Page 24 of Homecoming Heartbreaker

They were words she’d long thought she needed to hear; words she’d dreamed of. But they also scared her because Molly knew that it wouldn’t take much for her to fall under his spell again. And she refused to do that; she didn’t think she could handle Mack loving and leaving her again.

Molly resisted the urge to touch his thumb with the tip of her tongue. “Let’s leave the past where it belongs, Mack.”

Mack’s smile was gentle and a little sad.

“Normally, I’d be the first to agree with you but with you, I can’t do that.”

“Mack...”

She needed to tell him, to explain that nothing was going to happen between them, that they could be colleagues who worked together and that was all. But when Mack looked at her like he was doing now, cataloging her features, soaking her in, her words stuck on her tongue.

Mack dropped a light kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling back to look at her. “Get some sleep, Curls. And, yes, that’s a damn order.”

Mack kissed her again, his mouth hard and direct, before walking away from her and out the room.

Well, okay, then.

Jameson, sitting in a comfortable chair on his expansive deck, watched Molly and Mack crossing his bright green lawn to join him, each trying so damn hard to play it cool.

Morons, he thought, chuckling. Since they first met, they’d never been able to ignore each other.

Mack was looking more relaxed, thank God. His oldest, Jameson admitted, worried him. Mack played his cards so close to his chest, and his defensive walls were sky-high. Molly had been the only person, besides him, to slip under, over or through those barriers—Travis and Grey had only gotten so far—to see that, at his heart, Mack was a man who needed to be loved, who needed love. Despite his me-against-the-world stance, more than most, Mack needed a family, a wife, a place to belong. Jameson had given him that for ten or so years but Mack had been on his own for far too long.

And Molly, God, she was the daughter of his heart. Over the years there had been so many times when he wanted to stand between her and her family, to meet with them privately and tell them to leave her the hell alone. He wasn’t a fool; he knew that Molly still supplemented their income. There was no way they could enjoy the lifestyle they did without a discernible source of income. He’d hired Beth in hopes the family would leave Molly alone, but Beth was too selfish and too smart to hand over her money to her boyfriend’s family. The Haskells always had money and Jameson had no doubt it was from Molly.

She was their bank manager, their personal ATM, their get-out-of-jail card.

He wouldn’t have a problem with her handing over her money—it was hers after all, and she was an adult—if they treated her with an ounce of respect. But they didn’t. They didn’t even seem to like her much because she reminded them of what they could be, could do, if they put a little effort in, made better choices.

The tall trees, Jameson thought, always caught the wind.

Jameson felt his newspaper being plucked from his fingers and turned to see Giada standing in front of him, the now-folded paper pressed against her fantastic breasts. Jameson sighed. The last thing he should be thinking about was Giada’s rack.

Then again, thinking was all he could do right now. Sex, like work, was off the table for a few more months.

Giada frowned. Her dark eyebrows pulled together and Jameson knew that she was about to deliver another lecture in her slightly accented voice, her fabulous eyes flashing with impatience. God, the woman was bossy. He rather liked it.

He’d always, terribly inconveniently, liked her. And lusted after her.

“You’re reading the news,” Giada complained.

Something he’d done since he was a kid. “It’s called staying informed.”

“It’s stressful,” Giada shot back. “Politics, corruption, more politics, a gruesome murder.”

Jameson tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “I do not need to be wrapped in cotton wool, woman. And give me back my cigars,” he grumbled. Giada thought she was so clever in confiscating his cigars but she didn’t know that he had secret stashes all over the house.

The fact that he had to resort to sneaking around to take a puff pissed him off.

Giada placed the newspaper on the side table next to him and slapped her hands on her hips. Round hips, sturdy hips...hips that could handle his broad hands on them, a body that could handle his bulk and strength, as he pushed into her.

Jameson wiped his hands over his face at the image of a naked Giada under him. There was only one thing worse than fantasizing about a woman he couldn’t have and that was knowing it would be months before he could even try.

God, he was done with feeling like crap.

“What are you thinking about?” Giada demanded, her eyes drilling into him.

He’d never admit the truth so he gestured to M&M. He lowered his voice to make sure that they didn’t hear him; if they did, being stubborn fools, they’d do everything in their power to prove him wrong.

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