Wild Fling or a Wedding Ring?

The “morning after” was supposed to be a miserable, hollow, shame-ridden experience. She’d heard it from a variety of reliable sources. But by the time she’d found her shoulders braced against the wall of the tiny phone booth, with Jake’s kiss coursing through her veins, she’d been more than willing to accept the consequences.

Only now, snuggled into her so recently sated skin, Cali couldn’t seem to muster even a smidgeon of remorse. Maybe she’d get there someday, but as of this glorious morning Jake Tyler had been the best exception to a rule she’d ever made.

After a three-year self-imposed dry spell, he’d been just the kind of no promises, no risks, no regrets tall-glass-ofwater Cali hadn’t even realized she’d been thirsting for. And now, quenched as she was, she could take on the Chicago assignment and knock the ball right out of Wrigley Field.

Finding a spot of too-cool sheets, she curled into herself, pulling the heavenly comforter tight and letting her mind slip back to the night before. To the deep blue-eyed gaze that had kept her pinned to her seat for hours longer than she’d planned to stay out. The warm, easy laugh that had slipped past her defenses and sent unexpected heat swirling low in her belly.

That rapturous kiss.

God, his mouth was phenomenal.

And the rest. Yum.

Still staring at the ceiling, Cali let out a wistful sigh.

No-harm recreation at its best. The one-night distraction by tall, dark and devastating had been sensational.

She should be ashamed, but couldn’t quite summon the energy for it. She’d never see him again. There was zero chance of this man ruining her career. It was bittersweet perfection.

At least it would be if she could forget the look on his face when she’d run like a fool from the club.

Flopping the comforter back with a groan, she emerged from her warm cocoon.

Shake it off.

A quick glance at the clock told her Amanda’s beloved brother-in-law was due within the hour, to take her over to her new place.

Her teeth set as she blew out a steady breath. Time to shift gears and get moving.

Stepping into the shower, she hoped the hot spray and lemon-sage lather of shampoo would wash her mind clean of all things Jake—there wasn’t time to get caught up in a crush, no matter how gorgeous or funny or intelligent—No! The man’s pure perfection stemmed from the fact that he’d been little more than a ship passing in the night.

Wait, not a ship. A sleek, sexy speed boat, whose wake had rocked her world.

Sure. Just one kiss. What was the harm in one tiny kiss after three years of going without?

Ha. Well, now she knew.

There would be no forgetting him.

She toweled off, with images of glinting eyes and a hardplaned chest pressed against her teasing her resolve. Ponderings of how different her life might have been if she’d been with a man like Jake three years ago in Boston instead of with Erik.

That was nonsense. When Jake had asked to take her home, she’d fled from the man. Imagining him in her life in any capacity other than as the exciting one-night spectacular exception he’d been was crazy. She wouldn’t. Definitely not. No matter how much he’d made her laugh. Want.

Agitated, she jammed her legs into a pair of jeans, then pulled a periwinkle and white halter over her head. As if in accordance with her mood, her curls had gone particularly wild that morning, requiring that she gather them at the nape of her neck with a leather tie. A dab of lipgloss and done. Satisfied with her look, she was just tossing back a glass of water when three hard knocks sounded at the hotel door.

A smile broke out across her face as excitement welled within her. Forget about blue-eyed bar heroes. On the other side of that door was Amanda’s brother-in-law, Jackson, here to deliver her to the rest of her life—or at least to the sublet where she’d live while she worked her butt off nailing this job for Amanda. It was go-time.

Barefoot, glass in hand, she darted over to the door and pulled it open wide. “Hey, give me one minute…”

The rest of her words died on her tongue as she gasped at the sight of Jake Tyler, casual in worn denim and a cuffed button-down, leaning with one arm braced against the frame of her door.

His brow drew down as his darkening eyes took her in. “You?”

Cali stood immobile, dread hollowing the pit of her stomach. It was a mistake. It couldn’t be what it looked like—Jake wasn’t Jackson.

Oh, God. Her boss’s little sister’s husband. Lying about his name while he scored in a bar!

No!

Breath ratcheting, she staggered back.

She could not have screwed up again. Not this quickly; not this royally! Maybe she was wrong and this was some kind of happy misunderstanding. Maybe Jake was just some sick stalker, bent on creeping her out with his ability to track her. Maybe he wasn’t her boss’s brother-in-law after all.

Let it be true, she prayed, willing to offer him a pair of her panties, or whatever insane keepsake he wanted, so long as he didn’t confirm that she’d been swapping spit with the married man her boss secretly coveted.

“Jackson?” she whispered, clinging to the hope that he’d shake his head and deny it, come after her with a knife instead.

The corner of a mouth she’d had her lips all over turned up the slightest degree. “No one calls me Jackson but Amanda and my mother.”

No apologies, no denials, no miraculous explanation proving she hadn’t blown everything before she’d even gotten through the gate. Just that calmly assessing gaze, smug and secure. Amused, even. What could he possibly find amusing about this situation?

The backs of her knees collided with the low coffee table behind her before she realized she was still retreating—and momentum kept her going.

“Aiyee!” Her arms flailed, then she shot one out to catch herself. Instead, the glass in her hand broke the fall, crushed in her palm as her rear-end smacked down.

Glass shards glittered pink as they drowned in the rising wash of blood at her wrist. “Ungg…” she moaned. “Cut myself…” Jake’s guttural curse registered vaguely as he appeared, crouching at her side. The room dimmed, tilting, and distorted images began playing before her eyes.

Of course it wasn’t her life flashing there—she wasn’t dying. Merely fainting from the sight of her own blood. No, the images she saw were a series of memories, bar-side snapshots, leading to her latest life-shattering, career-flushing mistake.

“Ah, hell.” Jake muttered, quickly assessing the injury. “Not too bad, but we need to get the glass out.”

Cali let out a sick moan. As his focus shot to her paling face, and her eyes fixed on the blood oozing down her arm, he knew without question what was next. “No. Don’t look at it, sweetheart…No—no, don’t—” Too late. Her eyes rolled back, her face went slack, and her body crumpled against him. Great.

This just got better and better.

The last thing he’d expected as he knocked on the hotel room door was for the incredible woman who’d run out on him the night before to open it. But once it had happened, and he’d seen who she was—connecting Cali to Calista—he’d indulged in a momentary fantasy about picking things up where they’d left off.

Obviously he was going to have to forget about that ego-driven idiocy, because Cali clearly hadn’t been thinking the same thing. In those first seconds she’d looked more like she wanted to skin him than screw him, so it was safe to assume she was annoyed to discover he wasn’t just some stranger who’d gotten her off and then conveniently faded into the mist. And that didn’t jibe with the image he’d constructed from the night before. Which was just irritating. She’d been soft. Funny. Sweet. And a little bit shy, blushing at her own interest.

He’d spent hours lost in her laughter.

He was an idiot.

He did not want a relationship. And he did not date—even in his über-casual capacity—women connected to his family. Ever. They came with too many strings that were too hard to sever, and he wasn’t interested in the complications. So why should it matter if Cali wasn’t exactly who he’d thought the night before? If what had happened wasn’t quite as special as he’d thought?

It shouldn’t—didn’t.

And special? What was he? Twelve? They’d been in a phone booth, for God’s sake.