If I ever take a chance on another guy, Jane had said,it won’t be somebody who always puts his job ahead of me.
That guy wasn’t Jack. That would never be Jack.
But Lauren wasn’t Jane, either. She wasn’t struggling to balance her needs with the demands of a six-year-old child. She wasn’t living with her father. She didn’t need Jack to save her or to take care of her or to put her first.
She was his rebound relationship, that’s all. Sure, he was a terrific guy. Yes, he’d come through for her last night. But she knew better than to put long-term expectations on a short-term relationship. They’d only known each other a week.
He was simply a very pleasant detour on her way to someplace else.
The thought was vaguely depressing.
“Lauren?”
She pulled herself together. “Late works for me,” she said. “I’ve got to work tomorrow anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Long bakery hours.”
“Actually”—she lifted her chin—“I’m writing.”
He smiled that little half smile that caused a warm, liquid rush in her knees. “Good for you.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s good or not,” she confessed. “But at least I’m not standing around waiting for inspiration to strike.”
He tilted his head to one side, considering her.
All her doubts flamed into her face in one giant blush. She moistened her lips. “What?”
He took her by the arms, his hands hard and just the right amount of rough, hauled her up onto her toes, and took her mouth with his.
Her brain melted. Her heart pounded, shaking her from the inside. He was hot and hard and solid against her, and her body, already primed, fused against him like wax. Her nails dug into him as he gave and took and took some more.
And then he let her go.
His chest moved up and down. Her breathing was loud in the stillness.
“What was that?” she asked when she could speak.
His mouth quirked. “Inspiration?”
She laughed shakily. His teasing felt warm and intimate as a kiss. She had the impression he didn’t joke very often. “Am I supposed to thank you now?”
“Thank me tomorrow.”
Anticipation swelled, a big, shiny soap bubble in her chest. “All right, I will.”
She was still smiling as she went into the house.
***
THE NEXT DAY,Jack worked from an hour before sunrise until damn near sunset. Nothing like the job to put things in perspective.
Four commercial alarms in the past five days had spooked the normally stolid islanders. His biggest challenge, as the new police chief, was to convince the residents to reach for the phone instead of a shotgun at the threat of an intruder. He spent several hours checking locks, doing drive-bys, and reassuring older residents like Dora Abrams that, yes, they were safe in their homes.
Small-town police work was mostly a matter of learning patterns and routines, putting together a picture of the community that would tip you off when a piece was out of place or missing. So today he took his coffee breaks with the guys at Evans Tackle Store, chatting with the watermen in the predawn as they prepared to go out with their boats.
“How’s that new dispatcher working out for you?” old Walt Rogers on the town board wanted to know.
“Good, thanks.”
