The Guy Next Door Read online

  Jesse laughed hard at her typical female delusion. Gail had romanticized what was essentially a sexual sting operation, not unlike the one that had snagged him. “I’m not sure about that, Professor Gail,” he said, still chuckling. “It was garden-variety entrapment. The chick ambushed him, actually paying the bartender twenty bucks to introduce her to the very married Hemingway.”

  Gail raised her chin. “I take it you don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  Jesse smiled kindly at her. “I believe in criminal background checks, Professor. And credit reports and not chucking the God-given capacities of my frontal lobe just to get me some—” Jesse stopped himself, suddenly remembering that Dr. and Mrs. Purdy were hanging on his every word. “Just to spend time with a pretty woman.”

  Gail made a dismissive clicking sound at the back of her tongue and rolled her eyes. It reminded Jesse of a thirteen-year-old being told to clean her room. She turned on her heel and started walking.

  They continued their stroll through Old Town at senior-citizen speed, passing French pastry shops and sidewalk eateries and art galleries. Jesse didn’t mind the slow pace because it gave him plenty of time to watch Dr. Gail walk. As he spoke about the publishing projects Hemingway worked on while living in Key West, Jesse studied Gail’s appearance and tried to decide why, exactly, he found the woman so damn alluring. She wore a preppy cotton skirt that hit just above her cute knees, a simple tailored sleeveless blouse and a pair of sensible sandals. Her hair was back in a ponytail. She wore very little makeup. And she was lugging around a shoulder bag big enough to stuff a corpse in.

  For the life of him, Jesse couldn’t figure out why he found that unremarkable getup so provocative. Maybe living here most of his life had made him immune to tight spandex minis and cleavage-enhancing halter tops. Maybe his imagination was getting the best of him again, deciding that beneath the professor’s old-school exterior was something untamed, something deliciously and thoroughly…well…wild.

  “Actually,” Gail said, correcting what had apparently been yet another of his tour-related inaccuracies, “To Have and Have Not was a character study of Key West locals, but it was also a commentary on the distribution of wealth in this country during the Depression.”

  “Fascinating!” Lana said.

  “I’ll tell you what’s fascinating,” Dr. Purdy said, marking the first time he’d opened his mouth since the tour began. “How the hell could a man as pickled as Hemingway write his own name, let alone a whole slew of novels?”

  Jesse decided it was the perfect time to discuss Hemingway’s creative process, but Gail beat him to it.

  “He did most of his work in the first half of the day, between eight and one, when the air was at its coolest—and before he started drinking,” she said.

  Jesse jumped in. “He usually wrote in the studio he kept on the second floor of the pool house, which we’ll see when we get back to the Hemingway House in just a few minutes.”

  Gail’s warm brown eyes flashed at him. Obviously, she was enjoying their little battle of trivia as much as he was. Without warning, Jesse’s mind traveled to that small liberal arts college she mentioned, where she stood at the front of a lecture room, skirt slit up to here and blouse unbuttoned down to there, her loose blond hair swinging as she turned her back to write something on the board. In the fantasy, Jesse’s mouth began to water as he stared at the professor’s gorgeous bottom cradled in the tight skirt. In reality, he was focused on her smooth legs and small sandaled feet, and his walking shorts were starting to tent.

  He was in a heap of trouble. No way had he intended to hit on the temporary mami from next door. What the hell was going on here?

  Dr. Gail was behaving like a snooty academic and he was, he knew, acting like an ass. But it didn’t seem to dampen a damn thing. Every time they looked at each other, his skin sizzled and his blood pounded. Gail was a brown-eyed, blond, buttoned-up package of female smarts and sensuality, and he was captivated. Simple as that. And though every working synapse in his brain was telling him to back away, he couldn’t help but nudge closer every opportunity he got. It was crazy. It was stupid. He knew better.

  The very last thing he needed was to get involved with another woman who wanted a piece of his money and fame.

  “By the way, Jesse, are there any other jobs of yours I should know about?” Gail smiled sweetly when she asked that question—no sign of sarcasm whatsoever. “Because I’m headed to the Pirate Museum tomorrow and I’m half expecting to see you employed there, too.”

  Jesse’s heart stopped. She had no idea who he was. Well, of course she didn’t. He hadn’t told her, after all. They hadn’t met at a book signing. Sure, he was famous enough, but it was entirely possible that a brainiac like her didn’t read popular fiction. She might not have ever heard of J. D. Batista, author of the blockbuster “Dark Blue” suspense series set in the Florida Keys.

  As if on cue, Jesse’s gaze wandered two doors down and he knew he had to act fast. He lodged himself between Gail and the huge display window of Island Books, where his face and latest release were prominently displayed.

  “Shall we cross here?” he asked, placing a hand at the small of Gail’s back and pushing her toward the busy street. “Dr. and Mrs. Purdy? Would you come along, please?”

  Though Gail frowned at him as though he was a madman, Jesse got the group across Duval and away from his poster-sized publicity photo. If pretty Gail didn’t know who he was, that meant all the electricity being generated between them was real. He wanted to keep it that way. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d been attracted to a woman who wasn’t aware he was a local celebrity. This was too interesting to ruin now.

  “Well?” Gail asked him. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  Jesse smiled at her and shrugged, making sure his body blocked her view of the bookstore as they walked. “Like most locals, I piece together a living doing a little here and a little there, but I can assure you I don’t work at the Pirate Museum.”

  Gail tipped her head just a little and inspected him from stem to stern. “Hmm,” she said. “That’s a shame. I think you’d fit right in.”

  Just then, Lana Purdy giggled. “I must say, this has been the perfect way to celebrate our sixtieth anniversary.”

  “I’m glad,” Jesse said.

  “The two of you just crack me up,” she continued, hooking her arm in her husband’s. “Watching you two flirt so outrageously reminds me of our courtship so long ago.” Lana squeezed her husband close to her side and gave him a playful kiss on the cheek. “That was such an exciting time, wasn’t it, dear? We couldn’t get enough of each other back then!”

  They still had a block to go to get back to the Hemingway House, but Gail stopped walking. Jesse watched her pull the giant carryall to the front of her body and stare at Mrs. Purdy in shock. Okay, fine. The old lady was a little off base, but did Gail have to look that horrified?

  “Courtship?” Gail asked, her eyes widening.

  Jesse laughed. “I think you’re mistaken about that,” he told the cute old woman. “Gail and I hardly know each other.”

  Lana smiled and patted Jesse’s arm. “Oooh!” she said, shimmying her shoulders daringly. “That makes it even better!”

  GAIL STOOD BEHIND THE red-velvet rope that dissected Ernest Hemingway’s bedroom. She stared down at the double bed that he’d shared with his wife. Or wives. Or, technically, his mistresses prior to becoming his wives. She studied the simple white chenille bedspread and matching pillow shams, picturing what the scene would have looked like all those years ago, the covers rumpled up and soaked with sweat from unbridled—and possibly even illicit—lovemaking.

  She immediately straightened, looking around the room to make sure no one had witnessed her mental debauchery. What in the world was her problem? When had she become such a slattern? Why did she have sex on the brain?

  One quick glance at Jesse, and she had her answer. He stood so close to her side that the
skin of her arm felt hot. Technically, she felt hot all over. She needed to get a grip. She needed a cool glass of water.

  “That’s a damn small bed if you ask me,” Dr. Purdy said, the second statement he’d made all morning. “Can’t get too creative in a bed that small.”

  “Oh, you!” Lana said, giggling.

  Gail could see the corner of Jesse’s mouth curl up in a faint smile, and he looked everywhere but at her.

  “As I was saying,” he continued. “Hemingway had a ramp installed from the bedroom to his pool house studio, so he didn’t even have to…”

  Gail wasn’t paying attention to Jesse’s words. She couldn’t hear much anyway because the seductive sound of the man’s baritone had caused the inside of her skull to hum. She decided to look at anything but the bed. Her eyes traveled to the way Jesse’s shirtsleeve had been rolled up on his muscled forearm. Then they strayed to the front of Jesse’s shorts. That had been a mistake.

  She dabbed at her damp forehead, praying that no one in any of the tour groups converging in the Hemingway House could sense her private struggle. Of course they couldn’t. To everyone gathered near the velvet rope, Gail was just another visitor strolling through Hemingway’s bedroom. No one had any idea that she, Gail Chapman, PhD, was having a life-altering crisis.

  Suddenly, the room began to reel. It felt as if her world was coming off its axis. Hemingway’s bed mocked her. It was nothing but a monument to uncontrollable desire and wild sex and everything she’d been doing without for too long, and it was all she could do not to start panting and howling like some kind of rabid animal.

  She didn’t dare look at Jesse again. She didn’t have the courage. She kept her eyes down and her bag clutched tight as people moved around her.

  “Gail.” Jesse’s deep voice had become a whisper, just for her, so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath.

  Slowly, cautiously, she looked up at him, and his sultry blue eyes wrinkled in a smile. Gail found herself counting the short silvery hairs sprinkled through the dark stubble on his chin and cheeks, and wondered if the barely there beard would feel rough to her fingertips.

  “Gail?” he repeated.

  “Yes?” Her focus lingered briefly on his wide, sumptuous mouth before she looked into those remarkable eyes once more.

  “The group is moving on to the pool house,” he said, nodding his head toward the crowd clomping down the outside steps. “Would you like to come along?”

  She couldn’t speak. All she could do was surrender to those dark blue pools of wantonness. Oh, God, she was going under.

  “Are you all right?” Jesse’s trademark frown had reappeared, but it was fainter this time, and it seemed to be born of genuine concern rather than disapproval. “You look a little flushed, Professor.”

  She nodded. Maybe she should say something. Maybe she should tell him that the whole morning had been too much for her repressed libido to handle—the taunting bed, the sultry heat, the witty repartee, the references to Hemingway’s sexual bravado and Jesse’s god-awful good looks. Maybe she should just tell Jesse the truth—that everything about him was so mesmerizingly masculine that she couldn’t trust herself. She was on the verge of doing something completely out of character.

  That’s when Jesse reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from the side of her face. That barest tickle of his touch sent an electric rush through her.

  “I…” That was all she could get out. Gail swallowed hard. If only she’d rented a house that happened to be next door to a cute little retired couple like the Purdys, or, better yet, a group of vacationing Buddhist monks. Then maybe she wouldn’t be coming unglued like this.

  “Yes?” Jesse asked.

  It was the small hoop earring that sent her over the edge. It caught the sunlight and zapped her like a laser. Later, she would convince herself that the bright flash had short-circuited her brain.

  “I haven’t had sex in two years,” she blurted out, breathing hard. “I’m a wreck. I came here hoping to meet a man of dubious character who could make my knees weak. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. I’m unstable, and very, very deprived. You should probably stay away from me.”

  Jesse’s eyes widened significantly. Gail held her breath. Would he laugh at her audacity? Would he be offended? Sickened? Would he call for museum security?

  He did none of those things. Instead, Jesse’s eyes mellowed, then he helped himself to a languid visual journey of all things Gail, from the crown of her hair to the tips of her toes. When he was done, he leaned in close.

  And kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “YO. PRETTY GIRLIES.”

  Hannah tossed her hair and groaned, ignoring the man’s comment as she and Holly walked toward the water’s edge. Once they were out of earshot, Hannah leaned in toward her friend. “Did you see that dude? It should be against the law for someone so totally old to wear a Speedo! He was, like, almost as old as your Mom!”

  “I think I’m going to dry-heave,” Holly replied.

  Hannah suddenly perked to attention. “Hi!” she said, swiveling her head to catch the eye of a much younger and hotter dude who was making his way across the sand.

  The man just barely raised his chin in acknowledgment.

  “Damn,” Hannah said, sticking her toe into the gentle waves of the Gulf of Mexico. “The guys here are totally stuck-up, unless they’re old and desperate and wearing gold chains. Then they’re just plain creepy.”

  “I got some breaking news for you, Hannah.” Holly couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s naiveté. “Remember what I told you? That some of the best-looking guys here are gay?”

  Her friend’s eyes widened behind her sunglasses. “Him? But, I mean, I realize there are a lot of gay men in Key West, but he was so…I don’t know…”

  “Perfect?” Holly asked.

  Hannah nodded and sighed. “I guess that should have been my first hint, huh?”

  “You girls aren’t afraid of getting burned?”

  The girls looked up into the faces of two incredibly good-looking guys who’d approached them unnoticed. They were maybe just a few years older. Both had dark, dark brown hair and dark, dark brown eyes and big, white smiles. And the way they were checking them out indicated there wasn’t a gay bone in either of their totally buff bodies.

  “Your skin looks delicate,” one of them said, touching Hannah’s shoulder with his fingers. “You should probably put on some sunscreen.”

  The girls turned to each other with open mouths.

  Hot twins? Holly couldn’t believe it. How freakin’ epic is this?

  “So, have you had lunch?” one of them asked.

  Holly watched her friend smile and straighten her spine, as if the boys weren’t already aware of her 36Ds—as though anyone south of the Everglades wasn’t aware of them.

  “No,” Hannah answered. “And I’m suddenly starving.”

  THE KISS ALONE WAS SO unexpectedly delicious that Jesse was nearing sensory overload. So when Gail’s cell phone began to vibrate somewhere inside the Sherpa-sized straw bag now wedged between their bodies, the direct buzz to his crotch was almost too much to bear.

  He hated to do it, but he pulled his lips away from hers. Gail stared at him with eyes as big as sand dollars.

  “I should probably get that,” she said.

  He nodded, pressed his fingers to his lips as if to seal in the sensation and backed away. Jesse headed out through the set of French doors to the museum veranda, gulping down the fresh air. I just made out with one of Lelinda’s paying customers, he thought to himself. I just kissed the woman staying next door, a woman I barely know. He heard loud giggling and turned to see that apparently he’d done it in front of a dozen Chinese visitors, to boot.

  Jesse waved to them sheepishly. “Welcome to Key West,” he muttered, leaning his elbows on the railing. Even through the tourists’ snickering, Jesse could hear Gail on the phone with her daughter. He turned his head to l
ook at her.

  “That sounds fun, honey,” she was saying, her eyes darting toward Jesse every few seconds. Gail tried to smooth down her hair. “Sure, that’s fine. I appreciate your asking for permission. Wear life jackets and call me when you get back to the dock. Don’t forget to reap-ply your sunscreen. Remind Hannah, too.”

  Jesse watched her turn off her cell phone and tug awkwardly on her skirt. Then Gail took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she headed his way.

  “I apologize,” she said in what was obviously her professor’s voice. The wanton strumpet who’d revealed herself only moments before was nowhere to be seen. “I think I better walk home.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jesse said.

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, yes it is.”

  Jesse followed her down the back steps to the Spanish-tile courtyard and past Hemingway’s exotic inground pool. He gave a quick wave and shouted a thank-you to the Purdys, who were seated on a bench under a large eucalyptus tree. Jesse jogged to keep up with Gail before she’d made it to the front yard and out the gate.

  “Hold on, Gail.”

  She shook her ponytail, not looking back.

  “Look, I have a moped parked right around the corner. I’ll give you a lift back to the house.” Jesse had reached her side, but she hadn’t slowed her march. It was impressive that Gail was at least five inches shorter than his six-one frame but her stride could cover some serious territory. “Talk to me, Professor.”

  She turned to face him. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw—profound embarrassment. Guilt. Desire. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  It was then that Jesse knew his first impression of his neighbor had been accurate. She had no game. She was out here in the world without pretense. And that kiss had affected her deeply. It was clear that Gail Chapman was a vulnerable and attention-starved woman, and Jesse shouldn’t be messing with her. If he were smart, he’d let her walk on home by herself the way she’d insisted. He was about to tell her as much when she looked up at him and smiled sadly.