Wrong Man, Right Kiss

  “I’ve always loved her canvases, my dear. So bright and sunny. Like her. No wonder they do so well in the art market,” his mother casually told Kate, and the topic only incensed Julian to a whole new level.

  “Remember how she used to save all those wrappers,” Garrett added in lingering disbelief. “And twine them around the tree trunks to make some weird…”

  “Oh, yeah, the candy tree,” Landon said, lifting up his glass. “I think she has one in this exhibition. It’s considered to be her ‘early work.’”

  “Remember that one review?” Beth said, turning to Landon. “You know the one, Lan… Where the reviewer said Molly was the kind of artist who could draw a simple sketch on a paper napkin and sign it and with that, not only pay for her dinner tab, but for the entire restaurant’s? Like it was rumored Picasso once did.”

  The chair legs screeched like angry banshees as Julian pushed back his seat and rose, his face black with rage. With a shove-it-where-it-hurts look, he grabbed his drink to leave.

  “Oh, Julian, dear,” Eleanor said, “Could you tell one of the servants to bring out the pies?”

  He realized his drink was empty and slammed it back down. “Tell them yourself.”

  Ready to call it quits on family time, he marched toward the dry clothes he’d left on a wood bench by the dock, angrily unzipping and yanking the top part of his wet suit down to his hips. His family kept talking of Molly’s artworks, how special they were, and yes, they were incredible pieces, amazing. But it was Molly whom he’d always considered the masterpiece. Living and breathing, coloring his world with passion and liveliness, making his every moment…worthwhile. God, he hated to remember how she used to make him feel.

  Stopping in his tracks, he scowled at the wood bench. His clothes were nowhere to be found.

  He stormed back to the group. “Where the hell is my stuff?”

  Kate covered her cheeks with both hands, eyes wide. “Oh, I’m sorry! I hung everything in the closet at the cottage so it wouldn’t get wet or wrinkled.”

  He rolled his eyes and stomped down the path to the spare cottage a good distance from the main house. Once he got there, he slammed the door shut behind him to keep the AC inside and went to the closet.

  That was when he caught a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye.

  He did a forty-five-degree turn and saw Molly. She stood by the window, like a virgin fire princess ready for the sacrifice of her life, her hair molten lava running down her rounded shoulders, wearing a sexy little strapless dress and glittery sandals, big earrings, big bangles and a big smile.

  His body, traitorous, jumped to life at the sight of her as though twenty-three miserable, endless days of continual physical exertion were not enough to keep it numb. Oh, no, not around her. Her mere presence had flicked on his power switch. Now his blood rushed through his veins and his mind sparked to awareness, taking in every detail of her porcelain skin, her pale blue eyes, her shiny hair, her sweet, white, tiny little teeth she’d used to bite him lovingly. He took in every detail now only to torture himself with them later.

  His palms itched, his breath hitched, and he said, “You.”

  He heard shuffling outside the door, and then the sound of a bolt sliding into place.

  Plunk.

  And he realized too late, that his family had just locked him in with her.

  * * *

  “Me,” Molly agreed calmly.

  And suddenly it didn’t matter that Julian obviously didn’t want to be here, that he didn’t want to see her. It didn’t matter that his eyes flashed reproachfully at her, that his stance was wide and defensive, that his lips were hard and pressed together in anger. The sight of him after all these painful days made her lungs throb and her head spin with the sheer joy of being able to look at him.

  And he looked extremely good.

  His torso was damp with lake water and tanned by the sun. His chest looked wider, his athletic form so incredibly sexy in the way the wet suit hung halfway down his body, emphasizing his narrow hips and waist. The shiny black fabric clung seductively to his thighs and to the prominent part of him that had once joined him with her. His hair was damp and slicked back from his face, revealing every inch of his formidable features. The features of a playboy, a Greek god, the man she loved—and the man who wanted nothing to do with her.

  Molly trembled with nervousness, desire, regret.

  She noticed his hair, still streaked enticingly by the sun, was growing a bit longer, to his nape, and she could smell the woods on him, the oaks and the cedars on the property.

  “I thought you had a show,” he said, his tone indicating that he didn’t really care about her answer.

  She still wanted to tell him—because he used to be the only one who truly listened—that it had gone well, that the reviews were excellent and everyone thought she was the luckiest person on earth to have succeeded so young. They thought she had it all.

  But she didn’t.

  She didn’t have what she wanted most. Had always wanted.

  “I got back from the opening yesterday,” she said slowly, her hands restless at her sides, fiddling with the skirt of her dress. “Everyone seemed to like my paintings, except for my two most depressing ones.” The ones that suck because of you.

  “You have no depressing works,” he said, pointing at her.

  He pursed his lips as he once again scanned his surroundings. Then he shook his head in disgust, marched back to the closet, yanked open the doors and began to pull out his clothes briskly from the hangers.

  She felt an unwelcome rush of desire when he began to change right before her eyes. He pulled off his wet suit with a snap, and when he peeled it from his thighs and kicked it off, she saw his nude backside. Glorious muscles rippled and clenched as he put on his Boss underwear and khaki pants. He slipped on a polo shirt and buttoned the two top buttons, then crossed the room toward the cottage door and tried to force the knob. He cursed under his breath when it didn’t open and angrily swung around to her.

  “So you’re into kidnapping now, Molls? Is that your new kick?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m into spanking, kidnapping and robbing unsuspecting clients of their money while I fail to complete their murals.”

  Jaw clamped, he stormed to one of the windows and attempted to open it so forcibly the glass rattled in its frame. He acted as if he was in prison and eager to be set free, which just made Molly sigh in despair.

  “Look, this wasn’t my idea, but I think the plan is brilliant,” she said.

  “Except for one flaw,” he said wickedly, unlocking a second window with a surprising click. He cocked a devil-may-care brow at her and grinned as he pushed upward, only to realize there was another lock on the outside and the glass stayed right in place, no matter how hard he tried to get it open. “Damn.”

  “You don’t want to talk to me, Julian, that’s fine,” Molly said softly. “But I need to talk to you. So now you’re going to have to hear me out. Even if you break one of those windows, Jules, what are you planning to do? Let in some fresh air?”

  He scowled as she pointed at the forged-iron bars on the outside.

  “Your mother had that design made specially to keep the drunk teenagers from getting in like they’ve been doing at other lake houses, and if they can’t come in through those bars, I doubt even you can go out through them.”

  The glare he shot her could’ve been Lucifer’s. “I can’t believe this idiocy. First they don’t want me near you, now they lock me up with you?”

  Shaking his head, he paced like a caged lion.

  His tumultuous energy spun through the room like a whirlwind, making her want to go over there, wrap her arms around him and calm him down like she had many times before when he was irritated about other things.

  But now he s
aw her as untrustworthy, and he wouldn’t want to open up. Now his irritation was caused by the fact that he was locked in the same room as Molly.

  “Your family has realized we’re miserable and they’re trying to make amends. Well, I have been miserable,” she added, watching him pace. “Jules, will you please look at me so I can talk to you? Or do I need to call you JJ to make you react?”

  He stopped in his tracks, his hands curling at his sides, fingers clenching. Although his face was a mask of cold indifference, his eyes blazed with intensity. “Don’t even think about provoking me.”

  “Or you’ll what? Kiss me?”

  His glare was as bleak as a cemetery. “I’ll spank the hell out of you, how about that? I’m through with kissing you, Molls.”

  The decisiveness in his words summoned a fresh wave of outrage from her. “Really? And who says I even want you to?”

  “A closed door with a lock on it, that’s who!” His teeth were clenched so tight, she could see a muscle twitch in the back of his jaw.

  She glowered at him, but feared in the innermost part of her, where a candle of hope flickered its last lights, that this battle was already lost. Apparently, not only was her presence not wanted, her kiss was worth nothing to him, either. But she, on the other hand, remembered perfectly all the things she had done as a result of his masquerade kiss. “So are you going to listen to me, JJ? God, I’m trying to fix things here!” she cried.

  He looked up at the ceiling and pinched his eyes shut as though supremely tested. She thought she heard him counting under his breath, stopping at thirty-eight, his hands still clenching and unclenching.

  Gradually, he turned around to plant his hands on the wall, then stared out the window with his forehead almost touching the glass pane. His voice was a coarsened whisper. “I’m damned well listening. So talk.”

  Molly dragged in a breath as she watched his hands splay wider on the wall. She longed to feel those fingers again, feel him touch her, caress her, hold her. “Garrett wanted to talk to me that day I went to his office. He wanted to discuss our relationship.”

  His hands fisted against the window frame. “Whose?” he asked, his knuckles white. “His and yours?”

  “Yours and mine, Jules.” She flung her hands up in exasperation. “Obviously! So I told him—”

  He spun around like a cyclone. “You told him that I was leaving the Daily, and my family could have ruined everything I’ve planned for years. What else did you tell him? You were fishing for his approval by ratting me out, weren’t you?”

  The hurt that exploded in Molly’s chest was so massive that she almost staggered. “Do you really believe that? Do you?” Her voice sounded panicked, but she didn’t care.

  The look he shot back at her was so raw and stark it all but extinguished her candle of hope.

  Her voice broke, and she opened her hands out in silent plea. “Look, I’m sorry, Jules. It wasn’t on purpose. I was angry about the way they tried to warn me off you and wasn’t even thinking clearly. Please, please help me out here. I’m so in love with you I just can’t bear this anymore.”

  “That information wasn’t yours to share and especially not with them, Moo!” He shook his head and plunged a hand into his damp hair. “Look, I just can’t talk to you now. I can’t. I’m too goddamned pissed that you would…” A halting hand shot up in the air when she started forward, and she abruptly stopped, her heart in her throat.

  He sighed and backed away from her, and every step he took felt like a mile she would never be able to recover. He took a seat on the window bench, and Molly eased back and ended up alone on a floral couch, silent and hurt.

  He didn’t say he loves me back was all she could think. God, please, doesn’t he care for me just a little bit anymore?

  She thought of how easily he had jumped between lovers and beds his entire life and she wondered if there had been women warming his bed all this time, comforting him while she’d been pining for him alone, producing the worst artworks of her life because of him.

  Seduce him, a little voice whispered. Make him forgive you.

  But the thought made her feel cheap and as fake as he thought her to be. How could she go through with a seduction? First of all, he wasn’t even giving any indication that he still wanted her. And it had never been just about sex between them. It had been about friendship and fun and sharing and trust….

  Trust.

  Once long ago, Molly had been careless and had broken Eleanor Gage’s prized crystal figurine, one up on display over the chimney mantel. No matter how Julian tried to help her fix it, the thing could never be properly glued back together without looking pitifully disfigured. Now the thought that she could have shattered Julian’s trust just like that dolphin figurine, a figurine they’d ended up throwing away, terrified her.

  Despair made her sink deeper into her own personal bubble. She’d always felt strong in her life, plunging into adventures without thinking too much about their consequences. But now the source of her strength was gone, and she felt totally lost without him.

  The sun began to set outside, the lights of dusk bathing the room in a golden glow. She wondered if some woman had been stroking Julian’s Beckham-blond hair a day before. If a woman with model legs and bigger breasts had been feeling his beautiful hands on her skin and sighing under his searing kisses. His beautiful kisses.

  “Have you been sleeping around again?” she blurted out, unable to stand the torment of wondering about it any longer. The jealousy was ripping her insides into shreds.

  “I don’t feel like sex ever since you and I—” He glared, as though furious he’d revealed as much. Eyebrows pulled downward, he then growled, “No.”

  The relief she felt made her sag back against the couch.

  “Have you?” he shot back.

  “Of course not!” she cried.

  His narrowed gaze held hers with magnetic force, and they both fell so quiet that Molly could’ve heard a pin drop across the room. Unable to bear the strength of his stare, she broke eye contact and surveyed her sandaled feet, her stomach roiling. God, how she missed his oak leaf–green eyes.

  “So do they plan to leave us here all night?” Sounding just as thrilled as he had minutes ago—which was not thrilled at all—Julian looked around the cozy cottage as though he still hoped to find an escape route.

  It made Molly feel about as wanted as an abandoned rug. She nodded dejectedly. “I think they left some food in the kitchenette and water and…champagne.”

  How foolish to even mention that last item.

  As if they would both have something to celebrate. Uh-huh. Right.

  She had totally underestimated the size of Julian’s pride, and the size of her own, and now she just wanted to stop begging and curl up on a pillow and never wake up until the Earth spun the way it was supposed to. The way it used to.

  Her eyes blurred as she glanced up at him, but he was looking out the window, still unapproachable, and though she trembled with the urge to feel his arms around her, she curled up on the sofa and grabbed a pillow embroidered with Home Is Where the Heart Is. Shutting her eyes tiredly, she cuddled on one corner and strove to pretend Julian wasn’t here with her. It was easy. Because she’d never before felt so broken, so somber and so lonely when she was with him.

  But then his voice flicked through her, soft and husky enough that she could almost pretend it was a caress.

  “Do you remember when you flunked your second driving test, Molly?”

  She nodded, throat tightening. He had to bring that up.

  “Do you remember taking out Landon’s car for a little practice drive and crashing the hell out of it?”

  She nodded faster, her throat tightening even more.

  “You pulled me out of a damn Spurs game in the final period. And I fixed things. Fixed them
so that you’d never be caught, gladly taking the super-fun lecture from my brother and mother for you. I never ratted you out. Never.”

  Throat burning thick now, she kept her eyes closed and prayed he didn’t notice the dampness in her lashes, the tears stealing from between her eyelids to slide down her cheeks and to the pillow. “I’m sorry,” she gritted out helplessly, opening her eyes to see the blurry vision of him. “You’ve always been my hero. I’m sorry I turned out to be the villain in your plot!”

  He laughed, a sarcastic sound that said he didn’t even care, and then he said no more and leaned a shoulder on the window and stared outside, probably wishing he was anywhere but here. With her.

  “If we hadn’t slept together,” she asked his profile, “would you still be my best friend and talk to me?”

  He rubbed one of his arms absently over his chest as he continued staring out the window. “Ask Garrett to be your bud,” he said quietly.

  Her eyebrows furrowed, and the anger and injustice that had been building up in her for days overtook her in an explosion. She jumped to her feet, shaking in fury. “You know what, Jules? Go to hell! If you want to hang on to the one thing I’ve done wrong to you in my life, that’s your call. But you know I’ve been there for you every single second of your life like your own private cheerleader. If you had a fan club you know damned well I’d be the president. I happen to think that there’s no one in the world as perfectly wonderful and special and incredible as you. But if you think that I would willingly hurt you in any way, for anyone else, even your brothers, then you’re an idiot. And you don’t deserve me or my friendship, much less my love!”

  She was just too hurt and too tired to beg anymore. She’d thought what Julian and she had would survive anything. That they were invincible and powerful.

  And now here they were, strangers and almost enemies, as if they hadn’t once meant everything to each other.

  He didn’t reply to her words, but kept staring stiffly out the window, his profile taut.

  Molly sighed and dropped back to the sofa, tired from her trip, from twenty-three days without sleep, weeks of wishing to find love and losing everything precious in her life in the process. Tired and frustrated, she tossed and turned on the couch, and she did that until finally sleep took over.