Right Kind of Wrong(13)

I throw the car in park and look at him, waiting.

A small smile peeks at the corners of his mouth, but otherwise he doesn’t move. “You think you’re dropping me off at this…”—he peers up at the quaint-looking building—“large replica of Snow White’s cottage in the middle of nowhere?”

I nod once. “This is where Pixie works—or worked—this summer and I’m sure her aunt can make arrangements for you to catch a cab back to Tempe. Or to Little Vail, if you so desire. But Jenna’s Chauffeur Service is officially closed for business. Now get out.”

He scans my face and inhales slowly, then lowers his voice. “I know it’s not easy, this thing with you and me, and I’m sorry if I’ve been more of a dick than usual, but Jenna…” He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

His tone, his words, everything about his presence in this moment completely contradicts everything about him so far today. And this is where the Jack Conundrum comes into play. It’s easier when he’s acting like an ass. More simple when he tries to annoy the hell out of me. But when he’s this person… this deep, genuine, intense soul with gunmetal eyes and a determined jaw… that’s when things get complicated.

And I don’t want complicated.

“I wasn’t asking,” I say. Then, exiting the car, I grab his duffle bag from the backseat and march for the inn’s front doors. Good God his bag is heavy. What did he pack in here, barbells?

Behind me, I hear the passenger door open and close. “It’ll be a lonely trip without me, you know.” Jack’s voice rumbles up my back and over my shoulders. “There’s only so much companionship your angry-girl music can give you.”

I make a face at the inn’s front porch steps as I climb them. Companionship, my ass.

“I’ll pay for all the gas,” he sings, like that’s worth tolerating his presence for days on end. “And I’ll drive when it gets dark.”

I slow my steps. I hadn’t thought about how exhausted I might be driving at nighttime. Having another driver to help ease that burden would be nice… What? No! No. I scoff, more at myself than at Jack’s words, but he perceives it differently and responds in typical Jack fashion.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You hate wearing glasses when you drive and we both know you’re pretty much blind as a bat at night without your glasses on.”

“I am not blind as a bat.”

I hear the smile in his voice. “Okay. Blind as a cat, then.”

I growl in frustration. “I can’t believe I even considered driving back home with you. I would’ve ripped your head off long before we crossed the Texas border.” Heaving open the inn’s front door, I charge through and shoot my eyes to him over my shoulder. “Frankly, I’m impressed we made it this far without me killing you.”

He grins. “What’s with all the death threats? Is that how you handle all of life’s problems? By committing murder?”

Dropping the duffle bag, I spin around and sneer at his tall body. “Just the really big ones.” Briefly—like so brief it’s not even a second—I glance him over in an appreciative way. Because he really is gorgeous, with his broad shoulders and square jaw and dark tattoos covering his big arms—but then I pull it together and lift my chin in anger. But it’s too late.

He caught my wandering eyes and now his eyes know. They always know, dammit.

His smile goes crooked. “First of all, there’s no need to take your frustration out on my luggage.” He points to the bag on the floor, then leans down so our faces are close together. Too close. Close enough to smell the woodsy scent of his shampoo and feel his warm exhaling on my cheeks. “Second,” he says with playful eyes. “Is that your way of telling me I’m big?”

We lock gazes and my heart beats against my chest. Ugh. If only I could hate this infuriating man. Life would be so much easier.





6


Jack


Behind the check-in counter, an attractive woman with long, dark hair clears her throat, clearly not entertained by our little spat, and smiles at Jenna.

“Jenna,” she says. “Welcome to the inn. I didn’t know you were stopping by. Pixie’s not here, though.”

Jenna whips her eyes away from me and focuses on the woman. “Oh, I’m not here for Pixie. I’m here to drop off this bozo”—she points to me in a dramatic way—“so I can be on my way to New Orleans.”

Bozo. Wow. She’s so flustered she can’t even come up with good insults.