then. I guess we understand each other.”
* * *
Jack didn’t understand Little Miss Perky at all. In the less than twenty-four hours since her arrival he’d been nothing more than barely civil and yet she was still here. Like an eager puppy.
“So let’s talk about the book,” she said, putting a mug on his desk in front of him.
Jack looked at it and didn’t miss the fact that there was now a coaster for his cup that covered the circular coffee stain he’d grown fond of. That was kind of like shutting the barn door after the horse got out.
He leaned back in his cushy leather chair, a splurge from the unexpectedly astounding royalties on his first book, and met her gaze. “Let’s talk about my office instead.”
“What about it?”
He could actually see the oak top of his desk, whereas before only that circular spot had been visible. Pens, pencils, Post-its, a highlighter, et cetera, were...annoyingly organized. His mug with the army insignia on it that was for display purposes only was conspicuously full of writing implements. Yesterday, before she’d shown up, there were yellow legal pads scattered on the ratty chair and thrift-shop tables in this room and now they were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know where anything was.
“Things aren’t where I put them.”
“I tidied up. I was awake early and didn’t want to start breakfast too early in case you liked to sleep in.” She shrugged. “So I made myself useful.”
“In what universe? A man’s office is sacred ground.” The up and down apartments on the property were identical floor plans with two bedrooms and bathrooms. In addition to the isolation out here by the lake he’d liked the idea of separate spaces for work and living. Now Erin Riley had invaded both. Last night she’d slept upstairs in the spare room with unfettered access to his office. That was going to change. “I like my stuff out so I can find it.”
She sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, clearly not discouraged by his inhospitable reception and intending to dig in. “Understood.”
Jack squirmed a little, unable to shake the sensation that he’d drop-kicked a kitten. She was trying to do her job and he wasn’t making it easy. Because he didn’t want her here poking into things. All he needed was time to work through his creative speed bumps.
“If you want to be useful,” he said, “I need supplies. Like you said last night, there’s not much food here to work with.”
But she’d proved to be resourceful and managed to make dinner. With some eggs, a few vegetables and ground beef she’d whipped up a tasty skillet dish. This morning was grilled cheese sandwiches. When he’d reminded her it wasn’t lunch yet, she’d said his stomach didn’t know what time it was. As if he didn’t already know that. Special Forces training highlighted the need for nourishment to keep the body in tip-top working order and sometimes that meant making do with what was available. He’d just been messing with her because that sandwich tasted pretty darn good.
The thing was, her perky disposition never slipped. Like yesterday when he’d said he wouldn’t sleep with her, she’d calmly handled him. The only clue that he’d made her uncomfortable was the high color in her cheeks. Women weren’t top secret to him; he knew when one liked what she saw. And from the moment he’d answered the door to Erin Riley, she’d looked at him that way. If she could see inside him, she’d run in the opposite direction.
Maybe this attitude of his was a way of initiating her, like boot camp, to see if he could get her to crack. If so, that made him a son of a bitch and he felt a little guilt, but managed to ignore it. Her insertion into his life hadn’t been his idea. But like he’d said—he couldn’t fire her. All he could do was discourage her.
So far that was a negative on dissuasion. Her sunny disposition made him want to put on his shades. Looking at her was like coming out of a pitch-dark room into light so bright it made your eyes hurt. Even her shoulder-length brown hair had sunlit, cheerful streaks running through it. And flecks of gold brightened her pretty green eyes. She wasn’t extraordinarily beautiful, not like his ex-wife. But she was vulnerable, yet strong—a compelling combination somehow and he didn’t want to be compelled.
“Jack?”
Hearing her say his name snapped him back. “What?”
“Talking about your work-in-progress might get the creative juices flowing.”
“That’s not my process,” he said stubbornly.
“Okay.” She thought for a moment. “Then let’s talk about what your process is.”
“You’re like a pit bull.” Harley was in his bed beside the desk and he reached down to scratch the dog’s head. Instantly the animal rolled onto his back and Jack almost smiled. “Once you sink your teeth in you don’t let go.”
“Nice try.” Those flecks in her eyes darkened, making them more brown than green. She looked like a teacher who’d just figured out someone was attempting to pull a fast one. “You’re trying to deflect attention from yourself. Let’s get something straight, Jack. This isn’t about me.”
So that flanking maneuver didn’t work. Time for a contingency plan. “I have the situation under control.”
“Good. All you have to do is give Cheryl a firm date for manuscript delivery.”
He couldn’t exactly do that. “I’m still working out some plot details.”
“Okay. So let’s talk about that.”
“Look, Erin, my name and mine alone is on the front of the book. The content is my personal responsibility and I take that very seriously. I don’t write by committee.”
“Ah,” she said, as if just understanding something.
“What does that mean?” He was pretty sure his facial expression wasn’t easy to read, unlike hers.
“I had a similar conversation when I worked with Corinne Carlisle. She was uncomfortable in the beginning of our cooperative efforts. A clandestine collaboration, she called it. I thought that was a personal quirk of hers, or a chick thing.”
“It wasn’t?”
She shook her head. “I believe it’s a writer thing.”
“Call it what you want. I just prefer to work alone.”
His gaze was drawn to her legs when she crossed one over the other. The jeans she was wearing were a little loose and left too much to the imagination because he suspected the hidden curves would be well worth a look. Probably a good thing the denim wasn’t skintight. It would only be a distraction that he didn’t want or need.
“Alone.” She nodded her understanding of his statement. “I heard you were a loner.”
“Oh?”
“Cheryl explained the downside of this assignment. She made sure I knew that you don’t play well with others.”
The words hung in the air between them for several moments. Jack couldn’t tell whether
