Somebody to Love(68)
Collier squeezed hard and stared at him with his vivid eyes. “Absolutely, man.”
Ten minutes later, they were back at the cottage. Cute, Parker had called it. Right.
She was down on the dock with a glass of water, talking to her kid and the Paragon, while James stared at her, his hands jammed in his pockets, from the back porch, irritable as a hungover porcupine.
He was mad. Jealous and mad and an idiot.
Collier. What an ass. And Althea, pimping her daughter. And his own stupid self, sulking like a teenager. And Parker, constantly…just…whatever. She was sitting, dog at her side, feet in the water, her white dress glowing in the darkness. God forbid she decide that now was a good time for a midnight swim, because he’d have to go in after her, no matter how good she was. No one should go in the ocean in the dark, alone. Currents, tides, drowning. Daylight was bad enough. Seriously, who the hell swam in the ocean up here?
But knowing her, she’d do something like that. Midnight swim. Midnight skinny-dipping, even. Yep. She’d take that dress off and jump in, half to torture him, half because she was the type to jump in dark, freezing water and come up laughing. Right before some drunken M* mowed her down in a powerboat.
It could happen. Plus, it gave him the excuse he needed. He was halfway down the stairs before he’d even finished the thought.
At the sound of his footsteps, Parker stood up, Beauty, too, her tail wagging a little.
“Hey,” Parker said. “Entertaining night, didn’t you think?”
He only stopped walking when his arms were around her and his mouth was on hers. She made a surprised little squeak, but oh, God, her lips were so soft, and he kissed her hard, too hard, maybe, one hand sliding through her silky, cool hair, gripping the back of her head, a kiss that reached right in and clamped his heart in a fist…the taste of her, the smell of her, her softness melded against him. The kind of kiss that ruined a man.
Then he let her go, turned around and left her standing on the dock, one hand over her lips, her dog standing at her side.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PARKER WAS GONE when James woke up at the late hour of 6:38 a.m. the next morning. There was a note next to the coffeepot:
Early delivery @ flower shop, library thing at 10. If you go out, make sure you shut Beauty in my room, okay?
Nothing about last night, of course. Parker Harrington Welles was not the type to leave a note saying, Thanks for the kiss, it changed my entire perception of you, let’s get it on, shall we? or Never kiss me again, Thing One. Don’t even look at me. Nope. He’d bet his left nut she’d never bring it up again.
And look. He was stroking the words as if he was that idiot Romeo, the prince of poor planning, and little Miss Capulet had sent him a lock of hair. Totally whipped. With a hearty sigh, he started making breakfast.
Parker’s dog was watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. He had yet to convince the scared little thing he wasn’t about to kick her. “Want some bacon?” he said. She didn’t move. He dropped half a piece on the floor and glanced over at her. Beauty wagged her tail and licked her chops but didn’t move from her spot. Another female who wanted nothing to do with him.
Yep. Whipped.
Well. Nothing a little hard labor and some headbanger noise wouldn’t cure. He went outside, flipped the radio on to the metal station. “Dream On” by Aerosmith.
“Point taken,” James said.
The tin roof was on, the chimney repaired. Time for some deeply satisfying physical labor. Forget the nail gun for now. James picked up his hammer in one hand, a cedar shingle in the other and got to work.
Too bad his father couldn’t see the tidy job James had done. Of all four boys, James had always been the one most interested in their father’s work. The best at it, too. Tom was a general contractor, like their dad; Matt worked at a factory that made Adirondack chairs, and Pete did finish carpentry. If he’d thought there’d been a chance in hell they’d have come up here, James would’ve asked for the help. Sure. At the end of the day, they’d get a six-pack and take turns flirting with Parker, and his brothers would bust his stones over his crush until their father told them to knock it off, at which point Parker would give him a sweet smile as she passed, and Dad would agree that yes, James was pathetic, and the ribbing would start again.
Dream on was right. What had his father called him the last time they’d spoken? A slick little bastard. Which had not stopped dear old dad from cashing any of the checks James had ever sent.
Helping Parker was a way to do Harry a final favor, after all the man had done for him. Not just the healthy salary, either. He’d given James a place in the world when James had had none, given him a father figure, and when your own father hasn’t looked you in the eye since you were twelve years old, that meant something. Harry was the only person James had ever told about Mary Elizabeth, and one of the few who saw him as a loyal, decent person.
The irony was so thick, James would need an ax to cut it.
So yeah. He owed Harry. And he owed his own family. He sure as hell owed Mary Elizabeth. And Parker. And her son.
But it got tiring, owing everybody everything all the time. Living in a debt of guilt. Trying to look at yourself in the mirror.
He felt a tickle at the back of his leg and looked down. It was Parker’s dog, standing next to him, looking up at him with those big brown eyes. Her tail gave a tiny, noncommittal wag.