Page 9 of Falling for the Enemy

She was waiting for him to leave.

Right. He moved to the door. “I’ll see you…around.”

“Bye.” Her voice held no objection, no shift, no expectation other than wanting him gone before she came out.

He opened the door and stepped over the forgotten wine glass on his way down the porch steps. The motion-sensor lights clicked on, exposing his presence to anyone out and about this time of night. Urgency surged through him as his stare locked on his SUV parked where it had no business being, and his pace quickened.

Climbing into the Escalade, he forced himself not to peel out in a hurried escape that would draw attention. For over a year now, they’d conducted their business right under the town’s nose, and no one realized what they were doing. No one except for his brother, Greyson. But Grey knew how to keep a secret better than anyone he knew.

He never brought up what he saw the day of their father’s funeral, and Soren believed he never would. Hell, Grey and Wren were married, and he didn’t even think his brother told his wife, which was another complication, being that Wren was Jocelyn’s best friend.

But none of that mattered. This whole lie was meaningless because it would never amount to anything real. Eventually, they’d have their fill, and he and Joce would go back to simply hating each other.

Soren drove home with the windows down, breathing in briny salt air that did nothing to clear his head. The empty streets of Hideaway Bay blurred as he navigated the familiar route on autopilot until he pulled into his garage.

Once he made it inside, he changed his mind about needing that drink after all. Passing the display wall where he housed his collection of the finest champagnes, he headed straight to the wet bar and poured two fingers of bourbon just as his phone buzzed.

Olivia.

“Shit.” Guilt surfaced as he brought the glass to his lips, the scent of Jocelyn still clinging to his fingers as he read the other woman’s text.

Tonight was nice, Soren. Hope your meeting tomorrow goes well. Also, spoke to Daddy. He mentioned golf at Newport on Saturday, the 24th—said he’d give you an answer by the 18th hole. I told him you’d be there.

He set the phone face down.

An amused chuckle left in a breath. She was showing him how indispensable she could be, arranging a private meeting between him and her father days before the board vote without him even mentioning work. She warned him she was determined. He should have seen this coming.

Not that he was complaining. Eighteen holes would be more than enough time to sway Warren’s decision.

The twenty-fourth. Why did that date sound familiar? It didn’t matter. Warren Aldrich wasn’t the sort of man to make an offer twice. He was willing to hear Soren out and finally make a decision. And Olivia had made it clear that, when it came to her and Soren, there would be full transparency regarding her father. If he fucked this up with her, he could kiss her father’s vote goodbye. And he needed the board to move in his favor.

Seven weeks should be enough to get his head on straight. Long enough to stop ending up on Jocelyn’s back porch like a lost pup. Long enough to recognize the opportunity in front of him and take the chance to finally get what he wants, with his personal goals and his professional ones.

He sucked on his lower lip, still tasting her. “Fuck.” Hopefully, this time would indeed be the last time.

CHAPTER 2

“CAN YOU STAND UP, OR WILL YOU JUST FALL DOWN?”

Jocelyn headed into town early to avoid the incoming crowds. She had errands and no time to dick around. Attacking her to-do list like a hurricane descending on a mobile home community, townsfolk dove out of her way as she rushed by.

What looked like a cry for help to everyone else was actually a well-ordered strategy fueled by caffeine, Adderall, and the pinch of a sex hangover. The morning began at The Harbor Crumb, where the scent of sugar-glazed warmth hit her the second she pushed through the door. The carb-filled air settled into her chest like the warmth of a hug she desperately needed.

Esther, who had run the Harbor Crumb since before Jocelyn’s family moved to Hideaway Bay twenty-two years ago, slid an over-sweetened coffee into a to-go cup onto the counter. “You look like you need a double today.” A pink pastry box followed, two Boston crèmes waiting inside.

Their ritual was as dependable as the church bells that sang over the town every day at noon. “You speak my love language, Esther,” Jocelyn said, breathing in the orgasmic aroma.

“Sugar and caffeine?” Esther laughed.

“That, with a side of routine, will get me every time.” Jocelyn snapped back the lid and took a much-needed sip of coffee and groaned. “Mmm, so good.”

“You’re later than usual.” Esther’s critical black eyes swept over Jocelyn’s out-of-the-house clothes.

“Long night. And don’t look at me that way. I was on a deadline.”

“I know when I’m staring into deadline eyes. Those aren’t them. You’ve got bags under that stare big enough to rival my luggage.”

“Way to flatter the customers, Esther. Thanks.”