Jack (The Family Simon Book 2) (4 page)

She kissed Coco, who, traitor dog that he was, licked her back as if she was his long lost friend.

“Besides, I need some time alone, and your beach house is perfect.”

“Really,” he said dryly.

“Really,” she repeated.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mood still off and a frown on his face. He was restless, irritable, and a whole lot of other stuff he didn’t want to think about. Christ, he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. He only knew that ever since he’d run into Donovan, he felt as if his skin was pulled too tight, like butter spread thin over toast. It was unsettling, and he didn’t like it.

Jack Simon was used to being in control, and right now he felt as he was drifting…as if he was waiting for something to happen, and he didn’t like the feeling.

At all.

For a few moments, he said nothing because he
was
waiting for something to happen and maybe that something was as simple as getting away and forgetting about everything for a little while.

He glanced at his sister. Suddenly Belize sounded just about right.

Four days in and Donovan had to ask herself why she’d never visited this part of the world before. She’d been pretty much everywhere else, every continent and major city you would want to visit, but Belize, or rather this tiny island just off the coast, was a paradise she’d not expected.

She had no cell phone. No iPod or iPad for that matter and no computer either. Heck, there wasn’t even a television inside the house. All she had was a suitcase full of clothes, a copy of Aldus Huxley’s
The Doors of Perception
(she’d been trying to read it for two years, but whatever) a notebook and pencil, and the first guitar she’d ever bought, a beat up Epiphone with a hole in the pick guard.

She could walk the entire island in about an hour and had done so each morning. The beach was amazing, the weather idyllic and she’d just finished snorkeling for the first time. Roger, the elderly gentleman who lived with his wife, Mary in a bungalow on the other side of the island, had set her up with some gear before he’d taken the boat and gone to the neighboring island of Ambergris Caye for supplies.

The couple were caretakers for the owner of the private island (who exactly that was Donovan had never learned), and it had been Roger who’d met her at the airport on the mainland.

All in all, the place was to die for, and as Donovan braided her long hair, eyes moving across the beach, she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d found a little piece of heaven.

Didn’t matter that she was alone. It didn’t even matter that the ache she’d learned to live with would always be there. After hours of travel and the first few days of feeling sorry for herself, she’d had a moment…an epiphany so to speak.

Donovan knew that she would never be happy, at least not in the true sense. All of the things she wanted, a husband and lately a child, well, they’d passed her by when the Jack Simon fright train had derailed. And sure, fantasies about a life with Jack had carried her for the last few months, ever since Miami, but after Cooper’s ultimatum, she knew it would never happen.

That love story was dead.

If only she could find that sweet spot. That balance between want and need. She had to get to that place where she was one hundred percent okay with
not
being one hundred percent happy.

People did that right? Not everyone lived a happily ever after.

Not even the girl who America thought had it all.

She’d brought a bag down to the beach, filled with a soda, water and some snacks (her trainer would have a heart attack if he could see the chocolate bars and chips but hey, she was on vacation). She had the Huxley book she was determined to read, but it was several feet away underneath a palm tree.

The snorkeling, the sand and the sun made her lazy, and she dropped to her beach towel instead of retrieving her bag. Rolling over onto her stomach Donovan made a pillow with the end of her towel, closed her eyes and relaxed.

The gentle waves lapping onto shore coupled with the heat from the sun calmed her spirit, and eventually she drifted off.

Donovan wasn’t sure how long she slept but when she woke up, billowing gray clouds blocked out the blue sky and sun, and the wind had picked up. Stiff, she pushed up onto her knees and glanced around, yawning as she stretched.

Looked like a storm was brewing.

She scooped up her towel and was heading to where she’d left her bag when she heard voices on the wind. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were definitely male voices. Curiosity piqued, she folded her towel and turned toward the dock located several hundred yards down the beach.

She spotted Roger and his wife chatting with a man whose back was to her. The guy was tall and wore faded cargos, while an un-tucked white T-shirt flapped in the breeze. He sported a ball cap so she couldn’t see his hair, though his skin was tanned a dark golden, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

A large bag was slung over his shoulder, and he held another smaller bag in his hand. There was something about the way he stood...

Roger and his wife waved to him as they climbed into their boat and—wait—were they leaving? Uneasy, Donovan grabbed her own bag and began heading up the beach. There was no point in yelling because A) she was pretty sure they’d be back sooner than later and B) the noise of the motor would drown her out anyway.

Roger’s boat reversed away from the dock, and before Donovan had a chance to run the last bit of the way, the boat was headed to open water and the man they’d been talking to turned toward the house.

He took three steps before he stopped, but it was two steps more than she needed to know exactly who it was. Even with the ball cap and aviators covering his eyes, there was no mistaking that chin and mouth or the broad chest and wide shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing on my island?” she snapped, picking up the pace and swearing a blue streak when her foot landed on a piece of sharp coral.

He tore off his sunglasses, staring at her in—wait—was that surprise? Shock?

His mouth tightened as a shadow from the clouds crossed overhead.

Her gut tightened because she could clearly see what was reflected in his eyes, and it sure as hell wasn’t delight. It wasn’t even close. Jack Simon looked dangerous and more than a little pissed off.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” he swore, eyes moving up her body until he nailed her with a look that had her hackles instantly up. “Grace,” he practically growled.

Grace.
Of course. Who else but a young woman whose heart had been broken, yet again, and who believed (wrongly as Donovan tried to tell her many times over)that Donovan and Jack belonged together. She’d obviously set up this whole thing, thinking that a romantic getaway would somehow kickstart an affair that was long dead.

“Shit,” she murmured, eyes moving to the small fleck on the horizon. Roger and Mary were so far out they’d disappear from view at any moment. She couldn’t stay here with Jack. No way in hell that was happening.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said turning toward the guest house. It was perched higher up, among a stand of palm trees. “I’ll just pack my stuff and when Roger and Mary get back, I’ll have him take me to the mainland.”

She started forward, marching up the small incline and ignoring the pain in her foot.

“Not gonna happen,” Jack said from somewhere behind her.

She froze but refused to turn around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Roger told me that he and his wife had a family commitment and would be off the island for three or four days unless there was an emergency.”

Three days? No ‘effing way.

“I don’t care. I’m calling him right now.”

Crap. With what? She didn’t have a cell and even if she did, she didn’t have a phone number for Roger.

“Not gonna happen,” he repeated. “Their daughter went into labor, and it’s their first grandchild.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hands bunched at her side, she swore a blue streak that would make a sailor proud.

“Unbelievable,” Jack said. “You haven’t changed one bit. You’re still a self-centered—“

“Bitch,” she finished for him.

The thing of it was, he was right. She did sound like a spoiled rotten child, but this was all about self preservation. She couldn’t stay here with him.

“Do you have the number?”

“I do.”

“Are you going to give it to me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

He arched an eyebrow and lord help her but she wanted to punch him in the throat.

“He was pretty clear, Donnie. Emergency only.”

“This
is
an emergency,” she said, taking another step, mind frantically thinking of a way out.

“Really. This should be good.”

She was nearly to the patio. “You bet.” Man, her Arkansas twang was up front and center, which was a testament to just how upset and scared she was.

“Are you going to share what exactly constitutes an emergency in the life of Donovan James these days?” The sarcasm, oh it was heavy, and Donovan made a face as she jumped up onto the top step, barely avoiding a yelp because her damn foot was throbbing by this point.

Whirling around, she glared down at the only man who’d ever managed to press every single goddamn button she owned. And Jesus. H. Christ, did he have to look so damn sexy gazing up at her?

“I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee-ya that when they come back in three days, there will only be one of us left standing, and it sure as hell won’t be you. If you don’t call that an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Chest heaving and mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips and waited for him to respond. But seconds ticked by, and Jack did nothing but lean against the bottom rail and stare up at her, eyes so dark they looked like pools of slick oil.

Slowly they moved over her again and, oh God, her nipples thrust forward as if saying hello. Suddenly aware that she was practically naked standing there in her bikini, she crossed her arms across her chest and clutched her bag a little closer.

The air was alive with something. Something hot and thick and sinful. Let’s not forget wanton and needful and sensual. And it was all of those things that she needed to stay the hell away from.

Even if she wanted it so badly. The ache inside her expanded at the thought.

Trying like hell to keep her breathing normal and struggling to keep her face neutral, Donovan almost didn’t hear that little catch in his breath. The one that told her Jack was right there with her. He felt every little bit of that ‘something’ that she did, and he was just as affected.

Donovan thought of Cooper’s ultimatum. How was she going to survive three days when the only thing she wanted was right here in front of her, and he happened to be the only thing she could never have?

“You’re bleeding,” he said slowly.

“What?” Confused, she stared down at Jack, the sadness inside her near to bursting. That damn lump was back, clogging her throat, and she had to clear it in order to speak. “Bleeding?”

Jack took two steps up just as several big, fat drops of rain fell onto her face. He was eye to eye with her, and that male scent that was all him washed over her, infusing her cells with a need so great it was painful.

“Your foot.”

Donovan followed his gaze down and stared at the blood pooling underneath her arch. It was already dark, having lost its brightness as soon as the air hit it. Funny, the blood looked dull and lifeless, as if whatever it was that made blood life-giving was dead inside of her.

She had a feeling that if she didn’t get this straightened out—if in fact she was stuck here with Jack Simon for three days—her heart would look exactly the same when it was all said and done.

Old. Dull.

And utterly crushed.

Jack decided exactly one second after locking his gaze onto Donovan that his sister had a death wish, because right about now, he wanted to wring Grace’s neck. What the hell had she been thinking?

His jaw clamped tight as he watched Donovan spin around and hobble the last few steps, throwing open the door of the luxurious guest house and then slamming it shut behind her.

It was raining pretty good now, and for a few seconds, he wasn’t sure what to do. He tore off his ball cap because it did nothing to keep his head dry, and tossed it along with his bags onto the covered part of the porch.

He took the last couple of stairs and walked the length of the house, his eyes on the sea and horizon. There wasn’t a trace left of blue sky, and the angry clouds that rolled overhead suited his mood. So much for a relaxing getaway.

Pissed off, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his cargos, eyes narrowed, mouth tight. He didn’t know who he was more angry with—Grace for tricking two adults into spending time together when clearly it was a bad choice for both of them, or himself for taking one look at Donovan and wanting her more than he could ever remember.

Pathetic.

She’d cut him out of her life like he was cancer and never looked back. In fact, after that last week together, he hadn’t laid eyes on her until Miami. Jack had spent two years involved in the most tumultuous, crazy, passionate relationship of his life, and in the blink of an eye, it was over.

Sure they spent a good amount of their time arguing over just about anything and everything, but they’d spent an equal amount of time making up. And it was the making up part that had ruined him for any other woman, because the sex had been sizzling. Never had he been with a woman who’d responded to him the way Donovan had and even though he knew she’d felt the same, it hadn’t been enough for her.

The sad truth was that he’d been all in, only he’d been all in by himself. He’d been so far gone for her that he hadn’t realized it until it was too late.

Jack Simon had mistakenly thought he had the world by the balls. It was a sobering reality check to find out things were the total opposite.

Donovan’s career took off, and she’d ended things with a Dear John letter. A fucking letter. Even now, the thought of it made him wince.