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  I turn to spot Jack across the store, looking thoughtful, browsing intensely—of all things—lingerie. Maybe he has some inner freak in him. I haven’t seen it yet, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

  I start to laugh. With the black sundress in hand, I cross the store to him as snooty girl’s nose moves with me.

  Jack looks up. “Did you find something you think might work?”

  I nod. “A dress.” My eyes shift to the panties drawer he has opened. “Are you finding something that works for you?”

  Before he can respond, across the room sounds: “Jack! Jack Parker.”

  We both turn at the same time to see the saleswoman closing in on us.

  “Patty,” Jack’s husky voice responds in pleasure.

  He pulls her against him in a friendly embrace and they are both smiling in a way that makes me taut with unexpected curiosity.

  “I feel so embarrassed,” she purrs, lightly tapping his chest with a manicured nail. “I’ve been in back checking stock all morning. Somehow I didn’t see you come in.”

  Her gaze hits me and bounces away to quickly scan the store.

  “Is Chrissie with you?”

  “She’s east with Walter for two weeks. The house is miserably quiet without her. I even miss having Rene underfoot.”

  Patty tilts her head slightly to the side and gives Jack a reproachful look. “Rene is a handful, but you adore my daughter, admit it. Every inch as charming as her mother.”

  They both laugh and Patty finally takes a step back from him.

  “You haven’t stopped over in a while. I’ve been worried about you. Are you OK?”

  Jack says that softly in a way that tells me this isn’t a casual question.

  Patty nods and almost looks like she’s dabbing at an imaginary tear. “The divorce has been hard on Rene, but we’re both getting through it.”

  “If you need anything, Patty, just ask.”

  She smiles and touches at another fake tear.

  “It’s good to see you out, Jack,” she says, this time her voice quieter and more thoughtful. “It’s been a long time since you’ve wandered out this way. What brings you here today? Anything I can help you find?”

  Jack turns to me, stunning smile in place, and casually slips an arm around my waist.

  “This is Linda.” He says my name in a smooth kind of way that doesn’t suggest a need or invitation for inquiry. “She landed in Santa Barbara without her luggage. She needs everything.”

  Patty shifts her eyes to me. She sizes me up in a head-to-toe, fast-moving glance. I size her up. We lock gazes. Aha. We’re instant enemies.

  “This is Patty Thompson,” Jack continues, as if oblivious to the female tension surrounding him. “I’ve known her since kindergarten. She’s my neighbor on the left. The hideous two-story modern structure that blocks out the view for the rest of the neighborhood.”

  Patty laughs and rolls her eyes. “You can’t still be angry about that.”

  Jack’s smile is charming. “You should never have built up, Patty. No one owns the view. But you’re forgiven. It was probably George’s idea anyway.”

  She colors prettily and her smile is cleverly neutral in a way that tells me that building that monstrous house was very much her idea.

  “You can’t take a thing he says seriously,” she explains, “or you’ll never speak to him again. Would you like me to start a room for you, Miss…?”

  Aha. So she wants to know who I am. Whatever Pretty Patty is about, I’m not playing. My last name is not a card I’m ready to lay face up with Jack.

  I shove my hanger at her. “If you could start a dressing room that would be great.”

  Her eyes widen just a tad, then she smiles again at Jack, and slithers off toward the back of the store.

  “Interesting neighbor,” I comment, leaning against the lingerie drawers.

  “She’s not so bad. She’s a very good friend. She’ll grow on you.”

  I smile. I wouldn’t count on it, Jack, not even if I’m here a hundred years instead of the handful of days I expect this adventure to be.

  He lifts up a stunning black shift with little beaded pearls on the bodice and matching robe.

  “You would look wonderful in this. What do you think?”

  I arch a brow. “You pick. You probably have more experiencing buying high-end lingerie than me.”

  Something flashes in his eyes too quickly for me to catch and then is quickly tucked behind that famous Jackson Parker smile.

  He sets the silk back on its hook and turns to study another nightgown.

  After a moment of silence, he says, “Actually, I don’t. I’ve never taken a woman shopping before.”

  Those piercing blue eyes fix on me, powerfully making the heat immediately rise to cheeks.

  “I’m not a womanizer,” he adds softly. “I don’t do things like last night. I don’t sleep around. I’m a one woman at a time kind of guy.”

  I flush again.

  There’s a lot in that statement: it’s part reprimand to make sure I know I insulted him; part warning, like he doesn’t want me to get too serious about us; and part heart-meltingly adorable in how he says “one woman kind of guy.”

  I need to defuse this. But how? I need to get this all light and happy-go-lucky again. I suck in a breath.

  “Really? What a shame. I was going to ask you to come into the dressing room with me for a fast fuck, but I’d be the only one who knows how to do it.”

  My lips close in on him and I take his mouth in a fully open, tongue invading, impossible to mistake kind of kiss.

  I leave him quickly, heading toward the watching Patty, my dressing room, and my little black sundress.

  I peek at him over my shoulder and find him smiling again.

  Patty directs me to a dressing room and I step in.

  “You’re a size four, right?”

  My eyes widen just a tad. I nod.

  “Why don’t you let me pick out an assortment of things for you, Linda? You looked a little lost out there trying to figure out how to assemble a wardrobe. I don’t know how long you’ll be in town, but if your luggage doesn’t arrive you’ll definitely need more than one dress.”

  Oh, rudeness uncapped now that we are alone!

  “Pick away,” I say frivolously, tossing my Lakers cap on the bench. With my fingers, I shake out my curls as Patty closes the dressing room door.

  I toss my flip-flops into a corner and pull off Maria’s jeans and t-shirt. I take the dress from the hanger, jerk it over my head, and zip up the back.

  Smoothing the garment over my lean curves, I turn toward the mirror. I stare at myself in surprise. The simple black dress is so elegant put on. Somehow, it makes me look completely different, and no longer like a fish out of water in this posh, casually trendy coastal town.

  I struggle to pull the tag from the back to see it in the mirror. Crap. Nine-hundred-seventy-five dollars for a tiny square of linen cut into an Audrey Hepburn A-line dress!

  It makes me nervous just having the darn thing on me. I’m about to pull it off when I hear a knock and Patty barges in without asking if she can enter.

  She freezes halfway into the room. “Oh god. I didn’t see it with the hat and glasses on.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Patty turns me towards the mirror again. “Dark curls. Dark eyes and wearing that dress. You look like Lena. I was wondering why he’s running around with someone like you.”

  My insides grow cold. Running around with someone like me? The ways she says that makes it pointedly catty.

  Her eyes do another fast once over of my form. It is done in a very uncomplimentary way.

  “Jack always did like a girl that was just a smidge exotic.”

  In some sort of masterful, rich woman manner, she manages to make the word exotic sound like a pejorative.

  “I’m not exotic. I’m Jewish. Or is that considered exotic h
ere?”

  Patty reddens, turns, and deposits on the hooks the mountain of garments she came in with.

  “I brought you a little bit of everything you might need,” she says.

  I smile without saying thank you and wait for her to leave.

  Forty minutes later, there is a pile of clothing and shoes on the floor, and I’m sitting on the bench wondering what I should do about this. I can’t let Jack buy me all this. Patty’s comments have pricked at me since she said them.

  By the end of trying on garments, I’m feeling miserable, slimy and opportunistic. Am I shamefully taking advantage of a man drowning in sadness and loss? I don’t know for sure and that bothers the hell out of me.

  Usually the game is casual sex, a few laughs, and nothing more. That’s my relationship MO, and if I learn some tidbit of information about my father along the way, I consider that fair trade.

  This thing with Jack is something I haven’t experienced before. Something different than any of my other affairs have been. Two days, and I already have feelings for him when I never allow myself to feel anything for any man. But Jackson Parker is a special kind of man, unlike any man I’ve ever met.

  I’m out of my comfort zone, I don’t know how to handle him, I don’t know how to control myself, and I haven’t got a clue where this is going.

  Seven

  We are quiet on the drive from the mall up State Street. We both seem lost in our thoughts. I haven’t a clue what’s bothering Jack. I know what’s bothering me.

  I can’t shake my feelings of dishonesty in what I’m doing here with him. It has only intensified after seeing what a tiny wardrobe at a fashionable Santa Barbara boutique costs, and watching as he paid for it.

  It’s the closest I’ve ever come to taking money from a man and I don’t like it. That I am only staying because I want something from him makes accepting his kindness all the more despicable.

  I peek over at him and smile. My smile is not returned. My already tense muscles grow more taut with apprehension.

  The vibe in the car is strange. Something has changed in him. It started after the dressing room, when I rejoined him in the store. The smile left his face and I haven’t seen it since. Without batting an eye, he paid for everything, took the bags and put them in the trunk. But he hasn’t smiled at me since.

  He isn’t talking and he’s maintaining a careful distance between us. I wonder if Pretty Patty put poison in his ears while I was conveniently out of the way trying on dresses.

  I stare down at my hands and knot my fingers. I feel very shaky, like I do right before something terrible comes my way. I am an expert at sensing impending doom. Whatever is happening, isn’t going to be good for me.

  I look up at him. The tension is unbearable.

  “Do you think you can arrange for me to get back to LA? I don’t know how to catch up with my ride. I don’t know if she’s still in Santa Barbara. I have class next week.”

  He downshifts the car and turns on the signal. “When do you want to go?”

  My heart leaps into my mouth and I suddenly feel emotional. Why did I ask that? Why did I push instead of waiting for his mood to pass? We’ve gone from “stay as long as you want” to “when do you want to go.”

  I stare back down at my hands. “I have to be back by Wednesday. The school monitors my attendance because of my scholarship.”

  His expression hardens. “I can arrange for a car and a driver. It’s no big deal.”

  Oh no. He wants me to leave. What’s changed? His jaw is clenching and his eyes are fixed on the road.

  I can’t stand the tension. It makes me attack.

  “I can leave tonight if you want me to,” I say stiffly.

  I lift my chin and wait.

  “There is no need to make a decision this second,” he says patiently.

  I look away from him, searching for something to say. I realize we’ve stopped and are parked in a lot close to a small restaurant with white and blue trim. Philadelphia House. It looks fancy.

  I’m glad I wore the black Audrey Hepburn A-line dress and the new platform shoes when I left the dressing room. I don’t think the housekeeper’s clothes would quite work here.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” he murmurs, opening his door.

  I nod. It’s nearly sunset. I’m not hungry, but anything that postpones the discussion of sending me on my way is a good thing.

  I watch him move around the car to my door, drinking in the sight of him. To think last night, after hours of fiery sex, I slept naked and sweaty in his arms until morning. It makes his change of demeanor all the more perplexing.

  I wait in silence as he opens my door. I peek at him through my lashes as I climb from my seat, and pause to smooth down the dress over my curves. Even as tight as it is, it bunched up in my seat and, darn, the lap belt left a slight crease in the linen.

  I feel his eyes follow my hands as he waits for me to finish preening. Suddenly, for some reason, the atmosphere between us changes and there is an electric charge between us that I can read without effort.

  When his eyes meet mine they are a deep glittering blue. My breathing alters as the tick in his cheek twitches. The soft muscles against my new silk panties frantically start to pulse.

  Oh my god, he’s not angry. He’s turned on. He is totally into me and I told him I wanted to leave.

  I bite my lip and his eyes darken.

  “You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you, Linda?” he says simply.

  My heartbeat picks up and I am instantly hot everywhere. The tension in the car was sexual! He’s hot for me again, and, like a switch he flipped, I’m startled to realize I am immediately hot for him, too. I drink in the perfect lines of his face, slightly tight with desire. I want him. Here. Now. Someway.

  “Why don’t you show me,” I whisper.

  My fingers close around his shirt and I pull his body into me as I claim his mouth. The joining of our lips is hungry at first touch, and instantly he has my face in a vice-like grip, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth, his body pinning me against the car door. His erection is digging into me, straining against his jeans.

  I’m back on familiar ground. I know how to fix my earlier blunder and what my next move should be.

  I rub my body against his erection, I feel a twitch in response, and I drag my lips back, breathing heavily against his mouth because I’ve gone from zero to sixty in record time again. I rapidly take in oxygen to steady myself.

  “I’m going to the bathroom. I’m leaving the door unlocked. Get a table and meet me there.”

  I don’t wait for an answer. Quickly, I move ahead of him into the restaurant. If there is a God in heaven, the bathroom will be empty. I am dripping and wet, frantic and horny, and all Jack did was kiss me as I rubbed against his erection.

  The hostess smiles at me as I step into the dimly lit entrance and, after an abrupt inquiry over where the restrooms are, I bypass the dining room and hurry down a long, narrow corridor.

  I turn the knob and thankfully find it unlocked. I slip into the room. I plant my hands on the vanity, breathing heavily. I wasn’t even thinking about sex in the car and now I’m desperate for him.

  I look up, catching my reflection in the mirror. There is a wildness I’ve never seen before in my eyes. A passion flush on my cheeks, and a rapid rise and fall to my achy breasts.

  What if he doesn’t follow?

  I chase away the thought. If Jack is half as turned on as I am, he’ll follow.

  My gaze flitters around the room. It’s large, carpeted and beautifully decorated. There is even a chaise before a full wall mirror. A well-appointed fuck parlor in every way.

  The door opens and I whirl to see Jack enter. He clicks the lock in place behind him.

  “Now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?” Jack whispers, traces of humor and lust on the gorgeous angles of his face.

  I suck in hard. I fe
el so powerful when he looks at me that way. I am beyond excited, yet I can’t will my legs to take me from my side of the room to his.

  He starts to unbutton his jeans, those potent blue eyes never leaving mine.

  “Not so bold now, are you?” he asks.

  His jeans are hanging low on his hips as he kicks off his shoes. Just watching him is like a mini orgasm, and he is calmly undressing and waiting for me to make the first move.

  “I can’t hold back forever,” he warns, as he takes away the space between us. “But you are in charge, baby. You got me here, now take me.”

  Oh my! This time he’s all mine to play with, and it has just kicked up my arousal to the temperature of the sun’s surface. There’s none of that Be patient, Linda, no savoring of the senses from Jack. He’s out of his mind, burning hot, just like me. And this time, he wants me to fuck him.

  His pants drop to the floor and thought is no longer necessary. I meld my body into his and he returns my kiss with a passion that matches my own. My scattered senses are only vaguely aware of my movement toward the chaise and the swift removal of my clothing.

  I want him so badly that I’m not even conscious of how we end up with him lying on the chaise and me riding him. My breathing catches as I swallow his flesh, rush and ride him. My need for release is blinding.

  I groan as he tilts his hips up to meet my motions, filling me so deeply that my head begins to roll in agonizing pleasure. I feel his lips and hands all over my body. My hardened nipples. The sensitive flesh of my ears. The underside of my jaw and smooth surface of my neck.

  I have no idea what I’m doing. The feel of him radiates through my limbs. His breathing is hard, matching mine, his pelvis taking over to drive the rhythm. His face is taut with anticipation and want, and it feels so good, this brutal chase beneath me that I control.

  I plant my hands on his shoulders, still my hips and stop the race. His eyes open and I gently roll my hips, stroking up, then slowly downward. A fast lift and then a brutal swallowing. I start to increase the pace again. The feel of him makes me desperate with want.

  His head rolls on the chaise and his eyes close.