Had to stop himself from smiling, too. Her sassiness, even when issuing threats of harm to a favored body part, made him want to smile. A real smile. One that would breathe new life into him. Old life into him.
Because despite that horrible, wretched ending she spoke truthfully of, there’d never been a happier time in his life than when he was with this girl.
A girl no longer. Now, a woman. And she was something.
Something wild. Something wonderful.
Something wicked.
“Don’t you know, cupcake? You can’t break what’s already broken. There’s not enough glue, meaning random women and copious amounts of alcohol, to put back together what you shattered.”
And while she still had the ability to weave a spell over him, he’d already learned the hard way.
Chloe Morgan was something all right. Something better left untouched. Left altogether.
Again.
I hate you.
It was true.
And every time Chloe went to Riverhead, an uninvited observer to a life she had no right to, she hated him a little bit more. You’d think it impossible to add quantity to something already skimming immeasurable, but it could happen. And it always did, in Riverhead.
A vivid reminder of what he did. What she did in turn.
So yeah, she hated him. And probably still loved him.
But honestly, she missed him the most.
Of course, she’d sooner eat shit and die than have him know of her longing. Know that he could treat her so maliciously, disposing of her like yesterday’s trash, and still have her with one look from those dreamy dark eyes.
Dark eyes full of contempt. Resentment edging his full-grown-alpha-man intensity. Last night’s destructive break-in made that evident, in case his harsh words didn’t. But she also saw something else. Or sensed it, more like.
Lust.
A long look at her legs, thanks to a well-fitting skirt. A second glance at her cleavage, thanks to a low-buttoned blouse. A burning sensation on her backside as she walked out of Maine Lane.
It solidified what they once had. A connection. Chemistry. Compatibility and common goals. Then confusion.
Chaos.
Ten years had passed, and the chaos and confusion were gone, mostly, but the connection lingered, as did the chemistry. It simmered, bubbling up around the hate.
Ignoring that chemistry, Chloe juggled a cup of coffee, her purse, and the phone held to her ear, walking to her car still parked sideways in front of the big house.
She’d not bothered to move it last night. Just walked straight to the carriage house, slammed the door behind her, dropped her clothes haphazardly on the floor, and stepped into a running tub of hot, bubbled water—several dicks joining her.
Prayed the entire time she soaked that the dick in the big house would get back in his truck and leave. Leave her so she could finally get over him, revenge or no, once and for all.
Prayed getting over someone like Jameson Maine was even possible.
Prayed he’d walk through the carriage house door, declare his undying love like he did so many times before, and beg forgiveness for his sin of desertion.
But none of that happened.
She finished her bath, finished an open bottle of wine, and slipped into bed.
This morning, with a considerable amount of cover-up under her eyes, she assessed the surprising activity near the front door of Maine Lane, wishing she’d sent Wyatt’s call to voicemail.
“We’re gonna have to talk about this, Chloe.” Concern laced his tone. “I can’t keep it from her any longer. Not after yesterday.”
“And I can’t talk about this right now.” Legally or emotionally.
“You plan to wait until it all blows up in your face? You know that will unnecessarily hurt people.”
“Umm, people have already been hurt. Meaning me. I’m sorry I don’t have more sympathy for her, and I can understand where you’re coming from, but she’s the real winner here, and I’m the loser. Hey, I gotta go, okay?”
Tossing her things inside the car, her attention was on the house when she ended the conversation with a breezy, “Talk soon.”
Jameson stood on the porch watching her, gripping a hammer and scowling as if she’d intentionally interrupted him.
A dark layer of stubble covered his face, heavier than yesterday, so he’d not bothered to shave this morning. Well-worn jeans and a ratty Navy T-shirt with a rip across the torso covered his hard body, so he’d not bothered to dress up either.
Didn’t matter. He was still just as devastating.
“I got this,” he called out, using the same scornful tone he had last night. He indicated the heavy front door, now in the process of repair. “Tell your boyfriend not to bother.”
“Oh, good.” Her voice was decidedly chipper. “He was planning to bang me right after, so now we can get busy sooner rather than later.”
“How romantic.” He dropped the hammer and slipped his hands into his pockets, his stance deceptively casual. “Give him my sympathies.”
She laughed, more amused than insulted.
“It’s no joke,” he added, but the corners of his mouth quirked. “He better be careful. Might not get his dick back.”
Navigating the wide porch steps in strappy wedges, she gave him a cheeky smile. “You did.”
“Barely.”
“Pretty sure you’ve used it since it last passed my way.” She tried not to look at his fly, framed by big hands shoved inside threadbare jean pockets.
“Pretty sure,” he deadpanned.
Of course, there’d been other women. No guy with his looks and charisma, not to mention a champion package, would go long without. He’d never lacked female attention. But his sex life wasn’t something she wanted to ponder. Ridiculously, it made her jealous, and green didn’t go with her floral-print Boho sundress.
“Your putty is sinking.” Inspecting his repair work, she ran her finger over a freshly filled crack in the wood. “Wyatt’s wouldn’t.”
Because of that jealousy, she allowed him his assumption regarding her relationship with Wyatt.
“It’s the first coat, cupcake. And whether it’s putty or dick, I’m in no competition with him.”
“Really? ’Cause you keep bringing him up.”
“Just looking out for another bro. Don’t wanna see somebody else fall for your act and get his dick caught in your trap.”
“And you keep bringing up your dick.” She tilted her head toward the house. “Do you need some special alone time? I’d appreciate you not watching porn in my home, so stick with your imagination.”
After Wyatt’s somber call, joking with Jameson was fun.
Doing anything with Jameson was fun.
“Don’t need porn.” He rubbed his brow with a thumb. “All I have to do is think about the girl next door. And it’s my house.”
The girl next door. That juicy detail upped her confidence.
“Genevieve, you mean?” She crinkled her nose. “Ew.”
He laughed shortly. “On the rare occasion I think about your mother, it’s while plotting a murder.”
Hearing him laugh reminded her of the Jameson she used to know. Not the man standing in front of her now. Bigger than before, his body delineated in muscle. Badder than ever, tempting tattoos covering his left arm. His attitude shitty, his personality aloof, and his eyes distant, he no longer let her see inside.