Merry and Bright(18)

Scott blinked. “Jacob? What are you doing here? And break-in? Here? Was anything stolen?”

Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Usually the first question is, are you okay?”

“Of course, of course.” Scott slapped his forehead. “I’m just flustered. A slashed tire and now a break-in. And you . . . you visiting. Maggie, are you okay?”

Well, let’s see. She had Jacob—who now had her garters in his pocket—on one side, and Scott, her maybe Mr. Right—who was currently eyeing Jacob—on the other.

Who was eyeing Scott right back.

Two men. Both wanting her. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should come back with me until we know you’re safe.”

“I’m staying,” Jacob said casually. “She’ll be safe.”

The testosterone level in the air rose to dangerous heights.

“I could stay, too,” Scott said. “No problem.”

Oh, yes, it was a problem. They were both a problem. And she had no experience with which to deal with this. She needed Janie. “Okay,” she said, gently pushing Scott over the threshold. “Thank you very much for coming by, but I’m going to be fine.”

Jacob smirked.

So she shoved him over the threshold as well. “And you have a flight to catch.”

“But—”

“Good night,” she said, firmly. “To the both of you.” She shut the door, letting out a slow, shaky breath as she leaned back against the wood, suddenly thankful she had Mr. Showerhead after all.

She ate a can of soup and a piece of toast, and didn’t let herself think about the nice dinner Scott might have taken her to. Or what she might be doing with Jacob right now if Scott hadn’t interrupted them. She changed into her pj’s and slathered on some of her skin care from the vial.

Someone knocked at her door and she hesitated, then looked through the peephole.

A dark eye looked back at her. A dark eye that seemed to be filled with both wry humor and annoyance, complete with a dash of affection.

Jacob pulled back so that she could see all six-feet-two inches of his leanly muscled frame, the one that tended to make her brain cells simultaneously combust.

He waggled his fingers at her.

She pressed her forehead to the door while her heart went off like a jackhammer. “Go away, Jacob.”

“Let me in.”

Just his voice made her quiver. What was wrong with her?

“Stress,” he said through the wood when she inadvertently spoke out loud. “That’s what’s wrong. I have the cure for that, by the way.”

Oh, God. “Stressed is desserts spelled backward.” She could use a dessert right about now....

Then he did something to really turn her on. He lifted a bag of chocolate cookies to the peephole. “Cookies that you don’t have to make. And unlike someone I know, I didn’t eat them all. Open up, Maggie.”

With a sigh, she grabbed a throw blanket from her couch and threw it around her. “I’m in my pj’s.”

“I won’t look.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth, and she pulled open the door. He was wearing clean clothes: a pair of dark Levi’s, a dark polo shirt, and a dark smile to match, which had her pulse leaping to attention.

Bad pulse. “I don’t need you to stay—”

“I know.” He pushed past her and tossed a duffel bag down to her couch. “But I am.”

He smelled good. Dammit, why did he always have to smell good?

She put her hands on her hips. “Jacob—”

Turning back to her, he gripped her waist, pulled her up against him and kissed her until she didn’t know her name. Disarmed, she stared up at him when he pulled back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with the fact that I wouldn’t leave you alone tonight even if I didn’t want to do that all the damn time.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and turned in a slow circle, coming back to face her, his eyes dark and full of things that took her breath. “Look, you were there for me once. Let me be here for you now. Don’t ask me to leave you alone tonight.”

She thought about how she’d felt earlier standing between him and Scott, how really, there hadn’t been any choice to make at all. And how that scared her because she no longer understood herself or what she wanted. “We’re not having sex.”

“Let me guess. Because you have your showerhead.”

She’d known that would come back and bite her on the ass.

“Don’t worry, I understand. I doubt any guy could compete with a showerhead. How about a blanket? Can I ask for a blanket?”

She pulled one out from the small chest she used as an ottoman, then watched him kick off his shoes and lie down on her couch. He was of course too long for it, with his calves and feet sticking off the end, but he merely tossed the blanket over himself and closed his eyes. “Could you get the light?”

She just stared at him. “You missed your flight for me. Why did you miss your flight for me?”

“I realize you’ve been using a showerhead as a boyfriend, so you might have forgotten how the friend part works. Friends stick by each other when they’re in trouble.”

“We’re friends?”