lifted her head so he could see the wet spot that covered his chest.

"Geez, woman. You’ve ruined my favorite shirt." Jack’s eyes twinkled—impishly, but laced with a sadness she understood too well. He stepped away from her and pulled the wet shirt over his head. Handing it to her, he grinned and asked "Are we even now?"

She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss him. And if not for her runny nose and puffy eyes, she might have done just that. She settled for an uncertain smile.

"Okay, Gellar. Truce." Molly waved his shirt in surrender, her eyes drawn inexplicably to the dark trail of hair leading into the waistband of his jeans.

"So we’re friends again?" Jack plucked the shirt from Molly’s grasp and tucked the end into his back pocket. How a man could look so sexy with a wet, snotty shirt hanging from his ass, Molly didn't know.

"I’ll take that as a yes." Jack leaned close and tipped his face toward hers. Molly looked up at him just as their lips met in an impossibly soft kiss that nearly brought her to her knees. He tasted raw, salty with sweat, and deliciously warm. He most certainly did not taste like a friend.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone. She couldn't deny the fire between them, but one thing had suddenly become perfectly clear. There was no chance in hell she’d get out of this if she didn’t do something. Fast.

Chapter Three

"I need somewhere to stay."

Against her better judgment, Molly had invited Jack into the house. Now he looked very much at home in her kitchen, leaning against the cabinets as if he belonged there.

"You what?" Molly regarded him with utter shock. Her jaw might well have been on the floor, but she was too stunned to know the difference.

Jack shrugged and gave her a grin. "The old homestead is a little, uh, drafty." Molly snorted. If not for an old tree growing at the front corner of Jack’s burned down house, it would be hard to tell where the dwelling had once stood. "You’re staying in Jefferson Heights?"

"Yes, I’m staying."

"What happened to New York?"

"How did you know about that?"

Molly ignored his question. She tried to ignore her spinning head and the heat that filled her to the core, and the way every inch of her longed to be tangled with every inch of him. She was in the middle of wondering how many inches there were, exactly, when the back door of the farmhouse slammed open and shut again. Lacey breezed into the sunny kitchen.

"Sorry I’m late, Molly!" she drawled, then "Oh!" Molly didn’t miss Lacey’s knowing look, and she held little doubt in her mind Jack was privy to it as well.

"Am I interrupting something?" Lacey’s eyes glittered as she took a long, lazy visual tour of Jack’s bare upper half. "Jack, isn’t it?" Molly could have quite happily disappeared into the floor. Jack saw her talking to Lacey that morning. She could have gotten his name from almost anyone, but Lacey’s indulgent tone and the heat of a fierce blush gave Molly away.

"Nice to see you again, Lacey," he said, his warm gaze drifting down to the name tag she still wore. Jack still held the slightly amused expression and killer grin that left Molly on the verge of losing control. "I was just about to grab a shower. Okay with you, Molly?"

"Um, okay." Molly’s head spun, and Lacey’s raised brows didn’t do much to help. Had Molly somehow just agreed to let Jack stay there? With her?

Jack’s feet hadn’t even disappeared up the stairs before Lacey dug in. "Do I even need to ask why he’s here half naked and in need of a shower, or do I already know?"

"Nothing happened," Molly insisted.

"But you want it to!" Lacey countered, wearing a knowing smile.

"Jack dumped me, remember?"

"Jack is in your shower. I don’t know if you’ve forgiven him or are planning to punish him, but I’m betting either way you’ll both be in there when it’s over with." The thought of showering with Jack sent a thrill barreling through Molly, wrecking havoc on her most sensitive spots. "We’re just friends," she said, not trusting herself to say more.

Instead, she started pulling cold cuts from the refrigerator. Lacey stared at her for a few seconds before sighing and grabbing a few fresh slices of bread from the bread box.

The two friends had an easy routine. Molly popped in to the coffee shop each morning to deliver piles of fresh pastries and baked goods that inevitably sold out by noon. When the coffee shop closed shortly thereafter, Lacey headed over to Molly’s for a late lunch before working the rest of the day at the greenhouse. But routine or not, this time something seemed different. This time, a very sexy, very naked man stood in Molly’s shower.

Lacey took a bite of her sandwich and pinned a questioning look on Molly.

"He’s staying here." Molly's confession came before Lacey could say a word.

"What?" Lacey lost her grip on the sandwich. It dropped to the table and fell apart.

"He’s going to stay here with me. In the other bedroom. His place is, um, drafty." Molly stammered, struggling to finish a sentence. "The place next door that burned down. That's his."

Lacey raised her eyebrows.

"Your eyebrows might stay that way if you keep doing that."

"Honey, I imagine he knew it was ‘drafty’ before he rolled back into town." Lacey rolled her eyes.

"What else can he do? Stay at a hotel?" Jefferson Heights didn’t boast a single room for rent.

Lacey shrugged. "Where did he stay after the fire?"

"He stayed with the Manning family for a couple of years, but he didn’t do much more than sleep there. He lost his whole family in the fire, and he pretty much shut down after that. We hadn’t spoken in years when it happened—he sort of drifted away for some reason as we got older—but rumor has it he’d snuck out that night and always blamed himself for not being there to save them."

"Oh, that’s terrible!" Lacey’s warm eyes filled with sympathy.

"Yes, it is." Molly’s own heart tugged with the memory. "Of course, Jack dealt with the pain by sleeping with every girl in town."

"Except one," Lacey said, piecing her demolished sandwich back together before taking another big bite.

"Yeah, what was I thinking?" Molly looked to the ceiling and wondered which part of his body Jack rubbed soap over at the moment.

Lacey faced her, not letting go of her serious expression. "No, seriously, what were you thinking? There are some major sparks flying between the two of you." How could Molly begin to explain her feelings? Yesterday finding the words might have been easier. Yesterday the hurt was what she remembered most—the hurt of losing him the first time and the anger of him leaving her behind. Today all she saw were the playful eyes of her former best friend deliciously packaged in the body of a man. A body that put the eighteen-year-old Jack to shame, not that he hadn’t been something to look at even then. "He meant something to me," she said finally. Maybe he still does.

"You had feelings for him so you didn’t sleep with him?" Lacey’s southern drawl made the notion sound more ridiculous than it was.

"Sort of." Molly blushed.

Lacey rolled her eyes. "Honey, I know you’re not that experienced, but let me give you a tip. You’re supposed to like them before you sleep with them." Like him? I loved him. "I didn’t want to be just another one of his one night stands."

"You wouldn’t have been." Jack’s voice wrapped around her—gentle, unexpected, and far too close for comfort.

Cursing herself for sitting with her back to the stairs, Molly spun around in her chair to see Jack standing behind her, still wet from his shower. Wearing absolutely nothing but a towel.

She wondered just how much he heard. She turned back quickly, a hot flush rushing to her cheeks. She glared at Lacey, who feigned an innocent smile.

"I left my clothes in my truck," he said as casually as if he’d dropped his keys.

"I’ll get them for you," Lacey said with a wink. "Where is it?"

"It’s on the other side of the greenhouse. I need the blue suit bag," he added.

"I’ll take my time." Lacey smiled and slipped through the back door. Molly didn’t miss the fact that she took her lunch with her.

"Molly." Jack’s voice was soft behind her.

She didn’t turn around.

"You were never going to be a one night stand."

"You’re right," she said, facing him. "I turned you down." Jack’s serious expression melted into a grin, and Molly nearly melted along with it. "What I meant was that I want more from you than a one night stand." Want. Present tense.

"Jack, that was a long time ago."

"Molly, this is right now." He reached for her and swept a long, wavy strand of hair from her face, resting his hand on the side of her head. His eyes held a devilish warmth, the flames of a slow heat flickering in their chocolate depths. A few wet locks of hair drifted forward to cover his eyes as he leaned down to close the distance between them.

He brushed her lips with his, and then pulled her bottom lip with his teeth, teasing her.

"You could never, ever be a one night stand," he whispered, "and I’m not going anywhere until I prove it."

Molly’s body heated with anticipation but her mind held her back. Could she really trust him? Common sense told her she should back away, but instead she found her fingers tracing a path down his broad chest to his tight stomach, coming dangerously close to following that delicious line of hair under his belly button to wherever it might lead.

Heaven. She was sure of it.

"Jack." She breathed his name, her body weak with desire. It was all the invitation he needed. He deftly slid his hand underneath Molly’s tank top, cupping one breast with a maddening gentleness. Molly gasped, and then lost her breath to another soft kiss while Jack’s fingers slowly trailed back and forth against her rock hard nipple. She trembled.

Amateur. No, virgin was more like it.

The towel had to go. The cloth tented ridiculously, no match for the power of Jack’s erection. Molly had the distinct impression the helplessness was a quality they—

she and the towel—shared. That, and they were both wet.

"Can I take you upstairs?" Jack growled the words, his breath jagged in spite of the languid movement of his hands on her body.

Molly nodded, and then gasped as Jack’s strong arms lifted her effortlessly. She linked her hands behind his neck and drank in the smell of soap and man, nearly dizzy with anticipation as he carried her up the stairs.

He headed straight for her room. The bed splayed soft and cool against her skin, a tantalizing contrast to Jack’s harness and heat.

And when he came to her, Molly lost all track of her senses. Jack seemed determined to taunt her with his torturously slow tasting of her body—from her lips to her neck and finally, finally to the peaks of her breasts. The zing of his mouth crept hotly though the fabric of her shirt, and Molly jerked at the thin pink cloth impatiently, freeing herself to him.

Jack drew the sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking in one delicious motion. Molly cried out with pleasure and arched to him, feeling the naked heat of his length against her bare thigh. Her fingers wound through his hair as he turned his attention from one breast to the other, expertly toying with her as she moaned beneath him.

Molly could feel the desire pouring from her and knew she was slick and wet with liquid heat. She slid her legs around Jack’s waist, pulling him closer and causing him to groan when she grazed his straining erection.

Jack pulled away, putting inches between them

"Where are you going?" Molly panted, her voice heavy.

"To look at you." He cast a seductive, appreciative glance at her quivering form.

"Dammit, Molly, I’ve been thinking of nothing else for years." Jack’s rigid shaft bobbed in agreement. By the looks of it, a one night stand didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Molly crawled to her knees and boldly pulled off her mangled top, fully baring herself to him. Her breasts tingled, tight and heavy under his steady stare. Jack reached out and put one hand on each side of her waist, making her shudder as he settled them into her curves. Then slowly, so slowly, he moved them down to the waistband of her denim shorts. Molly’s breath came in shallow pants as he unfastened the button and zipper, pulling the material past the slope of her hips and down her trembling thighs until she, too, was naked.

Jack let out a slow breath.

"I want you." Molly whispered.

Jack pulled her to the bed and kissed her fiercely. His rough hands squeezed the soft curve of her bottom. She clung to him wildly, willing her body to mold with his. Their tongues tasted and swept together in a passion that left her reeling. Jack’s hand found her wetness then, and Molly gasped with pleasure. His thumb circled her nub lazily while two skilled fingers entered her, coaxing her closer and closer to orgasm with every wicked stroke. Molly burned with need, willing her frantic body to slow down just as she wished for nothing more than the ultimate release.

"Do you have protection?" He gasped.

"Me? No, I’ve never needed it." Molly’s voice was ragged, her body on the edge of blissful indulgence. "You?"

"I don’t even have my pants," Jack murmured, smiling through his kisses. Suddenly he lost his rhythm. "What do you mean you’ve never needed it?"

"I’ve never done this before," she said, relishing the hint of stubble on his strong jaw. Exactly as she imagined his jaw would feel.

"What?" The feel of stubble disappeared, Jack's expression of shock taking its place.

"But I want to do it now." More than you could ever know. Molly pulled him back to her, wrapping one hand around his shaft and sliding her palm up and down seductively.

Jack moaned. "You’re not convincing me of your inexperience."

"It just feels . . . right." Only after she’d spoken the words out loud did she realize how much she meant them.

"It’s going to have to feel right later." He shifted and groaned with regret. "I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you right now, but damned if we don’t have to wait."

Jack gently pushed her away, maneuvering his throbbing erection safely away from her flesh. Then he descended upon her, tasting her glistening folds with the craze of a madman. He thrust his tongue into her sensitive opening and grazed her pulsing sex with his teeth, all the while twisting the turgid peaks of her nipples with relentless passion.

It took seconds, at most.

Molly rocked her hips and called his name, more alive than she’d ever been in her life. Waves of pleasure washed over her with the ferocity of a storm, leaving her shuddering in a wake of unspeakable emotion. Jack continued to lap at her, his nibbles just as tender as they’d been passionate only seconds before.

Finally, gently, Jack’s lips found hers again, and Molly could taste herself in his hot mouth. The move was erotic, seductive, and, although she was utterly spent, she welcomed the traces of a stirring deep in her belly.

Jack’s impossible hardness nudged at her thigh and he moaned at the contact. Their kisses continued, lazy and exploring, and she slid her hand down to his shaft. This time he didn’t resist.

Tangible satisfaction drifted over Molly as she lay in Jack’s arms. He held her close and groaned as she stroked his full length, massaging the head as she went. Slick, hot fluid seeped from him, and Molly instinctively began to increase her speed with the lubrication.

Within seconds, their tender kisses turned reckless and Jack’s body grew tense. A low growl escaped him just as he exploded into a series of tremors. He buried his face against Molly’s neck and swore under his breath, breathing heavily.

"I second that," she said, "Whatever it meant." But she knew exactly what it meant.

One of them would have to buy some condoms.

Chapter Four

It was the best sex Jack ever had in his life. Jack cranked up the stereo and relaxed against the worn seat, steering the truck easily toward town. Rows of corn merged alongside the windows into one big, oddly comforting blur. Jack never realized how flat and gray the city looked until the brilliant green fields and blazing blue skies of the farmland filled the horizon. Of course, the color hadn't been the only thing he missed in Jefferson Heights. Laying eyes on Molly had been a sucker punch. He’d been fooling himself for five years, missing far too much.

The last thing he wanted was to leave the deliciously tangled heap he and Molly had found themselves in after their mind-altering encounter, but he’d put in a call to the bank earlier. Much to his surprise, he landed an interview. He didn’t have a reason to hope for a job there—there had been no indication they were hiring—and Jefferson Heights wasn’t exactly a hotbed for careers in finance. His options were limited to the bank or a complete change in direction; either way he vowed to do anything necessary to stay right where he was.

Or where he had been just a few sweet moments before.

Jack swallowed against the oppressive collar of the dress shirt he wore, wishing he could trade the business suit for his tee. But as uncomfortable as the wretched suit was, he counted his blessings that it had survived the fourteen-hour trip in the back of his truck.

The Bank of Jefferson Heights was an unassuming one-story brick building in the thick of downtown—or the thin of it, rather. Jack shook his head at the half dozen buildings that made up the bulk of the business district, bemused at the fate of his hometown. The passage of time had left it unfazed, innocent—just like Molly. She was a virgin. Sweet, sweet Molly, with those hellacious curves and the most sinfully delicious lips he’d ever tasted, was as pure as the day he left her. Well, maybe not. Hell, he’d hardly call her innocent now—not after what she’d done to him—but she was still a virgin.

The thought ran circles through his mind; he couldn’t believe his luck. He knew it was a double standard of the worst kind, but the idea that Molly would be his and his alone filled him with an entirely new type of satisfaction. And in spite of his sordid past, he'd known the moment he kissed Molly five years ago she was meant to be his—a feeling that persisted even after she rejected further advances. Jack chose a spot in the back of the lot and swung himself out of the truck. The instant his boots hit the pavement, heat scorched his feet. The weather seemed hot for June, but Jack knew he had a fever of the worst—or perhaps the best—kind. As he entered the bank, he tried to will his stiffening groin into submission. He fumbled with his tie in the hazy afternoon heat, feeling overdressed and self-conscious, and wiped the sweat from his brow. A few fans and an outmatched air conditioner were no match for the unseasonable weather. Jack frowned.

"Mr. Gellar?" A plump woman Jack didn’t recognize trilled his name across the modest lobby, causing the few heads in the room to swivel in his direction. More than one pair of eyes appeared to light with recognition.

Great, he thought. The old grapevine would be a live wire tonight. He followed the woman and her gray-blue beehive hairdo down a short hall to the office of the bank president. Old Blue announced him at the door before bustling past him with a swoosh of her alarmingly purple floral dress. Her industrial heels hammered the wooden floor as she walked away.

Jack’s expression must have betrayed his bemusement. Arthur Callahan rose from behind his desk and held out his hand. "She’s something else, isn’t she?" Jack stuck out his hand for a firm handshake, wondering briefly if there was any hanky-panky going on between Arthur and Blue. He pushed the thought quickly from his head, resisting a shudder. Arthur sat down, so Jack dropped into the chair across from him.

He hadn’t expected to feel overdressed in front of the banker, but Arthur wore jeans and a polo shirt. His silver hair was neatly trimmed and striking against tan skin. Jack had the distinct impression the man didn’t spend much time behind his desk. In fact, Arthur looked more like a Texas rancher than a Midwestern bank president, down to the Stetson hanging on the hat rack by the door.

"What can I do for you, boy?" Arthur’s deep voice made the space seem too small. His large body had the same effect.

Jack eyed a photograph of a young woman on Arthur’s desk. With a start, he remembered the girl's name: Amy Callahan. He’d slept with Arthur’s daughter back in high school.

"You remember Amy?" Arthur steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together methodically, and Jack met his heavy gaze with trepidation.

"Of course I do, sir. We went to school together."

"Yes, you certainly did."

Jack squirmed and fidgeted with his tie, the noose around his neck tightening by the minute. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I trust you’ve considered my offer?"

"Yes, my boy, I have. If you want the job, it’s yours." Jack was almost certain the windows shook with the man’s booming baritone, so much so that he almost didn’t hear what he said.

"Excuse me?"

"The job is yours. I don’t need to sit behind this desk. Hell, boy, you’ve got more education than I do. You’re from good people. I’m going to keep an eye on you, but we’ve got a system of checks and balances around here. You won’t be creeping off with the vault, will you?" Arthur jabbed a short, thick finger in the direction of a large safe which appeared to be bolted to the floor in the corner. The setup looked like something straight out of a cartoon.

"No, sir," Jack affirmed, proud of how he managed to sound sure of himself. He’d worked at a—well, a real—bank for the last two years, and he’d needed security clearance and a background check to get past the lobby. By comparison, he wouldn’t be surprised to find the first national bank of Arthur sat guarded by little more than a pit bull and a fake security camera.

"Why don’t you get settled and come on in the morning. We’ll go over everything then." Arthur stood, dismissing Jack with a slap on the back and a smile. Jack rose, slightly bewildered by Arthur’s casual hiring practices. He tried not to grin as he retraced his steps down the hallway and into the lobby. Arthur hadn’t exactly made it clear what Jack’s job would entail, but Jack could already tell from his surroundings he'd drifted far from Wall Street. The tiny little bank wouldn’t do much for his resume, but hell, he was home.

Even better, he anticipated Molly would be there when he got back. He couldn’t wait to taste her, to touch every inch of her sumptuous body and trace her incredible curves to every dangerous place they led him. He longed for the feel of her lips against his, the way her silky hair fell around her beautiful face in loose waves, the electric thrill that shot through him when she lay naked before him.

The growing pressure in his pants was reminder enough he needed to stop at the drug store. Jack glanced around and didn’t see one, so he hopped in his truck and headed for the gas station on the edge of town.

He knew the place well. He used to be their best customer.

Chapter Five

Jack grabbed the biggest box of condoms on the shelf. Walking up to the counter of Cooper’s Convenience Store almost killed him, especially when he saw Old Man Cooper perched on his stool looking as if no time had passed.

His face lit up with recognition as Jack approached him, and a knowing smile split his face when he saw the box in Jack’s hands. "Damn near had to close the place down when you left town, boy."

Jack hadn’t come that close to blushing in a long time. "I’m glad to see you pulled through."

Cooper laughed. "Where are you staying?"

"At the Coleman place. I’m renting a room until I can get settled somewhere."

"Humph." The old man eyed Jack's purchase. "Looks like you’ll be getting settled into something, alright." But his eyes twinkled, softening his words. "Molly’s got her hands full right now. Don’t you go causing her anymore grief." A wave of protection slammed into Jack’s chest at the warning. Was Molly in some sort of trouble? He'd heard about the loss of her grandparents. He hoped like hell that pain was all she faced.

* * * * *

"So, did ya’ll do it?"

"No, we didn’t do it." She stared at the sloppy pile of liquefied pastry dough on her kitchen counter and let loose with an uncharacteristic string of profanity.

"I think you’re going to have to start over."

"I know!" Molly fought the urge to put her head in her hands and sob. Obviously she couldn’t use a measuring cup and think about Jack at the same time, and she had a mass of unappetizing goo in front of her to prove it.

"You wanted to, though, didn’t you?"

"Wanted to what?"

"Do it."

A glob of dough slid off the counter and hit the floor. Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten. She needed to deliver five dozen made-from-scratch breakfast pastries to the coffee shop before sunrise, and after hours of work she found herself back at square one. At least she still had the berries Lacey spent the afternoon prepping. Nevertheless, she had an all-nighter on her hands—and not exactly the one she’d been dreaming of when she managed to ruin the dough.

Molly sighed. "I haven’t wanted anything so much in a long time." Lacey slipped off her apron and walked over to her friend.

"Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve never even mentioned this guy, and now he’s been in town for less than a day and he’s got you turned inside out."

"I can’t explain it, Lace. I’ve been angry for so long, but I’ve missed him. Not the guy who left me on the side of the road," she added, noticing the incredulous look on Lacey’s face. "The other part of him. He was my best friend for years."

"You don’t need to take a shower in the middle of the day after a few moments alone with me," Lacey said, a tinge of amusement in her voice. Molly smiled weakly. "I don’t want to fall for him."

"I think you already have."

"Hello, ladies!" Jack burst into the kitchen right on cue, his broad chest on tantalizing display behind his unbuttoned shirt. A tie hung loose around his neck and a battered baseball hat kept the hair from his eyes. "What the hell is that?" He stopped short at the sight of the pastry disaster.

" That is the reason she can’t play with you tonight," Lacey said. He flashed a questioning look in Molly’s direction.

"I have to cancel." Molly tried not to notice how unbelievably sexy he looked, utterly disheveled and boyishly handsome.

"You can’t possibly prefer that mess over me!" Heavy with mock arrogance, Jack’s voice did nothing to hide his disappointment.

"Oh, honey," Lacey admonished, "you must not know Harlan Tucker. If he misses out on his morning pastry deliveries, he’ll find someone else to supply the cafe before the day is out."

"Thanks, Lace," Molly said dryly. "No pressure, huh?"

"Can I help?" Jack eyed the mess with a look that suggested he wouldn’t be much help at all.

"Are you kidding? You’re the reason she ended up in that pile of goo to begin with!" Lacey laughed.

Jack moved his curious look from the mess back to Molly. She blushed.

"Really, I’ll handle it. Go have some fun. There’s always tomorrow!" She tried to sound unconcerned, but her voice carried an unnaturally high pitch she could only pray Jack wouldn’t notice. He kept her in that questioning stare but didn’t say anything.

Jack looked from Molly to the mess on the counter and back again. Her moist eyes, flushed face, and trembling lip gave her away, but she did a hell of a job of not losing it. He stood torn between wanting to help her and wanting to drag her upstairs. As much as he’d love to make her forget about anything but him, the last thing he needed to do was cause more trouble.

His thoughts turned to Old Man Cooper's warning not to cause her any more pain. He’d been thinking about the implications nonstop ever since he left the store. And looking at her now, a dusting of flour across her nose, his heart ached to know if her troubles were greater than he knew.

He closed the distance between them and placed one hand on the side of her head, cupping the smooth line of her jaw. He gently wiped a smear of flour from her cheek with his thumb.

"Go," she said. Her voice sounded a little too husky, reminded him a little too much of sex. "I can’t have you here distracting me." She looked up at him through thick, dark lashes.

Wordlessly, Jack leaned down and covered her mouth with his, pressing a soft kiss against her lips as he inhaled her sweet scent.

Lacey cleared her throat. "Why don’t you follow me? You can meet Keith, hang out, have a beer."

"If Molly insists," Jack said, his mouth still against hers.

"I’ll wait up," Molly murmured.

"Yeah, you do that." Jack stepped back, regretful but grinning. "Okay, Lacey, I surrender. Let me go change my clothes."

* * * * *

Jack didn’t have to follow Lacey very long to figure out the destination. Unless she planned to take him clear out of town, it had to be Tuckey’s. Going out after dark in Jefferson Heights almost certainly meant Tuckey’s—not much else stayed open. The weeknight crowd packed the sprawling parking area. Music pulsed from inside the run-down walls. Jack parked next to Lacey at the edge of the lot and flung the door open. He dropped to the ground, his stomach responding to the smell of burgers with a growl.

When Lacey climbed out of her car, Jack grinned and asked "They still have those burgers here?"

Lacey smiled. "The best!"

Jack held the front door open for Lacey. She led him to a table in the corner and introduced its occupant—a lanky blond man—as her boyfriend Keith. Keith eyed Jack suspiciously.

"He came back to Jefferson Heights to reclaim Molly. Isn’t that so romantic?" Lacy motioned for Jack to sit. "Keith moved here a couple of years ago to work on his uncle’s farm. His dad wanted him to put on a suit and join the family business, but it just wasn’t Keith’s thing. This place is the perfect escape from the city!"

"Tell me about it." Jack frowned. "Who’s your uncle, man?"

"Thomas Sutton. Sutton Farms."

Jack knew the family well. He started to ask how they were doing, but Keith continued.

"Where's Molly?"

"Working. She had a mishap and threw us both out." Lacey giggled and nestled into Keith’s lap. A pang shot through Jack at the comfortable intimacy between the two of them.

"Glad we can keep you company, Jack." Keith finally smiled. "Don’t worry; I’ll steal my girl away in a little while. You won’t bother us."

"I could definitely go for a burger." Jack swung an empty chair around, straddling it backwards. Keith waved toward the bar and within moments a waitress showed up and plopped three beer bottles on the table. She pulled a pen and pad from her pocket without once releasing Jack from an appraising stare.

"Do I need to check your ID?" The waitress cooed over him, her gaze spilling over his faded rock band tee and worn jeans.

"No need, Lila," Lacey said. "This is Jack. He’s staying with Molly." Lila’s expression narrowed just a bit and she sighed. "The good ones are always taken."

"Who says he’s any good?" Lacey said, and then giggled at Jack’s mock indignation.

"It’d be a crying shame if he wasn’t!" Lila fanned herself with her order pad and jotted down their orders. "Let me get this in. Nice to meet you, Jack."

"You, too, Lila."

Keith took a long swallow from his bottle and eyed Jack. "Do you always have this much trouble with women?"

"Honey, you have no idea!" Lacey supplied the answer, but Jack couldn’t have said it better himself.

The food was every bit as good as Jack remembered. The giant greasy cheeseburger with a pile of home cut fries on the plate gave him something to focus on other than Molly. As he ate he kept a casual eye on Keith and Lacey, intrigued by the interaction between the bouncy blonde and the brooding Keith. They appeared to be polar opposites but comfortable with one another. Keith never took his eyes off of his girlfriend, and Jack longed to show Molly she could be loved like that. Hell, she already was.

True to his word, Keith let Lacey pull him away from the table as soon as they’d polished off their meal. Jack couldn’t help but notice the way the couple danced slowly in the corner to a song only they could hear. The rest of the place, meanwhile, swelled with the upbeat notes of an old song Jack used to love. His fingers tapped on the table as he sat alone with his drink, wondering for all the world why he didn’t make a run for Molly’s.

He thought of her hot, sweet little body and how she’d responded so willingly to him. The scene ran rampant through his mind—part memory, part fantasy—when someone dropped into the chair across from him.

Carla. He suddenly remembered her name—the woman falling over him at the coffee shop. She dressed to work the streets in a shirt cut so low her nipples nearly spilled out—a visual assault he could have lived without. Her bare belly bridged the space between the scrap of fabric she obviously considered a shirt and an equally inadequate piece that did little to cover the goods. Not that he was buying.

"Jack, so good to see you again." Smoke spilled from her mouth, dotting her voice with a coarseness he found repulsive. "You want some company?"

"No, thanks."

"Come on, Jack. I can make you forget your troubles." She wriggled toward him, flicking a cigarette against the battered table.

"You’re going to start a fire." Jack eyed the ashes on the wood surface.

"That’s what I’m counting on, baby."

Jack choked on her innuendo, barely stopping himself from her with a mouthful of beer. He wiped his mouth against his forearm. How could he have ever slept with her? He tried to console himself with the knowledge that at the time, she hadn’t yet gone pro. "I’m not on the market, Carla."

Carla’s mouth dropped open. She stuffed a cigarette between her lips and blew a stream of smoke over Jack’s head. "That little waif Molly can’t do anything for you, you know." Carla batted her heavily made-up eyes at him, obviously unaware she had just gone too far.

Jack slammed the bottle down on the table, surprised the glass didn’t break with the force. He stood, then leaned down and planted his hands firmly on either side of the table in front of her, trying to control his anger. "Carla." He growled her name. "I am not interested."

Carla leaned forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol heavy on her breath. "You will be." Jack swore at volume only he could hear. As he pushed away from the table, Carla snaked a drunken arm around his neck. He lost his balance and fell against her. Carla took full advantage of it, squealing and crying out "You just don’t give up, Jack Geller!" before jamming her tongue in his mouth.

Jack jerked away, disgusted by the bitter taste of ash and liquor. He wiped his mouth with his arm again, barely containing the urge to spit, and glared at Carla.

"I wonder what your precious Molly will think when she hears about how you just threw yourself on me, hmm, Jack?" Carla smiled at him before blowing him a kiss and sauntering off, her hips swaying just as loose as the rest of her. Jack stared after her for a moment in disbelief. He eyed the crowd around him and took note of more than one set of eyes sparked with interest. Word would be all over town, and being caught twice with Carla in one day didn’t bode well for his second chance with Molly. Jack took a quick look around and, not catching sight of either Lacey or Keith, he headed for the door.

Outside, the warm night air sat in a quiet haze and held the threat of thunderstorms. Jack made his way back to his truck, stumbling from the effects of the beer. How many did he have? He reached for his cell phone and swore. How could he have forgotten to get Molly’s phone number?

He stared at the entrance to Tuckey’s for a moment before deciding to stay put. Lacey would be out eventually and he could catch a ride home with her if he needed to. He could do without another run in with Carla, and the warm tingle of a good buzz provided warning enough to keep him from getting behind the wheel. For the first time in a long time, he had something to lose and he had no intention to lose it. Jack climbed into the bed of his truck and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other. He slid his hands behind his head and gazed up at the night sky, listening to the muffled sound of music pump from the bar.

"Jack Gellar? Is that you?"

His heavy-lidded gaze led him to the slightly familiar face of a woman. She stood by his truck, sheets of jet black hair falling against her pale skin. Unnaturally blue eyes peered through a heavy fringe of bangs.

Amy Callahan. His day grew longer by the minute.

"Hi, Amy."

"You’re looking good, Jack. I’m not the least bit surprised to find you in the back of a truck. Glad to see you’re living up to your full potential." Her words were biting. Another former flame up in smoke, he mused.

"Our relationship was a long time ago, Amy."

"Sure it was, sweetie." She suddenly sounded so friendly; he wondered if he hadn’t imagined the bitterness. Then, her voice softer still, she added "Daddy told me you were back in town. I hear you have a rather lucrative job at his bank." Jack held back a snort. "Your daddy doesn’t own the bank. He just thinks he does." He didn’t tell her Arthur could hand him the keys to the bank plus all of the contents of the vault and the job wouldn’t be as lucrative as the one he turned down in New York. And for that matter, he still didn’t know exactly what his "lucrative job

“even entailed.

"I don’t suppose Daddy would be happy to know his golden boy had passed out in the back of a truck on the night before he starts work." Amy dropped her arms on the bed rail and settled her chin on top of them. The cold blue depths of her eyes made him uneasy.

"I'm not now, nor was I ever, passed out." He countered her accusation with indignation. The effects of the alcohol made his voice sound a bit like Lacey’s, a fact he found amusing. "I’m waiting for someone."

"Yeah, I bet. I saw you in there with Carla. She’s a real prize." Amy rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.

"I’m not waiting for her. I’m waiting for a ride. And not any kind of ride Carla might be willing to give me."

Amy regarded him for a long moment before she spoke. "Where to?"

"Home."

"Well, Jack, how about I give you a ride?" This time her smile reflected in her eyes. "Where are you staying?" she asked.

Jack bit back a refusal when the thought of Molly’s warm, soft body taunted him. He'd do anything to be with her, and a ride home from Amy didn’t exactly qualify as the ends of the Earth.

"With Molly Coleman."

A shadow flickered across Amy’s face—or did he imagine it?

Jack blinked, hard, and he thought twice. "Why would you give me a ride? We didn’t exactly part on good terms."

"Why not, Jack? We were kids. I’d say we’ve both grown up a little since then." Her eyes lingered on his zipper region. "Besides, Daddy is counting on you in the morning. I can’t very well leave you languishing in the parking lot, now can I?" She spoke directly to his pants.

Jack ignored the nagging voice in his head screaming at him to wait for Lacey, too intent on getting back to Molly. What harm could there be in accepting a ride from Amy? "Okay, thanks."

Amy dug in her purse as he climbed out of the bed of the truck. "You won’t be able to move in the morning if you don’t take something for that hangover you’re going to have," she said, handing him a couple of pills.

"What are these?" he asked suspiciously.

"Tylenol. Same thing you always took before . . . or after." She let the words trail off suggestively.

Jack blocked memories he could do without. He swallowed the pills dry and followed her to a ridiculous little sports car. The gleaming red contraption had no place on the rutted back roads of farm country; if she so much as ran over a corncob, the whole car would probably flip. He practically had to fold his long frame in half to fit in the front seat. To make matters worse, it wasn’t until he wedged himself inside that he noticed the overwhelming scent of heavy perfume.

His attention drifted to Amy, who sat watching him intently. "Thanks for the ride." He choked on the words, trying not to inhale and equally determined his displeasure not show on his face.

Amy started the car. "No problem, Jack. I’m glad to help an old friend. I think it’ll be quite the pleasurable experience for both of us."

Chapter Six

Molly lifted her head gingerly, surprised to find herself downstairs. The distant wail of her alarm clock made no amends for the crick in her neck, no doubt a result of spending the night with her head on the kitchen table. Stiff and sore, she made her way up the stairs to silence the noise.

The morning sun barely pierced the darkness at this hour, but a few early rays breached the open window. A gentle breeze, heavy with the scent of summer, drifted in. The slight glow of morning offered just enough light to bring her unmade bed into focus. The sheets, still tousled from Jack’s mouthwatering intrusion on her life the day before, mocked her.

She didn’t have to look to know Jack wasn’t in the house, but she made a point of averting her eyes from the open door of his bedroom anyway. She wasn’t ready to face the empty truth. He hadn't come home last night.

A ribbon of desire slipped through the wall of hurt, and she tried to ignore both feelings. The bathroom mirror was not her friend today, she mused tiredly. Her eyes were swollen and dark, a glint of distrust the only spark they held. Molly showered and dressed, rushing to beat the sun to the coffee shop with those damned pastries in tow. Luckily the rest of the night had gone without incident—

or so she'd been naïve enough to think at the time—and the result was a delectable array of cheese Danish, cherry tarts, and strawberry popovers. Not that she cared about breakfast; her interest lay in talking to Lacey. Still, she knew better than to come between Harlan Tucker and his affection for pastry—and profit.

"Hi, Molls! How was your night?" Lacey’s eyes were shining and sly when Molly entered the coffee shop.

"What happened to Jack?" Molly dropped the first box on the counter with an angry glare.

Lacey missed it. "That depends . . . what did you do to him?" She teased Molly with her characteristic drawl, her face lighting with a knowing smile.

"Oh, I can think of a few things I’d like to do to him."

"What?"

"He didn’t come back to the house. I spent the night at the kitchen table."

" What?"

"That answers my next question." Molly muttered in disgust, heading back out to her truck for another box. Lacey wasn’t going to be much help, and Molly’s deadly scowl warned her not to ask any more questions.

The two women went about their routine of unpacking the boxes in uncomfortable silence.

The last pastry hit the shelf just as Harlan waddled into the room. He took his samples, as he called them, by the beefy handful, crammed one in his mouth, and nodded his appreciation toward Molly.

"Best ‘uns money can buy!" he pitched, crumbs falling from his lips onto the broad perch of his belly. Almost six feet tall and about half as wide, he had no qualms about trying one of everything Molly brought in on a daily basis. Quality control, he called it.

"Thanks." Molly responded with a politeness she didn’t feel.

"Hey." He called to her, an unfortunate amount of half-chewed tart rolling around in his mouth. "Heard you let your boy get away." Lacey grew stock still, her eyes wide.

"I did what?" Molly’s subdued tone instantly grew sharp and cutting. She squared off with Harlan, who was too busy seducing his breakfast to give her a second look.

"That Gellar boy. Heard he spent the night with Callahan’s spoiled princess." A cheese Danish disappeared into Harlan’s mouth.

Molly’s heart hit the floor with a thud. Fury slashed through her limbs, her breath staggering in her chest. Jack and Amy? The thought sickened her, Jack’s betrayal slamming into her with the force of an out of control Mack truck careening wildly downhill. The room seemed devoid of oxygen, the walls shrinking by the second.

"Harlan," Lacey asked with a touch of disbelief, "how can you possibly know anything this early in the morning?"

"Callahan is mad as hell about it, that’s how. Said he’d rather kill the boy than fire him, but I don’t reckon he’ll do either. With Gellar in his office, he can keep an eye on him at least."

Jack worked at the bank; Molly knew it. But one mention of Amy Callahan made the news sound ominous—a stark contrast to the joy they'd shared the day before when he told her Arthur hired him on the spot.

No one would ever mistake Molly and Amy for friends. Her father’s money afforded a lifestyle few folks in Jefferson Heights would ever know, and Amy’s inner circle rallied around her like dogs begging for scraps. But Molly would be the last one standing in line for her handouts and Amy seemed to know it. The distaste was mutual. Unfortunately, she realized, so was the affection for Jack.

* * * * *

"Good morning, lover."

Jack groaned and buried his head against the pillow in a weak effort to banish the glare of the overhead light. The unfamiliar voice tangled with a deep feeling that something wasn’t right.

"Jack, sweetie, you don’t want to be late. Daddy is expecting you." A trail of expletives flashed through Jack’s fuddled brain, not a one of them having anything to do with getting to work on time. "Where am I?"

"Oh, Jack, surely you haven’t forgotten what happened between us last night. I’m insulted, darling!"

Jack squinted at a long expanse of silky smooth leg on the bed next to him. His gaze followed the curves toward a scrap of fabric no red-blooded man would ever consider to be an actual piece of clothing and then to the woman who wore it. Amy. Her jet black hair hung straight and sleek. Pouty pink lips fell into a seductive grin, and he watched as one manicured fingernail traced the length of his arm.

She leaned toward him and her breasts spilled from the flimsy fabric, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. For the second time in just a few hours, he stared down an unwanted cleavage.

"Did you sleep well, Jack?" she cooed.

"I feel like hell." The room edged into focus. The pink walls, frilly pillows, and frou-frou canopy over the bed left him disoriented. The setting was just as pampered and overdone as he would have imagined for the spoiled brat he’d gotten a little too close to years ago. She, of course, had never invited him to her house. He'd been her boy toy—a fact he hadn’t minded at the time—but not worthy of stepping foot in the halls of the Callahan mansion.

"That’s not how you felt to me last night." She purred over him, tracing a finger so lightly against his stubbled jaw that he had the overwhelming urge to smack it. Her touch buzzed him like a swarm of mosquitoes.

"You didn’t feel a damn thing last night, Amy." Jack knew he drank too much, but he wasn’t drunk and he sure as hell hadn’t slept with Amy. In fact, he recalled, he’d called her all sorts of names when she refused to take him back to Molly. Why, then, was he in her bed?

"Daddy sure wasn’t pleased to find you asleep in my bed this morning.”Her voice rang cool now, but a small smile slipped out as Jack’s frustration billowed. "He was ready to toss you right out the window, but I explained how you’d had a bit too much to drink and, well, he knows what kind of man you are and how I’ve never been able to resist you."

"Amy . . . ." Jack’s voice shook with a depth of anger he didn’t know he possessed.

"So," she continued with a flip of her hair, "I told him I’m not his little girl anymore, and that he has no control over who I take as a lover."

"You didn’t . . . ." He started.

"I had to, Jack!" She pouted. Long eyelashes fluttered up and down. "He walked right in to kiss me goodbye and there I was, all tangled up with you right here under his nose!"

Jack glared at Amy. She met his stare brazenly.

Jack untangled himself from the sheets and stood. Cool air kissed his skin. Everywhere.

He was completely naked.

What the hell had he done?

"Where are my damn clothes?"

Amy smiled up at him, letting her gaze dip a little lower on his anatomy. "Well, you couldn’t exactly do everything we did with them on, now could you?" He scanned the room and found his clothes folded on a little side table by the window. There was no way he'd had sex with Amy Callahan. No way in hell. Was there?

He wasted no time tugging on his shirt and jeans, relieved to find his pockets heavy. Keys, wallet, cell phone—all there.

Amy’s triumphant look vanished. "Where are you going?" He fished his keys out of his pocket and stepped into his boots. "Didn’t you just tell me I was going to be late?"

"You can’t just use me and walk off. What will Daddy think?" She didn’t veil the threat of her words.

"Your father can think what he wants to think."

"He can fire you!"

"Then let him. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Amy, but I’m done with it. And you." He made his way to the door and stepped out of the fluffy pink room, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to look at her again. But he doubted as much, and she confirmed his suspicions by letting out a howl that would have rivaled the best hound dog in the county.

"You wait, Jack Gellar! Everyone in this town is going to know you spent the night here making love to me!" Her screams continued to ring out as the front door clicked shut behind him, echoing through the lonely halls of the Callahan mansion. Jack didn’t look back.

Chapter Seven

Molly sat at the counter, numb, blind to the ebb and flow of early morning business at the cafe.

"Was he there when you left?"

Lacey gave her a sympathetic look over the top of the glass case. "I still don’t know, honey. How many times are you going to ask me?"

"How could you just lose him like that?" Molly sighed and dropped her head in her hands.

"He’s not a dog, Molly. I didn’t lose him, and I certainly didn’t see him go anywhere with Amy!"

"If he took off with Amy, then he is a dog. How could I have been so stupid?"

"You’re not stupid. He seems like a great guy and you don’t know what happened there. Why can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?"

"Because he spent the night with Amy Callahan, that’s why!"

"Who spent the night with Amy Callahan?" an elderly voice piped in. "That girl, let me tell you—she’s got the whole town fooled. But I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, you know."

Molly looked up into the warm brown eyes of Ellen Harper—once one of her grandmother’s dearest friends. Although Ellen had a good fifty years on Molly, she'd stood by Molly through the bad times and the unlikely pair had developed a close friendship.

"Ellen." Lacey grinned. "I didn’t know you followed the gossip!"

"Obviously I don’t." Ellen laughed. "Now what’s this about Amy?"

"Harlan says her daddy found her this morning in bed with, um . . . ." Lacey cast a glance at Molly. "In bed with a guy." She darted back to the cash register to wait on a customer.

Ellen studied Molly for a long moment. "Okay, kiddo, what does this have to do with you?"

Molly sighed. "Remember Jack Gellar?"

"Oh, yes. I heard he was back in town. I guess Amy didn’t waste any time, did she?"

"Molly wasted less!" Lacey grinned. Her smile faded when Molly scowled at her.

"Oh, dear. Are you and Jack . . . ?"

"I thought we might be. I was wrong." Molly stood to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Whatever we might have had is completely over." Ellen raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you look like you’re about to break in two?"

Molly opened her mouth to answer but something caught her eye. A dirty, lying, no good sort of something, walking through the door in yesterday’s clothes.

"I’m about to break something in two, alright." She jumped from the stool.

"Molly!" Jack had the nerve to sound happy to see her. A sense of déjà vu surrounded her. Had only twenty-four hours passed? No one would have ever convinced her laying eyes on him today would be even more traumatic than the heartwrenching assault on her senses of the day before. His brown eyes seemed to forge a connection straight through to her heart. Broken embers jumped like confetti from the emotional contact. Her body reacted with traitorous intent as she took in his lean form, liquid spilling through her in a way that put the hot coffee to shame.

How could she still want him after . . . Amy?

"You bastard."

Jack stopped short. The entire room grew still as her words sliced through the coffee-scented air.

"How could you?"

Jack took two steps forward and hooked her elbow, pulling her to the back of the room. The shush of the crowd slowly lifted as she found herself just inches away from his ripped, sensual body.

The body that spent the night with Amy, she reminded herself. She jerked a knee toward his groin in response to the thought.

"Hey!" he yelped, dodging the assault. Barely.

"What do you want, Jack?"

"About last night . . . ."

"You were with Amy," she interrupted. "I should thank you, really. You saved me from making a huge mistake."

"I did not sleep with Amy." He hoped. He hadn't been that drunk, that he wouldn't remember something like that. "I know I didn’t."

"I wanted to give myself to you last night, Jack. I don’t care what you did or did not do with Amy—the fact is you were in her bed. And if that’s the kind of

‘relationship’ you’re going for, then we have nothing to say to each other."

"She said she’d give me a ride home!" he protested.

"And . . . ?" Molly folded her arms over her chest.

Jack opened his mouth but before he could utter a sound he was interrupted by a slap on the back. Molly stood scowling as a few of his old friends offered pig-headed cheers and congratulations for his conquest. Through a few hoots and catcalls, Alex Harmon stepped forward and gave Jack a very sharp jab to the ribs. "Man, you’ve got to be kidding me! You move in with one hottie and spend the night with another. You sure know how to make an entrance!"

Jack glowered. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"It’s all over town! Arthur is stomping around ready to have you strung up on his flagpole, and Gary here saw you leaving the Callahan place this morning. That ain’t no hotel, my brother!" Another slap on the back. "Amy doesn’t usually have overnight guests. You must have made quite an impression on her!"

Jack’s body tensed. Muscles twitched fiercely. The guys scattered as storm clouds formed around him, all but Alex.

"I did not touch Amy." Jack’s words were short, his tone dark and dangerous. "If you say that again, they’ll be the last you utter before they wire your jaw back together." Alex lifted his hands up in surrender, the smirk never wavering from his face.

"Sorry, man," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. He took a step toward Molly and winked. "Thanks for breakfast, sugar. It gets better every time." This time Molly’s knee connected with its target and Alex doubled over, spilling his coffee. "Jerk." She added the word for emphasis. Jack didn’t hide his amusement. He smiled widely as Alex backed away, swearing a blue streak. A chorus of hoots filled the small room, which had fallen silent for the second time in a manner of minutes.

Jack turned his back on his old buddies and gave Molly a pleading look. "I need a ride back to my truck. Can you give me a lift so we can talk?"

"We have nothing to say. And," she added, "consider yourself lucky you don’t have nearly as far to walk as I did five years ago."

Then, for the second time in as many days, she walked out of the coffee shop and left Jack Gellar behind.

* * * * *

Jack didn’t watch her go. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her leave him again. Dammit, why had he ever trusted Amy? And how could he ever make Molly see all he wanted to do was go home to her? He balled his hands up and fought the urge to punch something. How could everything go so wrong?

He couldn't have screwed Amy, although it was becoming clearer by the moment she’d sure as hell screwed him. Why couldn’t he remember anything? He wrestled with a vague memory of her giving him something—Tylenol?

"That little weasel."

"Jack?" Lacey’s southern drawl broke through his despair, transforming his name into about three syllables. "I don’t mean to pry, but . . . ."

"Lacey, I swear I didn’t sleep with her. I know I didn’t." Jack’s voice broke. "She offered to give me a ride back to Molly’s place and I took her up on it. Then she slipped me something. I had no idea she’d take me back to her house! Hell, she never wanted me there before."

"Another former flame?" A smile played at her lips.

"Unfortunately. Do you think she’ll ever believe me?"

"What? That someone like Amy date raped you? Honey, I don't think anybody's gonna believe that."

"I didn't sleep with her." Jack sighed. "At least I didn't . . . you know. But I certainly could have . . . you know."

"You might want to work on that before you try it on Molly." Lacey grinned and pulled her keys out of her skirt pocket. "Here, take my car. Just make sure I can get out of here this afternoon at closing time, okay?"

Jack caught the keys she tossed and smiled for the first time that day.

"She may not believe you, but I know if you tell her the truth, she'll forgive you."

* * * * *

Never one to slink away from his responsibilities, Jack chose to crawl into the bank and be fired in person. No such luck.

Arthur got right to the point. "Boy, did you have sex with my little girl last night?"

Gulp. "No, no sir." Not last night, he added silently.

"Let’s go for a ride, boy." The tone in Arthur’s voice made Jack grateful he didn’t have a trunk in his office, because he could sure as hell see Daddy Callahan stuffing him into it. Arthur must have picked up on Jack’s hesitation because he added, "I’m taking you to get your truck from that damned bar."

Already uncomfortable, alarm bells went off in Jack’s head when they turned down Molly’s road - a considerable detour from the path between the bank and Tuckey’s. What had Old Man Cooper said on his condom run? Molly’s got her hands full right now. Don’t you go causing her any more grief.

God help him if her troubles had anything to do with The Bank of Jefferson Heights.

The truck slowed. Arthur pointed to Jack’s land and relief washed over Jack.

"That your land, boy?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"How would you like to own the piece next to it?" He nodded in the direction of Molly’s house.

Jack fought to raise his jaw from the dusty floor of Arthur’s truck and gulped a mouthful of hot air. "Why do you ask?"

"Because not long from now it’ll be bank-owned. I did some checking on you, and you’re about the only person in town with pockets deep enough to afford it." Arthur spared him a sidelong glance. "But whether you want to buy that piece or not, you’re going to handle the paperwork on the foreclosure. With your background, I’m putting you in charge of the bank’s loans. That one will bring in a pretty penny." Jack swallowed. Hard. Molly was about to lose her home, and damned if he wasn’t going to have to be the one to take it from her.

* * * * *

Amy’s hands shook as she stared at the plastic white stick in her hand. Pregnant. Her father would never forgive her. He might even throw her out of the house, and then what? Not a single friend could she depend on, not without her daddy’s money.

"Thank you, Jack Gellar, for showing up in the right place at exactly the right time."

She was only a week or so late. She'd done the math and managed to narrow the father down to a couple of men, neither of whom particularly appealed to her. She tossed the stick in the garbage, then thought twice and tucked it back beneath the mattress. She'd have to get rid of it somehow, maybe put it in her purse, and take it to some dumpster somewhere. If her father saw it, she'd have far too much explaining to do. Sighing, she sank down into the fluffy coverings of her bed. The pink silk sheets smelled like Jack—a deep, manly scent that curled her perfectly manicured toes. It had been years since his rough hands roamed every inch of her, leaving her quivering from head to toe while screams spilled from her shuddering body. And last night, well, it was a good thing she was able to get those pills on short notice. She couldn't believe things were falling into place so perfectly. As soon as she saw him back in town, she knew her new little "problem" was solved. He was so out of it by the time she got him home that she had to summon Harold, the butler, to get him up to her room. As soon as Jack hit the sheets, Amy crawled in with him and nestled herself in the crook of his arm. No man had ever satisfied like Jack, and she knew he felt the attraction, too. It was just a matter of time before he realized they were meant to be together. And the honorable Jack would have plenty of time to realize it once he found out he was going to be a daddy.

Amy lightly fingered her belly, a cunning grin splitting her face. Things could not have turned out more perfectly.

Chapter Eight

Molly glanced at the clock. It was after five. She took a deep, shuddering breath. If Arthur hadn’t killed him, Jack should be leaving the bank any moment now. Every aching part of her body wanted him to come back and give her a reasonable explanation for what happened. I did not touch Amy. His words echoed in her head, searching for the validation she so desperately wanted to grant them.

The walls of the greenhouse afforded an expansive view of the farm. Lacey’s car sat parked in the driveway, and Molly could see her moving around the kitchen working on the fruit. Just past the barns, the crop-barren fields seemed to go on forever, interrupted only by the strong silhouette of the White Oak marking the spot Jack’s house once stood.

A slight movement at the base of the distant tree caught her eye, and she sucked in a breath. Jack. No one had stepped foot on the land for years—the shadow had to be him. She didn’t have to imagine what he might be thinking as he stood there among the ruins of everything he loved.

She knew.

Without conscious thought, Molly slipped out of the greenhouse and walked across the lawn toward him, her footsteps silent on the thick grass. The ghosts of her own family, of a joyous childhood filled with laughter and more recent times so full of tears, enveloped her with bittersweet warmth. The feeling rang familiar, but this time something was different. This time she wasn't alone. The lone figure across the field understood her, heart and soul.

Not that she could say the same, exactly. She couldn’t for the life of her understand why he wanted Amy. Jack was genuine, real. She knew that much. In spite of everything he’d done, he hadn’t lied to her. The sudden realization was as clear as the blue sky above.

He’d never lied to her. Not in all of the years they played together as kids, not even when he left her on the side of the road. She believed him. Molly stopped walking at the edge of the bedraggled field. By now, the space should be filled with neat rows of corn. Instead, callous weeds mocked her, a sea of failure stretching as far the eye could see. But for the first time in a long time, her heart felt full.

Still, the knee-high vegetation in front of her gave her pause. She hated snakes, and snakes loved fields—especially overgrown fields. She recalled the six-foot timber rattlesnake her grandfather had run over with the tractor one summer, removing the better part of its head. Molly shuddered. The grotesque photo made the front page of the town paper. She never figured out what a timber snake was doing out there on the expanse of dirt, but she had no desire to find another one. With a broken sigh, she picked her way cautiously across the field, Fido the huge barn cat trotting along at her heels, tail perked with bravado.

Jack stood under the tree with his back toward her.

"You’re really starting to piss me off," Molly called, her breath heavy from the long trek over the rumpled land.

Jack swung around, his stooped shoulders drawing square again.

"Why is it that I have this ridiculous urge to apologize to you?" she asked. And then she saw it, that crooked grin that melted her from the inside out.

"It must be my irresistible charm." A small smile punctuated the joke. Then,

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

She studied him for a moment. "No, it doesn’t."

Jack’s smile faded.

She grinned. "It means we can talk." She covered the last bit of distance between them and looked intently into his eyes.

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When his hand moved to tenderly cup the back of her head, the Earth spun wildly beneath Molly’s feet.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I don't know . . . ."

"But I don't want to talk about it now. Not here."

Fido howled, and they both laughed. Jack took her hand, threading his fingers through Molly’s with a causal intimacy that nearly brought her to her knees.

"I want to show you something." He led her to a patch of ground speckled with debris and thatches of weeds. "Look."

Molly found herself driven to distraction by the warm feel of his hand in hers, but she obediently peered into the grass. Something glittered in the light, and she gasped.

"Do you remember those?" Jack’s voice was thick with emotion. Molly stared down at the shards of broken glass weathered, dirty, and besotted by time. "The fire . . . ?" she asked.

"It must not have gotten very hot right here."

Molly knelt down and gingerly touched the remains of the broken green and blue bottles. It seemed like another lifetime ago she and Jack had crept under his front porch to hide the beautifully colored glass they’d found behind the old general store.

"You seem to be in the middle of all of my favorite memories," he said tenderly, drawing her back to her feet. "I know you don’t trust me right now and I understand why, but I want you to know I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to."

Molly’s eyes filled with tears. "Since when does a playboy like Jack Geller start promising forever?"

"Since there’s an amazing woman in front of me who appears to be giving him a second chance."

Jack stared at Molly, still not quite sure she was really there. He wanted to kiss her—hell, he wanted to toss her on the ground and eat her alive—but he wasn’t sure how far the fragile trust between them would go. She was pretty quick with that knee of hers; Alex probably still walked with a limp.

Molly leaned her head on his shoulder and Jack pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she settled back against his chest. She was so maddeningly sexy, and the mouth-watering curve of her bottom nestled against his groin was almost more than he could take. She smelled like sugar and honey, the scent teasing him when he settled his chin against her hair. They stood there, she probably reflecting on the streaks of orange and red that lit the fiery sky while he fantasized about driving his body into her hot, slick folds until they both exploded. She was right. He was a bastard.

He’d come to his old homesite looking for a distraction, but Molly’s soft body wasn’t exactly the distraction he expected. And as much as he could promise to spend the rest of his life earning her trust again, one little fact hovered thick and heavy over his head.

Arthur and his damned foreclosure.

Chapter Nine

"Amy rufied you?"

"She must have. She gave me something she said was Tylenol, and then I don't remember another thing until I woke up the next morning."

" And you kissed Carla?" Molly tried to sound shocked, but her surprise was a ruse. If a man could draw a breath and open his wallet, Carla was interested. She twirled her fork to load it with spaghetti then tapped her kitchen table with mock impatience, egging Jack for an answer.

"Carla kissed me." Jack dropped his head to his hands. Molly put her fingers to her mouth to hide her smile. He didn’t have to know she was having fun with this third degree stuff. The bittersweet cloud around them lifted during the walk back to her house; if she had to feed him, he had to put up with the questions.

"So Carla kissed you, and you picked Amy to be the getaway car?" Molly enjoyed the way his hands were still plastered to his face, because if their eyes met there was no way she wouldn’t start laughing with all of his huffing and puffing.

"Amy," he said, exasperated, "offered to bring me back here." He paused, and then tossed a boyish scowl at her. "Although why I wanted to come back here to you, woman, I couldn’t tell you," he teased.

Molly basked in the glow of that sinful grin of his just until Jack looked down to scoop up another forkful of spaghetti; then she threw her garlic stick at him, hitting him square in the nose.

"Hey!" He yelped.

"You want to call Amy and see if she’ll come rescue you again?" Molly teased. In response Jack picked up her garlic bread, wiped his plate with it, and took a big bite.

"Hey, that’s mine!"

Jack shrugged and held his hands up, helplessness lighting his face. Molly stood and collected the dishes, swatting him in the back of the head as she passed behind him. He was too damn cute. Something about those locks of hair falling into his eyes turned boyish charm into molten hot sex appeal, and Molly found herself overheating. Again.

"So, Mr. Investment Banker, why haven’t you cut your hair?" Not that she wanted him to, of course, but the thought of his handsome profile marred by a buzz cut cooled her down. A little.

"What’s wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing is wrong with your hair. It’s just not very banker-ish." Jack snorted. "I refuse to be domesticated. There will be no white collars around my neck."

"I don’t care what you do to your hair, Jack Gellar. You couldn’t pull off white collar if you tried!" Molly kept her tone light, but the refusal of domestication lingered in her mind, filling a corner of her heart with disappointment. Not that she’d ever figured him for the marrying kind, but the easy banter between them felt comfortable, good. Oddly like forever, at least as far as she’d ever dared to imagine it. Molly finished rinsing the dishes and turned to find Jack across the room rummaging through one of his bags. She watched him for a moment, admiring just about everything about him—particularly the way his face lit up when he finally pulled a handful of rumpled papers from the folds.

"Found it!"

"Found what?" Molly grinned at his enthusiasm.

"How would you like to have a new neighbor?" he asked triumphantly.

"Are you selling your land?" Molly swallowed thickly, wondering suddenly if those quiet moments under the tree were part of his goodbye. Not that it mattered if he sold it. She had thirty days, tops, and she’d be getting a new neighbor anyway—

somewhere. After months of trying to hold on, she'd finally faced the harsh truth: she couldn’t. She'd listed her beloved family farm for sale with a national company specializing in rural properties. Selling the land before the bank decided to foreclose sat much better with her than losing what generations of her family worked so hard for and walking away with nothing.

Jack studied her for a moment. Surely he knew that she'd be leaving one way or another—he worked at the bank, after all. The moment passed in a heartbeat and that amazing grin once again washed over his face, breaking the tension. Jack plopped down on the battered sofa and patted the seat next to him. "I’m not selling the property. Actually, I have other plans."

Molly caught his infectious grin and crossed the room, settling beside him. Her emotions already fragile, she felt a small lump in her throat when it hit her again just how natural they were together.

The lump vanished when she saw what he held in his hands. She stared, gapemouthed.

"You’re going to catch a fly like that, you know."

"Jack, it’s beautiful!" She took a deep breath, elbowing him for his fly-catching comment. Beautiful didn’t do them justice. Molly stared at the house plans in absolute awe.

It wasn’t a huge house, but everything about it was perfect. A wide wraparound porch made the exterior look warm and inviting. Double windows on the second floor topped a sprawling box window below, and Molly could practically see sunshine streaming through the glass panes onto the window seat. Fido would love that spot. The open floor plan made up most of the downstairs living area, but Molly’s attention went straight to the huge kitchen, complete with a walk-in pantry and every amenity she’d ever dreamed of—not to mention a few she hadn’t known existed. Molly’s finger traced a path around the kitchen, past the walk-in pantry, and through a doorway to a den.

Jack’s hand lightly grazed hers. "Do you see that? The den opens to the front porch."

Molly looked up at him, their eyes meeting with a tangible jolt of electricity. She swallowed back the urge to kiss him, the sound echoing in the still room. Forgiving him was one thing; forgiving herself, another thing entirely. And she’d never forgive herself for falling for him—not when there was no hope of a future, and he made that much clear when he refused to be tied down. And, God help her, if she gave herself to him there would be no getting those pieces back. His touch promised lethal consequences in a charming, sexy sort of way—not that the knowledge did anything to curb her desire for a few sweaty hours of what would have to be mind-blowing sex.

"It would make a perfect home office, don’t you think?" Jack’s voice drawled low, husky. Only he could turn something as benign as "home office" into utter seduction.

Molly blinked away her emotion and forced her attention back to the plans. Jack took her finger, still poised on the page, and led her through the rest of the downstairs. When they got to the master bedroom, Molly’s pulse quickened at the idea of walking through that particular doorway with him for real. She only had to remember back to yesterday to imagine what might happen, and the thought of it was enough to make her need a fresh pair of panties, damn him.

Upstairs, two large bedrooms shared a bathroom, a huge lounge sprawling between them.

Molly was in love.

"I’m thinking white with a green roof. What do you think?" Finally, realization dawned on her. "Jack, are you building this house?"

"If you don’t think it’ll mess up your view."

"Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in my life!" It was the perfect little farmhouse. Open spaces with modern amenities—a homey façade that would look like it had been there a hundred years the moment the construction crews cleared out. The perfect place to raise a family.

Family. Molly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force away the image of Jack sitting on the porch with his future wife. How easily she could see a couple of wild kids—they’d have to be hellions, Jack’s kids—running around the yard. Catching fireflies, squirting each other with the hose, stashing colored glass bottles under the porch.

She gulped. "It’s amazing, Jack." And it was a damn good thing she wouldn’t be next door to see it.

Molly sighed and looked around. As much as she loved her grandparents’ house, the old place suddenly looked shabby next to Jack’s house plans. The events of the last year hadn’t left much time or money for upkeep, and the place stood—and just barely—

on its last legs. And with just one bathroom, the place had been dubbed functionally obsolete. Molly’s kitchen, although spotless, clearly hailed from another century. In fact, the only nod toward a modern era in the entire house was the laundry room, a ten-yearold shed-style addition that opened to the back porch. A crude storm cellar once held her grandmother’s canning, but these days Molly made a point of avoiding the dank hole in the ground.

Jack’s voice stole through the silence, sweetly pulling her back from her thoughts. "You know, it’s killing me not to kiss you right now." His voice rang with intensity, and the words hung in the space between them.

"They why don’t you?" She teased him with her words, hoping the banter might knock the sexual tension from the air. Fat chance.

"Because I want you to believe I’m not here to conquer you." His voice trailed slowly over her body, and he couldn’t have sounded sexier if he’d told her he planned to spend the entire night making love to her.

She shivered.

"Are you cold?"

Was he kidding? The temperature must have shot up ninety degrees in the last sixty seconds.

"I’m good." Molly reached out and gently swept the lengths of dark hair that fell across his tanned face. "That’s a lot of house for one man." Jack leaned in and kissed her neck, sending a shockwave of shivers through her once again. "I’m hoping," he murmured against her skin, "to have a good woman and a few kids to share it with one day."

Molly smiled. "A few rotten kids," she said.

"No doubt." He traced the line of her jaw with his lips, filling her with liquid heat.

Molly’s arms slid around his back, pulling him closer. Her efforts were all the invitation he needed. The house plans fell to the floor as she wrapped herself in the warm weight of his body. A low growl escaped him when he claimed her mouth. He nibbled at her, tasted her. Deep and probing one moment, light and teasing the next. Molly found herself moved by a passion she couldn’t put to words, utterly swept away by the power of her emotions. Their bodies tangled together, but Molly’s mind was crystal clear: Jack Gellar held her heart. She'd already been conquered.

Jack's heart spiraled against the sensation of the soft, willing body beneath him. Trouble. He forced himself to think about anything else. The time his buddy Fletcher threw up a nasty mixture of macaroni and beer in Jack’s truck. Old Betty Walters showing off her prized mole in front of the Fast Mart. The smell of hog mud on a hot day. Hell, anything but this mercilessly sexy woman who melted at his touch. And damned if he didn’t melt at hers.

All those semesters of college, and not one co-ed ever tempted him past the point of no return. In five years, since he'd left Molly staring after him, he hadn't slept with a single woman.

Amy.

Could going so long without sex have been the reason he . . . ?

No. He couldn’t have. He’d spent the years since he lost his family learning to walk away, refusing to be hurt. Only sweet Molly stayed in his heart. He’d seen the pained look in her eyes after his careless "new neighbor" comment. He could sense the uncertainty, and he understood too well the fear of losing everything. The years-old feelings were raw in his gut from his own loss, but at least Jack still had the land to call home.

Molly wouldn't have that.

Why couldn't he have waited one more day before signing himself into debt to pay for the new house? He'd have gladly used the money to get Molly caught up on her payments so he wouldn't have to throw her off her land, all she had left of her family. But dammit, the woman had a talent for distraction. Her womanly curves, the tight peaks of her nipples, and the unholy softness of her skin taunted him. His erection raged, throbbing, well before she wrapped her legs around him and pinned his pelvis impossibly closer.

He already lingered on the verge of explosion when Molly’s hand slid down his back and dipped below the waist of his jeans. She sighed, a sound full of sexual innuendo and contentment that filled his head with dizzying desire. She clutched him so tightly he wondered if the rock hard member between his legs hurt her as much as it damn near pained him.

"Please make love to me." She whispered the words into his mouth. "Take me upstairs."

"You’re making it hard for me to say no." The words were a mere grunt, and he scoffed at the truth behind them. She was making it hard alright.

"Then don’t." More ragged breaths.

Jack pulled back and stared at the woman beneath him. He’d never felt anything like the fire that coursed through his veins at the sight of her. The crushing way his heart filled to know she wanted him.

He sighed. "Let’s go upstairs."

Chapter Ten

Jack’s entire body shook by the time he covered the short distance to the stairs, and the tremors had nothing to do with the inconsiderable weight of the incredible woman he held in his arms. Hell, if anything he felt like The Hulk—a certain part of him grew bigger and stronger than he ever thought possible.

At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to roll over in bed for a week. Molly tickled the back of his neck with her fingers, sending yet another round of shivers coursing through him. The feeling made him so weak in the knees that he had to hold his position on the stairs until he regained his composure, at which point the sensation funneled straight to his dick.

Molly caressed his neck - a tender, ruthless gesture that left his head spinning. She offered herself to him, warm, willing, and hotter than the fires of hell, which is exactly where he'd end up if he didn’t figure out how to resist her, at least until he could make things right. He hadn’t done anything wrong—not in the last twelve hours, anyway—but he couldn’t shake the feeling she’d be madder than a wet hen if she found out he knew about the bank taking her farm. She had her pride. And until he figured out how to help her, Jack was going to have one hell of a kickstand problem.

Molly stopped nibbling on Jack’s neck at the precise moment he carried her through her bedroom door. In that instant the air between them turned thick and hot and every bit as dangerous as the gray-green calm before a whopper of a thunderstorm. Jack swore."I have to walk away from you, you know." The look in his eyes clearly indicated he’d like to do anything but.

Relief and disappointment hammered Molly in a firestorm of truth. She knew he should go, but she wanted him to stay. She sure as hell didn’t want him to want to go. But he slid her, ever so gently, onto her bed and retreated. She lay trembling and hated herself for it.

"Jack?" She called to him softly. Too late, she realized the word sounded like an invitation.

He froze. Molly stared at the strong form of his back in the darkness, admired the way his silhouette filled the doorway. Filled her heart.

"I don’t want to ever give you a reason to question me again, Molly," he said quietly, his back still to her.

"Then why are you walking away?"

"Because one night with you could never be enough." Then the door shut with a soft click, and he was gone.

What the hell just happened? Molly squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears and yet wanting to release them. The desire to be with Jack clawed at her—so much so that the need scared her—but she knew she’d never recover from a fling with him. She was in too deep already, and, God help her, she wanted more. Much more. Because one night with you could never be enough.

Jack’s words traipsed through her mind, their meaning every bit as elusive as sleep. She knew why their affair would have to be a short-term thing, but she had no idea what made him think it.

She listened to the hammering of her own heart over the quiet sounds of Jack moving through the house. Her grandparents’ old bed creaked against the still night, and it was all she could do not to go crawl in after him. Months had passed since she shared the house with anyone, and knowing he filled the space made it feel like home for the first time in a long time.

She closed her eyes and imagined—remembered—his touch. Tendrils of electricity flew through her heated skin straight through to the part of her that wanted him most. She couldn’t decide if the honor went to the throbbing folds between her legs or her heart. But at this point, neither stood a chance.

In the safety of the dark, she knew she agreed with him: one night never would be enough, yet she had little else to give. In a cruel twist of fate, she was leaving. He was staying. Night drifted softly, restlessly, through the room, tempering her thoughts with fantasies of the man next door.

* * * * *

Before she even opened her eyes Molly could sense something wasn’t right. It was the light. Sunlight poured through the windows and a fresh breeze crept through the opening, carrying with it a promise of the humid day ahead. The pastries!

Molly sat bolt upright in a panic and grabbed for her alarm clock. Ten o’clock!

Why hadn’t Lacey called? She slammed the clock down and a piece of paper caught her eye. She jerked the note off the nightstand and her heart hammered for an entirely different reason.

Molly, go back to sleep. The alarm

went off forever so I figured you needed

your rest. I’ll get the delivery over

to the coffee shop for you. See you

after work. Jack.

It took a full minute for the impact of Jack’s gesture to sink in, but when it did Molly felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. Giggling with joy and relief, she fell back against the pillows and read the note a dozen more times. When was the last time she hadn’t been up before the crack of dawn? She couldn’t remember. And, except for Fido scowling at her from the corner chair, everything felt utterly right with the world. Jack may have walked away from her last night, but he hadn’t gone far—and he obviously wanted her to know it.

Molly nearly skipped down the stairs, giddy, her bare feet thumping against the worn wooden floors. Fido lumbered behind her, howling a reminder for his breakfast. She gave him a fresh bowl of food, washed her hands, and headed for the coffee maker. Jack must have set the timer because the pot was half full of hot coffee. Another note lay on the counter in front of it. PS—No one should have to get up this early. Molly smiled. Her favorite coffee cup sat next to the note—how could he have known?—and held a single, sunny yellow and white daisy, stolen from the flower bed, no doubt. One of her cheese Danishes sat wrapped in plastic on the counter. If a perfect man existed, he’d just walked back into her life. Never mind that he’d spent his first night back in town with Amy and had found Molly completely resistible the next. Or, she sighed, that she had every intention of resisting him.

Molly plucked the daisy from her cup and dropped the flower into a decorative jar on the windowsill, adding a bit of water from the tap of the antique sink. She poured the coffee and stepped onto the back porch with the mug in her hands. The land sprawled ahead of her, hope and promise sprinkled among the dead crops and thriving weeds. She’d give anything to hang onto the farm, but, sadly, nothing she had was enough. Most days she could barely cope with the loss of her grandparents, but she couldn’t imagine waking up anywhere else with this hole in her heart. Except . . . Molly thought of Jack’s house and smiled. For the first time in a long time, she found herself truly happy for something—for him. It was a crying shame she couldn’t be happy for herself, but she knew the pain of his loss and shared the joy of his fresh start just as completely.

The sound of distant shouting jarred her from her thoughts. Molly stepped off the porch and looked in the direction of the noise, and for the second time in as many days she saw someone standing under Jack’s tree. A lot of someones, and by the looks of the land they hadn’t carpooled. No fewer than five trucks crowded the horizon. As she watched, two of the figures broke from the pack and headed across the field toward her house. One gestured wildly; the other actually held his hands over his ears.

"Can I help you?" she called when they reached the edge of her lawn. The older of the two men—a husky fellow with gray around the ears he’d recently clamped his hands over—took his hat off and nodded. "Yes ma’am. I’m Henry Davis and this here is –"

"Caleb Archer." The younger man stepped forward and gallantly lifted Molly’s hand to his lips for a kiss.

Henry rolled his eyes and sighed.

" Archer Construction." Caleb shot a pointed look at Henry Davis. "Jack hired me to build his house, and I just have a few preliminary questions for him." Henry glared at Caleb. "Mr. Gellar hired your daddy, Caleb, not you." He turned back to Molly and winked. "Caleb here works for me, not that I’ll ever convince him of it. His father is the general contractor, and I’m his foreman. Do you happen to know how we can get in touch with Mr. Gellar?"

Caleb shot Henry a Look.

"He’s at work down at the bank. Would you like to use the phone? Cell phone reception is terrible out here."

"I’d appreciate that, Miss . . . ?" Henry trailed off.

"Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m Molly Coleman. Let me get the phone for you, Mr. Davis."

"Henry, please." He smiled warmly.

Molly turned her back on the men and tried not to trip over her jaw. Jack sure didn’t waste any time when he wanted something. Then why doesn’t he want me? She barely had time to process the thought in the time required for her to grab the cordless phone and return to the two men.

Handing the handset over to Henry, she asked, "Can I get either of you a drink?

Coffee? Lemonade?"

Henry opened his mouth to answer but Caleb beat him to it. "I’d love some coffee, Molly. Why don’t we give ol’ Henry here his privacy?" Henry smiled. "I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to make this phone call and head back to work."

"We’ll just get out of your way then," Caleb said smoothly, stepping onto the porch and holding the door open for Molly. "Shall we?" Molly accepted the odd invitation into her own house and Caleb followed her through the door.

"How’s the coffee?" Caleb leaned against the counter, his perfectly pressed khakis and button-up shirt a stark contrast to the unruly mop of chestnut curls peeking from under his hat.

"Wonderful," Molly admitted. "I’m getting a late start this morning." She regarded Caleb out of the corner of her eye. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

"How do you take it?" she asked, pouring the hot liquid into a cup.

"Black," Caleb said. Bright blue eyes studied her. "You’ve certainly grown up since the last time we crossed paths, Molly."

"Really?" Molly waited. So she did know him from somewhere.

"Yeah, Jack and I were buddies. Unfortunately, I don’t recall being formally introduced to you. I would have remembered."

"We were close as children, but we grew apart." Molly blinked away his appraising gaze and took a sip from her cup. "You didn’t go to school here, did you?"

"No, I’m over in Evanston. Jack and I had a few . . . mutual acquaintances. Are the two of you . . . ?"

Yes. "No."

"Well, in that case, I’d like to buy you dinner."

"I appreciate the offer, Caleb, but I’ve already got a lot on my plate." Caleb drained his cup and set it in the sink. "If you change your mind, Molly, I promise I can make you forget about everything on that plate of yours." He retrieved a card from his wallet and handed it to her, then, nodding his head in the direction of Jack’s tree, added "I’ll be right over there for the next few weeks."

"Not doing a damn thing, I’m sure." Henry’s voice carried through the screen door. "Thanks for letting me use the phone, Miss Coleman."

"Molly, please. And anytime, Henry, although I’m not usually here this time of day."

"Well, then, I guess today was our lucky day." Henry smiled.

"It sure was." Caleb grinned, his blue eyes eating her alive. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

Chapter Eleven

Molly wrung her hands and paced the small kitchen. Her light cotton sundress drifted against her mid-thigh, cradled her breasts, and simmered with an innuendo that made her nervous as hell. Seduction wasn’t exactly her strong suit, and if Jack didn’t get home soon, she’d chicken out.

But it was too late for that. The crunch of gravel through the screen twisted her insides into a knot. The engine died on Jack’s monstrous truck and Molly darted away from the window, afraid that if she saw him before he saw her, she’d go running up the stairs to dive her favorite pair of jeans. He’d already turned her down once the night before; twice, and odds were she’d never recover from the blow to her ego. Seconds later, Jack burst through the back door in a way that had already become familiar to her—his dress shirt unbuttoned, the tie slack around his neck—with a pizza box in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. He stopped short when he saw her.

"You look incredible." The words were slow to come, his voice quiet, careful. Molly’s heart tore in two—one half longing for Jack and the other trembling with nervous anticipation. She had little time to take sides, however, because it took precisely one second for Jack to drop the pizza and wine on the kitchen table and cross the room to claim her mouth with his.

Molly’s body responded without the slightest bit of reconciliation with her brain. She pressed against him, trying desperately to stop the freefall of her emotions. Jack’s fingers tangled with her hair, pulling her closer with a gentle insistence. The air crackled with a tangible intensity, but Jack’s every move was slow and deliberate.

"What are you trying to do to me?" he whispered, breathing the words into her mouth.

"Jack." Molly shuddered as his hand traced the length of her thigh. Jack’s mouth met hers with a growl. He slid his hands down her thighs and effortlessly lifted her from the floor. Molly instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, her dress riding to her waist. She was suddenly very aware of her thin panties and how wet they were.

Jack took two unsteady steps and fell with her against the counter. Molly loosened her grip on him just enough to reach his fly. Between her shaking hands and the impossible pressure from the other side of the zipper, the attempt was futile. Jack tore the tie off his neck and threw the shirt to the floor.

"I spent half the day wishing I could make love to you," he said—his voice husky, his hands once again in her hair, "and damned if I’m not about to explode." Then, without waiting for her reply, he kissed her. Molly opened her mouth to meet the exquisite probing of his tongue and nothing else in the world mattered. Even in the slow burn of the moment she clung to him—her hands clasping fiercely against his bare back—wishing like hell she never had to let him go.

And he sensed it.

"I’m not going anywhere, Molly." He murmured the words against her lips so she felt as well as heard them.

Molly closed her eyes and dropped her head to his shoulder, relinquishing the taste of him. For a long moment all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. Jack’s arms tightened around her and she felt the protective strength where she both needed and feared it most—her heart.

"I have to tell you something, Jack."

Jack drew away from her until he looked directly into her eyes. "There’s nothing you can say to me that will change what I said. I’m not going anywhere."

"I know," she said—and she believed him. "But I am." Nothing about Jack’s expression suggested confusion, shock, anything.

"You know?"

Jack stroked her hair and met her gaze head on. "Arthur didn’t waste any time bringing you situation to my attention."

Molly bit her lip and tried not to show her anger. He’d known all along, and she felt like a damned fool. "I planned to tell you tonight." Jack remained quiet for a long moment. "Molly, no one could have picked up all of these pieces alone." His gaze locked with hers.

A flash of anger railroaded Molly with his words—words that surely referred to the shards of her existence. She swung off the counter and met his gaze with defiance.

"We’re not talking about pieces, Jack. We are talking about my life."

"That’s not what I meant." Jack ran his hands through his hair, pushing thick strands away from his face with a deep sigh.

Molly opened her mouth to respond but never got the chance; a knock rattled the flimsy screen door. Jack swore under his breath as he started across the kitchen to open it. In spite of her frustration with him, she couldn’t help but admire the way he moved through the room.

Caleb stood at the door, and he didn’t bother to hide the appreciative look in his eyes when he saw her. Molly shimmied her dress farther down her thighs and hoped her hair wasn’t as tousled as her mind was.

"This isn’t a good time, man." Jack stood, blocking the doorway. Molly went to the door and nudged Jack out of the way. He didn’t go far, and she remained acutely aware of him standing protectively over her shoulder. "Hi, Caleb. What can I do for you?" She offered a friendly smile.

"I have some more paperwork for Jack." He lifted his hand and waved a manila folder.

"Come on in. Can I get you a drink?" Molly elbowed Jack in the ribs—hard—and he finally backed out of the doorway.

"How about I get you one? The offer to buy you dinner still stands." Caleb stepped through the door and met her gaze with a confident grin that offered no apologies.

"She’s off limits," Jack said, his voice cold.

Caleb looked back and forth between Jack and Molly and held up his hands.

"Sorry man. She told me earlier there wasn’t anything going on between the two of you."

Jack’s expression slid to Molly, this time laced unmistakably with pain. Shit.

Jack snatched the folder from Caleb and tore through the back door, mumbling something about the briefcase he left in his truck.

"Caleb, Jack and I are . . . ." What could she say? Picking up where they left off five years ago? On the verge of having sex?

It was a good question. Molly fiddled with her dress and stared at the floor.

"Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on between us, but I’m hoping to find out." Caleb reached up to touch Molly’s cheek and she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"That bastard has some kind of luck with the ladies," he said in a soft voice. Molly sucked in a shaky breath. Caleb lifted a lock of her hair and let it fall through his fingers, one strand at a time. An intimate gesture—too intimate. "Caleb—" she began.

The back door slammed again.

"Here are your damn papers." Jack’s frosty words draped a chill over the room so effectively that they nearly puckered Molly’s nipples.