Long Shot

Chapter 27

Leith wheeled his truck into the parking lot of the address Jen had thrown at him back at the games. It was a small, well-kept strip mall on the outskirts of the seaside community of Norwalk. He sat behind the wheel in the lot, staring at the suite number she’d indicated, confused by the dark windows with the drawn shades. A sign was taped to the glass—For Rent. Call Sheryl. And then Sheryl’s number—but Leith double-checked the address and, yep, this was where Jen had told him to go.

He got out of the truck. Even though the sun was setting, the day was finally cooling off, and he’d showered back at his motel, he started to sweat.

Seeing Jen across the field like that . . . He’d written her off weeks earlier. She’d gone to London, just as he’d predicted. She hadn’t called before leaving, just as he’d predicted. She never came back, exactly as he’d predicted.

So he’d done what any lovesick, pissed-off, heartbroken American male would do. He punched a hole in the wall of his motel and had to pay damages, then he’d gone out and gotten drunk. And then he’d tried like hell to get over her. Again.

To do that, he knew he couldn’t go back to Gleann. At least, not to live. He’d keep what few accounts he had left there, with Chris on staff. Maybe if things picked up in the town as Mayor Sue hoped, he could expand and open a full branch, with Chris in charge. While he had no set jobs to speak of in Connecticut, he did have his talent and determination. And even though Hal Carriage had nixed Leith’s best start, Leith still had Rory’s support, and she’d given him some serious leads, talking up his name in her new circle of friends. He’d made a few contacts at the games today, too, and he’d follow up with them this week. He was hopeful.

So he was staying in Connecticut. Starting over. And he was throwing again, which sent him flying high in a way he’d nearly forgotten. How could he have done that? How could he have ever turned his back on something that fed both his competitive nature and his spirit?

In a way, Jen had been right all those weeks ago. He had been afraid of not winning, thinking that second place would never fill him up like first. What a fucking moron. He’d held his own against Duncan and it had felt so, so amazing. He would make time to train now. No more excuses.

No more worrying that he’d let his father down.

But then there was the matter of Jen Haverhurst. He couldn’t describe how exhilarated he’d felt seeing her face in the crowd that afternoon. She was so damn good at that: disappearing then reappearing in shocking, dramatic ways that had his heart pummeling his ribs and his head telling him to not fall for her again.

Only he had. And this was the second time she’d come back. What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me? Yeah, no matter what she was going to say to him in there, he had to remember who she was, her MO. He had to protect himself a hell of a lot better this time.

He crossed the short lot and tried the door. Locked. What the—

The latch clicked and the door opened inward. Jen stood before him.

“Hey—whoa.” He couldn’t hold back his verbal reaction as he eyed her strict black skirt and fitted black short-sleeved sweater with the severe V-neck that did killer things for her tits. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore those glasses, the ones he’d first seen on her through Mildred’s kitchen window.

She cleared her throat and extended her hand, not an ounce of emotion on her face. “I’m so glad you could make it, Mr. MacDougall. Come in.”

He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Okaaaay.” As he took her hand, he noted absently that she had a great, firm handshake. But of course she did.

She widened the door to let him enter, then locked it behind him. Inside it was strangely dark, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. Only three pieces of furniture—two cushioned chairs facing a long, narrow table—were set right in the center of the room. On the table was Jen’s fifth limb, her open laptop, connected to a small projector. A square of bright, white light streamed from the lens and struck the empty, back office wall.

“What is this place?” he asked.

But she just gave him a polite smile and said, “Please have a seat.” She gestured to one of the chairs facing the lit wall.

As he lowered himself to the chair that smelled and felt brand new, she walked around the table. It was impossible not to notice her legs in that skirt, how they ended in towering black heels with red soles, a delicate strap wrapped around her ankle.

Focus, Dougall. Keep your head.

“So what’s up?” Anticipation mixed with frustration, and that wasn’t the best combination. Especially since lurking just underneath it, ready to stab its way through to the surface, was base lust and . . . hope.

Why are you here, Jen? Why are you back? Why?

Jen picked up a small remote from the table and stood just to one side of the square of light. “I am a businesswoman. I love staying busy. I love making clients happy. I love laying out a plan and carrying it out.”

He opened his hands. “Yes. I know.”

“And I love my phone and this computer, as you can attest to.” He had to crack a smile at that. “But what I don’t love—something I’ve come to realize over the past weeks and months—is working for someone else. I thought once that dragging as many pretty, vapid models to a product rollout actually fulfilled me, that it would be what set me on top.”

Leith held his breath and straightened in his chair.

“But I was wrong.” Jen clicked a button on the remote and the screen burst with understated, simple color.

Jen Haverhurst. Strategic Planning and Events.

“You’re sitting in my new world headquarters,” she said with a smile. “Here. In Connecticut. Not New York.”

Holy shit.

“My new company will focus on bringing suburban and rural communities, small businesses, and entrepreneurs together to put on fantastic events within their budget. I will meet with clients to strategically plan functions that enhance their brand, expand their influence, and are just plain fun.”

She spun through a series of slides, going through her marketing plan and potential clients, like he was some sort of investor. Maybe he was. Because every sentence, every word she said drove into his brain, slowly making him realize that she wasn’t running away. She wasn’t leaving him this time; she was joining him. This place was only half an hour from where he’d chosen to base his own new company.

“You were right. I didn’t love my job before. Working in Gleann, I discovered what I do love, and it’s this.”

“Wow.” He just sat there, stunned into silence, surely looking like a fool with his mouth hanging open. “I—”

“I’m not finished.” She held up a teasingly prim hand, then walked across the projector beam to the other side. As she did, the light cast her figure in silhouette—the gentle swing of her ponytail, the curve of her ass, the proud lift of her chin—and it mesmerized him.

She extended out a slim metal pointer with a balled tip.

“This”—she advanced a slide and slapped the pointer with gusto to the wall—“is why we belong together.”

On the wall, in bright rectangles of color, was one of her famous charts. He ground his molars into his cheek to keep from smiling.

On scales of one to one hundred, she’d bar-graphed the following categories: Sense of Humor, Mutual Respect, Future Goals, Sexual Compatibility, and Physical Proximity.

“Sense of Humor,” she began in that same businesslike tone. “You and I are at one hundred. It’s why we became friends in the first place, right? We laugh at the same things, make jokes no one else gets—”

“Relocate Mayor Sue’s outdoor doghouses to the lawn of Town Hall.”

“Ahhh, now there’s an idea to file away for later. Put that on our Action Item list.”

“Will do.” He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Go on.”

“Mutual Respect. As you can see, I’ve divided this column into two. One for you, one for me.” She turned serious, the pointer dropping as she faced him. The light from the projector reflected off her glasses. “My respect for you is one hundred, as high as it can possibly get. I want you to know that. I need you to know that.”

He couldn’t talk around the pressure in his chest.

“But I only gave myself a fifty from your point of view, because of what you told me earlier. How you thought I was compromising myself for revenge or for some reason other than what was in my heart. You were right, you know. It took me going away to see that, to know what I lost, what I wanted back, and where I want to be for good. I know it all now. It’s very, very clear to me.”

He pumped a thumb a couple of times toward the ceiling. “My number needs to go up a few notches. Like, say, fifty.”

She drew a deep breath. “Well. Then, that brings me to my next point. We have similar goals. We want our own businesses to be successful. We have dreams and I know we would support each other in those dreams.”

He nodded, completely agreeing. “What about family?” The question surprised them both. He held on to it though, grinding his teeth. He wouldn’t take it back. “I mean, you have Aimee and Ainsley, but that’s about it. I don’t have anyone.” He cleared his throat. “Would you want family? With me?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I think we need to get our careers going first, make sure they’re nice and established.” Her expression turned wonderfully warm. “But, yes. I think I might.”

“Action Item list?”

“Given that our Sexual Compatibility score is closer to two hundred”—a slap of the pointer—“I’d say that ‘action’ is a good word for it. But I don’t even want to think about it for a couple of years. That okay?”

Pressing his lips together, he nodded. “A sound plan, boss.”

“Which brings us to the final point: Physical Proximity. As you can see, the score is at zero, but I want to fix that. All the rest doesn’t matter if I don’t, and I know your coming to New York just won’t work for your business. Once my lease runs out in the city, I do not plan on renewing it. I want my own place. Here. With an easy commute to my new work and a bed big enough for you. Maybe someplace like this. Or this. Or this.” She flashed a series of photos of homes for sale in the area.

Leaning an elbow on the armrest, he scratched at his face and then covered his mouth with his hand. If she could see how much he was enjoying this, how much he never wanted her to stop, how hard it was to hold himself back from jumping up from the chair and pinning her against that lit wall, he feared it might scare her off again.

Except nothing about her looked scared right now. She was courageous and gorgeous and brilliant, and he could not stop staring.

“Oh!” she said, setting down the pointer. “One last thing, but perhaps the most important.”

She slid right in front of the projector beam at the same moment she clicked the remote, her body bathed in light. And then her fingers rose to the buttons of her sweater. Starting at the top, between her breasts, she unfastened the first one.

A peek of a nude lace bra had him involuntarily scooting forward on the chair, his mouth first drying up, then watering.

Another button. Her lips quirked. The smooth patch of skin below her bra looked delicious. He wanted to run his tongue up and down the vertical divot between her stomach muscles.

Was that . . .? There were lines on her stomach that he thought could be letters, but were too difficult to make out. Things that hadn’t been there last time she’d undressed for him. Did she get a tattoo over there in London? He squinted.

Another button came undone. The black fabric parted even more, exposing her breasts and coming apart all the way to her bellybutton. Now he was sure. They were definitely letters on her midsection. Not tattooed, not painted, but coming from the projector.

The final button. The sweater halves separated, and then came fully off. She let it drop to the ground. Then she reached around and unzipped her skirt. Shimmied out of the tight thing and then let that fall, too. She stood there, perfectly still, with her perfect body in that perfect lace bra and underwear almost the exact shade of her skin, and he had to concentrate to absorb what he was looking at.

There, in black computerized script, written across the smooth skin of her belly, were the words, “I love you.”

He blinked at them several times.

“So that’s it,” she said, and her voice sounded shaky. “That’s my presentation.”

He ripped his gaze from her beautiful body to her even more beautiful face. “Can you say it?”

“Yes. I can now.” He loved how her body moved, unclothed, when she breathed. “I’m in love with you. I always have been, even when I wasn’t fully aware of it, even over all these years. It’s why coming back to you felt so easy, so natural. I’m not saying that we were meant to be together or destined or anything as new-agey as that, but I do think we had to grow up, that we had to figure things out on our own in order to find our way back to each other. I know that I will always love you, even if . . . even if you give me a taste of my own medicine by walking away right now.”

“Fuck.” He got to his feet. “No way I’m walking out. You did one hell of a job here.”

Now she smiled, and it was shining with relief and happiness. Her eyes were huge and glorious. She started toward him but he threw out a hand. “Don’t. Stay right there.”

He went to her, skirting around the desk to take in the whole sight of her, that gorgeous declaration written across her body just for him. Spoken just for him. He reached out and removed her glasses.

“Look at you,” he whispered, and he went to his knees.

Then he was touching those projected words, throwing them across his own fingers, mixing them together. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her skin and the words disappeared.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win today.” Her hands in his hair now. “Was it because of me?”

He laughed. “What? Didn’t you see that first hammer throw? That was a personal record. I kicked ass.” He rocked to his feet, and then walked her backward until she hit the wall, his hand behind her head. He settled into her body. “I was shit before you showed up.”

Maybe that was true in more ways than just today.

“But you won the weight for height and you didn’t know I was there watching.”

He thought about that. “Maybe some part of me knew.”

He kissed her smile, wrapping himself around her. The projector light fell across his back, and every now and then his eyelids would flicker open to see the tangle of shadows their bodies made. He was almost painfully hard and she was mostly naked, and he prayed she still had that stash of condoms in her giant purse.

Pulling her away from the wall, he spun her, turning, then pressed her onto the brand new table, shoving aside the laptop and projector. To her credit, she didn’t protest. He hoped this would be her desk someday. Every time she’d sit down at it to work, she’d remember exactly what he was about to do to her on it.

He kissed her for what seemed like forever, stopping only to whip off his shirt.

“So what exactly are we doing?” She was breathless, eyes wild, lips smudged.

He came down on top of her, skin on skin, folding her into an embrace. “We’re starting over,” he whispered into her ear. “Together.”