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Her only choice? Not quite. Before she had a second to think about it, she replied, “I do have a lease, you know.”
He just stared.
“You rented me a room in your house and money exchanged hands. You can’t throw me out.”
This time his jaw dropped. “You can’t really livehere.”
“Why can’t I? I’m legally entitled.” Knowing that Mick was appalled at the idea of having her under his roof for four weeks made Caro start to appreciate the merits of her impetuous idea. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it. “I have been looking forward to a nice, quiet room in this lovely old house, and you rented it to me. Unless you want the studio to sue for breach of contract.”
He thrust his hands through his thick, wavy hair, sending a few strands sticking out in a boyish tumble. For an insane moment, she thought about walking over and straightening it. Her fingertips rubbed against each other as if remembering the feel of that hair against her skin.
“This is impossible.”
Crossing her arms and feigning a calm she really didn’t feel, she leaned back into the couch, making herself right at home. “You made this bed.” She let a Cheshire cat grin cross her lips. “Now I get to sleep in it.”
MICK FINALLY AGREED that Caroline could spend the night, at leastonenight, while they figured out what to do. Caroline kept insisting, right up until the minute she shut the door to the bonus suite in his face, that she was staying put for the length of her lease.
“Staying put, my ass,” he said as he stood in the hall staring at the closed door. A door—such a minor thing standing between him and Caroline. Not even half a continent had been enough to get her out of his brain for the past eight years.
“Your tattooed ass!” he heard from within the room.
He muttered a quieter curse, but as he walked away, Mick was unable to resist breaking into a smile.
Who would have imagined an evening like this? Amonthlike this? Caroline, back in his life, sleeping in his bed—okay, not the same onehewas sleeping in—but a bed he owned, nonetheless. And that he’d be smiling.
He should have been throwing things. Cursing. Getting into his car and driving away from her, from the memories, from the thought of what an immature jerk he’d once been and what a scared brat she’d been.
“Well, hell, who said twenty-one-year-olds know anything?” he said aloud as he walked into his own bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.
Especially nothimat twenty-one. Christ, he couldn’t figure himself outnow, at twenty-nine. So how could he have thought, as a college junior, that he knew what love was? Knew enough to propose to a girl?
“Propose.” He shuddered, the word tasting strange in his mouth. He hadn’t thought about getting married since that one crazy spring break when he and Caroline had taken a road trip up to Canada. He’d asked her to marry him while the two of them had frozen their asses off under a thin blanket and an endless midnight sky.
She’d said yes. Then a week later, she’d said a resounding no. All because Mick had never lost that need to charm, to flirt, to get his way in the same manner he’dalwaysgotten his way: with a grin, a wink, an irresistible laugh, a little flattery.
He’d been using that technique ever since he was old enough to figure out his place in the large Winchester family. The Winchesters were to Derryville what the Kennedys were to Massachusetts. He’d been raised with cousins as siblings, grandparents up the block or in the kitchen, and various great-aunts, uncles and their kids perfectly willing to comment on everything he did from the time he was old enough to talk.
Probably that old-enough-to-talk thing was what had done him in. His first word had been cookie. And, according to family legend, it had been accompanied by such an adorable two-toothed smile that every woman he said it to would present him with exactly the treat he’d asked for.
Many women had lined up to give him their cookies over the years.
That was okay. Randy little flirt seemed as good a position in his family as anything else. His cousin, Jared, had already nailed down the role of smart and serious one, and Jared’s older sister—now living in Florida—claimed the role as oldest and boss-of-the-world. His own sister, Sophie, was the baby doll who hid a will of steel behind her sweet blue eyes.
What else was Mick to be but the charming bad boy? The kid with the toothy grin who’d broken windows with baseballs but always gotten invited in for lemonade when he went to fess up? The one who made enough in tip money to buy a new bike just because the ladies on his paper route thought he was the cutest little thing in town?
He was the first one to admit he’d cruised through life. He’d found his place, settled into it and hadn’t bothered challenging himself too much in an effort for more. It hadn’t seemed worth the effort when no one in this town would ever see him as anything more than he’d always been.
Going away to college had been his first hint that hecouldbe more than he’d always been. Being with Caroline had given him a real taste of adulthood, of a different kind of future. He’d had juvenile dreams of the two of them coming back to Derryville and creating the most respectable, responsible, warm and friendly family anyone had ever known.
“Gag me,” he muttered as he yanked his T-shirt off his body and shucked off his jeans.
Warm and friendly? Yeah. That was good. Respectable, responsible? “Gag metwice.”
Caroline had realized before him that he’d wanted what he wanted for all the wrong reasons. She wanted to go west, to L.A., to live a big life, take chances, be young and wild.
He’d wanted to go home. To…to…“To show them,” he murmured as he sat naked on the edge of his bed.
Yeah. He’d wanted to show them. To show the world that Jared wasn’t the only straight-up, all-around-great-guy, destined-for-success Winchester in town.
