A Word With The Bachelor

With all the dignity she could muster, Erin backed up to the door then quickly turned and opened it. She went to her room and shut herself in, then sagged against the door.

“What just happened?” she whispered.

There had been a moment. She was sure of it. Until just a few minutes ago, no man had ever looked at her as if he wanted her more than his next breath. Not even the man she’d taken an engagement ring from. But Jack Garner did.

She didn’t know whether to high-five herself or crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Then an even more off-putting thought struck her. Was that the way she’d looked at him when they first met? When he’d said they weren’t sleeping together as if that’s what she’d been thinking.

How was she going to face him tomorrow morning?

* * *

Jack sat across from Erin at the kitchen table and finished his omelet. It was becoming clear that she was very good at making them. Spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms and cheese—he couldn’t say he’d ever had a better one. The eggs were fluffy and filling. The company...not so much. Since he’d come downstairs for breakfast, the cook had barely looked at him.

Barely was most probably the reason why.

She’d been practically naked on the porch last night and his gut still hurt from the effort it took to keep his hands to himself. The high color in her cheeks was a clue that she was still embarrassed about it. She’d admitted to having a long-term relationship, but there was an innocence about her that was inconvenient. Since coming downstairs for breakfast he hadn’t done anything except eat. There had been nothing to take the edge off the tension. If he left it alone and let her feel uncomfortable, maybe she would take off back where she came from.

He sneaked a look and there was something sweet and vulnerable about her that made him feel like a buffalo at a tea party. Damn it. Probably he was going to regret this, but...

“Breakfast was good.” There, silence broken.

Erin stopped pushing the food around her plate without eating it and looked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Coffee’s good, too.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it. Some guys think vegetable omelets aren’t very...well, masculine.”

“What guy?”

“My fiancé.”

Jack bit his tongue to keep from saying this fiancé was an idiot. Not only was it bad to speak ill of the dead, but a remark like that would also undermine what he was trying to do in erasing her embarrassment. All he said was “His loss.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Jack.”

“Not really. I’m not a nice guy. It’s just the truth.”

Whatever else he was, wasn’t, or had done, he always tried to be honest. Mostly he was successful, but probably not always. “You’re a good cook.”

“It’s just something I like to do. Guess that’s half the battle. When I was a little girl, I stayed with my grandmother a lot because my mom worked. Grammy let me help when she cooked or baked. I got to roll out dough, cut out cookies and help make soup.” There was a faraway look in her eyes and the corners of her mouth curved up in a small smile. “Those are good memories.”

“I never knew my grandmother.” Now, why the hell had he said that?

“Singular? You only had one parent?”

He looked at her for a long moment, kicking himself for going soft and letting that out. It was too much to hope she’d miss the slipup. “Obviously at a certain point I had a father, but he was nothing more than a sperm donor.”

“You never met him?”

The pity in her eyes made him want to put his fist through a wall. “She always said he was a magician. When he heard my mother say the word pregnant, he made himself disappear.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first. But if you feel compelled to comment, just don’t say you’re sorry. I never needed him.” Jack learned a code of honor in the military and did his best to be honest, but that statement closed in on the line that separated truth from deceit.

“You are many things, Jack, but I would never describe you as someone to be pitied.” Then she pointed a warning finger at him. “And don’t tell me I’m patronizing you because I’m not doing that.”

Since that’s exactly what he’d been about to say, he almost smiled but caught himself just in time. That was annoying, one more way she tempted him. Enough of this. After pushing his chair back from the table, he said, “I have to get to work.”

She glanced at the funky pink princess watch on her wrist. “Oh, wow. It’s getting late.”

Only if one was on a schedule, which he’d agreed to in a weak moment when he’d been unable to look away from her practically naked body. “Yeah. It’s closing right in on nine.”

“I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Jack knew he should offer to help but this time was able to hold back the words. Washing dishes with her was domestic and he didn’t do domestic. Not anymore.

Without another word he walked to the front door and Harley followed from wherever he’d been dozing. They went out onto the porch then up the stairs to his office.

Jack sat down in the chair behind his desk and looked at the blank computer monitor for a while. He patted his leg and said, “Harley, up.”

The dog did as ordered then made a circle before settling on Jack’s lap. He scratched the animal’s hairless back and hoped the mindless activity would stimulate something creative or useful. Ten minutes later he still had nothing.

There was a knock on his office door before Erin stuck her head inside. “Rough commute. Am I late?”

If only. “Nine o’clock on the nose.” Damn it.

She took a seat in front of the desk. “Okay, let the status meeting begin. Where are you in the book?”

“Where am I?” he repeated. Harley chose that moment to desert him and jump down and pad over to her. “Well, let me think. That’s kind of hard to say.”

“Yeah. I can see where it would be. Why don’t you start by telling me what you have so far.”

“What I have... Let’s see.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers over his abdomen. “Wow. Where do I begin...?”

Really, he wanted to say. Where? Did he open the story with unknown assailants ambushing Mac and leaving him for dead? Or with a mysterious stranger who contacts him for help because word of his exploits in rescuing the ex-girlfriend’s kidnapped kid from a vicious drug cartel had spread? The best first line would be something like “The pretty, green-eyed woman with sun-streaked brown hair smiled seductively before telling him to forget the book and take her to bed.”

Erin waited patiently for him to speak. When the silence drifted into awkward territory she said, “You know, Corinne Carlisle had a hard time talking about her story, too. It could be an author thing because you’re more comfortable with the written word than the spoken one.”

Helpful of her to gift-wrap an excuse for him. “Yeah, I think you just nailed it.”

“Are you a pantser or a plotter?” she asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you write by the seat of your pants? Or do you know every detail ahead of time when you sit down at the computer?”

Right this minute he wished to be a plotter but was pretty sure the first one described him best. “That’s really hard to say.”