Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding)(15)

Like the way he set her entire body on fire with just a kiss.

Sensing movement, she looked to her left, frowning at the guy holding his phone up at them.

Photo op.

Two little words shouldn’t have been enough to extinguish the need and longing that had taken her over so completely. Her gaze rose to Jackson’s, and she knew in a heartbeat that he’d known about the camera the whole time.

Hayley stiffened and eased out of his arms. There had been enough scenes for one day. “Guess you got what you needed.” She said it for his ears only, and every syllable scraped her throat.

“Hayley,” he began, and she shook her head.

So help him, if he said a damn word about what she’d admitted about the kiss, their photographer would be emailing an entirely different picture to the sports blogs cheap enough to dig at athletes’ personal lives.

“I’ll see you later.” Hoping to hell she didn’t look as stupid as she felt, she made her way to the front door.

The breeze had picked up, bending the bright-colored blossoms planted around the inn’s front entrance. She rubbed her arms but the sudden chill had nothing to do with sun sneaking behind some clouds.

She pulled out her phone, then changed her mind about texting Matt. She didn’t need her brother to take her home. A taxi would be fine, and with a big event at the inn, she wouldn’t have to wait long for one to pass by.

At least her ankle wasn’t bothering her anymore, but the dull ache in her wrist had worsened after she’d grabbed Eric. She was in great shape, she thought wryly.

Her phone rang and she checked the number, hoping to see Gavin’s name and at the same time praying it wasn’t her mother.

Her partner’s number flashed across the screen.

Figuring if it was important, he’d leave a voice mail, she ignored the call. He’d probably heard about the Wedding That Wasn’t by now and wanted details too. As if Jackson’s arrest hadn’t put her front and center at work. They’d all be grilling her on Monday morning about the wedding.

A vehicle pulled up in front of her.

“Get in.”

She stared though the open passenger window at Jackson. “You don’t need to drive me.” She really didn’t need him feeling sorry for her when she’d foolishly read far more into a kiss that was little more than a publicity stunt.

“I brought you. I’ll take you home.”

Voices echoed behind her, and she watched Eric strolling her way with the same petite brunette she’d sent to talk to Jackson.

Her day kept getting better and better.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, she walked to the car. “You should stay with Josh.”

“He left.”

Hayley couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have chosen to hang around either if she’d been in his shoes with people gossiping all around.

She opened the door and slid inside, sticking as close to the passenger side as she could without making it obvious. She couldn’t be angry with him for using her to undo the damage done last night when she’d agreed to it in the first place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be annoyed with herself for getting a little wrapped up in a charade. Their kiss at seventeen had been a mistake, but this time she’d been a willing participant. Very willing, as it turned out.

She knew better than this. Jackson Knight had trouble written all over his handsome face. The kind of trouble she couldn’t afford. She’d worked her butt off to shake her rebellious image, and going on a date with Jackson, even a pretend one—after arresting him no less—had only given the town a reason to remember the way she used to be.

And that was before their picture had been taken.

Jackson left her to mull it all over in silence, and the second he pulled up in front of the apartment building she barely lived in anymore, she couldn’t scramble out of the car fast enough.

“Hold up a second.”

She shut the door but leaned into the window.

“Today didn’t go like I’d planned.”

Not the way anyone had planned, Hayley thought, resisting the urge to ask him exactly how he had planned for their fake date to go.

Jackson stared out the windshield, and she took a step back from the car. “Bye, Jackson.”

“It wasn’t just because of the picture.” The words came out rushed, like he might trip over them if he didn’t get them out. “The kiss, I mean.”

The rough confession was either the perfect line or he meant every word, and no matter how much she tried to fight it, her body responded as though it was the latter, warming her head to foot.

“Sure you’re not just trying to smooth things out with the cop who arrested you?”

“Absolutely,” he admitted, grinning. “That doesn’t mean I’ve ever kissed anyone like that either.”

The warmth gave way to a knee-weakening flush almost as potent as their kiss had been.

“Bye, Hayley.” He smiled again, the sexy curve of his lips making her think crazy thoughts that went against her better judgment. She’d just reminded herself why being anywhere near him was a bad idea, and she still found herself half wanting to crawl across the seat and see if what happened in the lobby had just been some crazy fluke.

She settled on keeping her distance, knowing it was for the best, but couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Your kissing skills have improved.” Smiling, she didn’t wait to hear his response, but felt him watch her until she reached the front of her building and let herself inside.

Welcome home, Jackson.





Jackson sat in his car long after Hayley had gone inside. What the hell had she meant by that?

It crossed his mind to turn off his car and find out, but he doubted she’d let him in. She wanted him to stew over that tidbit. Probably wanted to drive him crazy wondering about it, and damned if he wasn’t halfway there already.

He would have remembered kissing Matt’s sister, and he’d never had so much to drink that he would have forgotten something like that.

And after that kiss at the inn—poorly timed though it might have been—he was even more convinced something like that would have stayed with him.

He’d been fighting the impulse to kiss her for most of day, and somewhere between his frustration with the wedding and his unexpected attraction to her, he’d just gone with his gut.

The camera had registered only a moment before he’d made up his mind to reach for her, and it ceased to matter the second she was in his arms. He wasn’t sure if she believed that it wasn’t just about putting on a show. The fact that she’d looked like maybe she wanted to get back in the car nearly as bad as he wanted her to gave him hope.

Determined to figure out this mystery kiss on his own, he finally drove away.

A few minutes from Hayley’s place he passed the hospital, trying hard not to think of Mitch Stone. It didn’t work.

Distracting himself with thoughts of what just happened between him and Hayley wasn’t even enough to keep him from remembering what Matt had told him that afternoon.

Coach had cancer. Fuck.

The tough old bastard was the reason he’d been drafted, and the thought of that disease eating away at him made Jackson’s gut ache. He pulled in to the parking lot even though he’d rather do anything than face Mitch Stone. The old man was dying, and Jackson didn’t have anything for his coach to be proud of. Not anymore.

He turned off the car once he found a place to park but stayed where he was, dragging it out. He wasn’t sure what the hospital’s visiting hours were, but maybe that didn’t matter so much with palliative care. He gripped the wheel hard then climbed out.

Counting on the small hospital not to have changed all that much, he headed up to the fourth floor. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d walked these halls after countless sports injuries growing up.

The area outside the double doors marked Palliative Care was quiet and Jackson hesitated. He should come back another time. He even turned around, but never made it to the elevator, changing his mind.

He pushed through the doors, noticing the different in atmosphere almost immediately. The walls were painted a warm yellow instead the industrial off-white found in the rest of the hospital. The scent of antiseptic was much softer, and he didn’t hear the usual buzz of monitoring devices.

Jazz music drifted from a room down the hall, and two people laughed at something as he passed a waiting room of sorts. But instead of uncomfortable, practical chairs lining the perimeter, plush leather couches and a big flat-screen television filled the space.

He didn’t reach the nurses’ station before stumbling across Mitch’s room. The hockey paraphernalia decorating the door, along with posters depicting stick figures on the ice proclaiming Mitch the best coach ever, gave the room away.

Something familiar caught his eyes, and he studied the crayon picture long enough to notice the kid on the ice was wearing his hockey jersey number. A second stick figure with bulging eyes and a trademark toothpick between his lips yelled, “Go, Jackson, go.” Coach.