Knew that his father had the best of intentions. But Jack couldn’t give the older man what he wanted most.
Thomas shook his head, then nodded. “You’re not, but you will be. I wish you could believe me on that.” He walked toward his son, laid both hands on the desk and leaned in. “I know you don’t. Not yet. But someday you will, Jack. Just give yourself a chance, all right?”
“I am.” He looked into his father’s eyes and lied again. “Everything’s good. I swear.”
Nodding, the older man pushed up from the desk. “Okay. We’ll leave it there for now.”
Thank God, Jack thought in relief.
“On another subject entirely,” his father said, “I’m headed down to San Diego tomorrow. Sam and I are taking the boat out fishing for the weekend. Want to join us?”
The Buchanan Boys, as his mother used to call the three of them, had gone on hundreds of fishing weekends together. And in the old days, there had been nothing Jack liked more than getting away with his younger brother and his father. But now, the thought of being caged on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a too-curious father and brother sounded like a nightmare. They’d hammer him with questions, he’d resent being prodded and they’d all have a crappy time.
Besides, he told himself, there was Rita. Decisions to be made.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got plans I can’t get out of.” Not that Rita knew of his plan to corner her into talking with him about their baby.
“Plans?” Thomas gave him a pleased smile. “That’s good, son. Really good. To prove how happy that makes me, I won’t even ask you what you’re going to be doing.”
“Thanks,” Jack said wryly.
“All right, then.” His father slapped his hands together then gave his palms a good scrub. “I’ve got to go by the house, pick up my fishing gear. Then I’m headed to San Diego. I’ll have my phone with me if you need to contact me.”
“I won’t,” Jack assured him. “But thanks. And say hi to Sam.”
“I will.”
Once his father was gone, Jack took a long, deep breath and willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work, so he got up, walked across the well-appointed office without even noticing the familiar furnishings.
Beige walls, dark red carpet, thick and plush enough to take a nap on, and twin couches facing each other across a low wood table. Windows were on two walls and Jack had moved the desk out of the line of sight of both of them.
Now, though, he walked to a far window and looked out over the sea. He didn’t look at the beach below or the crowd of early-summer sun worshippers spread out on the sand. Instead, he watched the steady rise and fall of the water as wind and its own weight formed ripples and waves that seemed to go on endlessly.
It was quiet in the office and normally he treasured that. But now, that silence tapped at the edges of his mind like a persistent knock on a closed door. As that door opened, images of Rita flooded his brain, from before, from yesterday, until he half expected her to simply appear physically in the office. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Rita would never come to him, she was too angry and he couldn’t blame her for it. But that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he had to do. She was pregnant with his child and damned if he’d ignore that.
There was a knock on the office door just before it opened and his assistant stepped inside. A middle-aged woman with a brisk, no nonsense attitude, Linda Holloway said, “Excuse me, Mr. Buchanan, you’ve got a twelve-thirty meeting with the captain of The Sea Queen.”
In the last four months, Linda had been responsible for Jack’s seamless takeover of his father’s position. She kept meticulous track of his schedule, his tasks and anything involving Buchanans. He was grateful, but right now, he didn’t appreciate the interruption.
“The captain will meet you at the dock so you can take a walk-through of the areas you didn’t see on your visit last month.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” The Sea Queen was their latest ocean liner. And yes, he did have to meet the captain if only to go over any last-minute concerns about the ship’s maiden voyage coming up in about a month. But not today.
“Cancel it,” he snapped and stalked across the office.
“What?” Linda watched him, eyes wide. “But the captain has come in from his home in Arizona specifically for this meeting.”
Yet one more guilt straw landed on the bale already situated on his shoulders, but he accepted it and moved on.
“It can’t be helped. I’ve got personal business to take care of. Put the captain up in the best hotel in the city and tell him we’ll meet tomorrow morning.”
“But—”
“Eight o’clock on the dock. I’ll be there and we can take care of this business then.”
He snatched his suit jacket out of the closet and shrugged into it. What good was being the boss if you couldn’t make the rules?
“But—”
“Linda,” he said firmly, “I have somewhere to be and it can’t wait. Make this happen.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, the slightest touch of defeat in her tone.
He didn’t address it. “Thanks,” he said and walked around her to leave without a backward glance.
* * *
“Tall, dark and dangerous is back.”
Rita glanced at her friend and bakery manager, Casey. “What?”
She jerked her head toward the small cluster of tables in one corner of the bakery. “The guy who swept you out of here yesterday? He’s back and looking just as edible as ever.”
Rita’s pulse skittered as she slowly, carefully, looked over her shoulder. Jack was sitting at the same table he’d spent hours at the day before. He wore a black suit, with a black dress shirt and a dark red tie. He looked exactly how Casey had described him. Dangerous. Edible.
As if he sensed her looking at him, he turned his head and his gaze locked with hers. Instantly, her blood turned to a river of fire and the pit of her stomach fluttered with nerves and expectation. He’d had that same effect on her from the beginning.
The minute he took her hand that first night on the beach, she’d felt it. That something special. Magical. There was a buzz between them that was electrifying.
She hadn’t been afraid when he’d walked toward her out of the darkness. Maybe she should have been, but instead, it had felt almost as if she’d been waiting for him.
They walked to a small café, took a table on the sidewalk and ordered coffee. There they sat for three hours, talking, sharing their lives, though Rita did more of that than he did. He hadn’t talked about his family or where he lived, only that his name was Jack Buchanan and that he had a week to be back in the real world and how he didn’t
