Begin Again: Short stories from the heart Read online

  Pieces of You

  Sometimes hiding in the shadows is the only way to protect your heart.

  Quinn Burnes’s mother disappeared when he was only fifteen leaving him with a despondent father, a little sister who suffers panic attacks, and eight notebooks containing the truth about his mother. He guards this secret for eighteen years, until on an otherwise normal day, his mother re-enters his life, pleading for his help. She’s in danger and the only thing that can save her is reclaiming the identity she shunned years ago.

  Quinn is a master of emotional detachment, from his successful career as a personal injury attorney to his strings of meaningless relationships with beautiful women who possess uneasy temperaments; a sure formula to keep his heart safe and insure he’s the first to walk away. Until he meets the mysterious ‘Danielle’ a woman with too many secrets who’s on the run from the abusive estranged husband she shot and may have killed. Danielle isn’t like any woman he’s ever met, but can he risk his heart for someone who’s doing exactly what his mother did eighteen years ago? Someone who may ultimately leave him, just like his mother?

  Chapter 3

  Sam & Jack

  Jack Torrence threw down his pencil. Damn! How could Richard do this to him when he was so close? He’d worked on this project for six months. But the dream had been his since he was a kid, growing up on the grimy graffiti-filled streets of East Cleveland.

  None of that mattered now. Richard Deeling, President of Deeling & Associates, wanted him to turn the project over. He’d called Jack ‘too valuable an asset’ to be tied up any longer waiting for construction to start.

  So Jack wouldn’t get the pleasure of being involved firsthand as his dream emerged, five stories of mortar and concrete, housing some of the country’s most sought after historical artifacts.

  He was out—period. The worst part of the whole deal was that Richard actually expected him to train the new architect, some upstart from New York. And that didn’t sit well at all.

  He pushed back his chair, flung open the side drawer of the mahogany desk and grabbed three red-tipped darts. Wham! Wham! Wham! The darts smothered the small red circle in the middle of the board.

  Soon, he’d have to meet the new guy, Sam Whitcomb, and act as though he didn’t mind turning over his dream project to a stranger. Jack snatched two more darts. Wham! Dead center. He cocked his hand to launch the last one.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Torrence.”

  Jack’s hand jerked, sending the dart soaring through the air to crash land on the outer rim of the board. His gaze riveted toward the voice. A tall leggy brunette stood in the doorway staring at him. Whitcomb’s secretary. Great. He’d had to share the Wicked Witch of the West with two other architects and this guy Whitcomb flew in his ultra chic, designer-clad secretary who looked like she’d just finished a cover shoot for Vogue.

  “Mr. Torrence?”

  Jack’s gaze narrowed. Why did she have to speak in that soft throaty voice? Why couldn’t she have a monotone pitch? Something flat and unfeminine? More like the Wicked Witch of the West’s nasal twang?

  “Excuse me, are you Mr. Torrence?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” He rose to retrieve the darts and caught a whiff of mint and lavender. Not only did she look good, have a killer voice that pinched his senses, but she smelled good, too. The Wicked Witch of the West smelled like cough drops. He’d have to talk to Richard about getting a secretary like this one, or maybe he and Whitcomb could share her services. He liked that idea. A lot. Jack relaxed a little and actually smiled at Whitcomb’s secretary. “Why don’t you take a seat in the reception area and I’ll see if anyone’s seen Whitcomb?” Nothing like playing secretary for the secretary.

  The leggy brunette opened her mouth to speak when a flurry of activity in the outer room stopped her. A young pixie of a woman with spiky red hair and a matching jumper rushed forward, nearly bumping into the new secretary.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got stuck in traffic and I’m not used to the area, and I took a left when I should have taken a right and—”

  “It’s all right, Jesse.” Whitcomb’s secretary shot a dazzling smile at her.

  “Who are you?” Jack stared at the pixie waif.

  Miss Red-Hair-Red-Jumper shrank against the door. “Jessie Hastings, the new secretary.”

  “New secretary?” Jack shot a look at the other woman standing in the doorway. Something was very wrong. “If she’s the new secretary, who are you?”

  The leggy brunette stepped forward and extended a well-manicured hand. “I’m Samantha Whitcomb.”

  ***

  The morning’s misunderstanding escalated into full-scale warfare by mid-afternoon. Jack Torrence disagreed with everything that came out of Sam’s mouth, from her list of construction crews to her choice for lunch. How could a man nix Italian? Heaven’s sake, she’d even offered to pay and he’d still declined.

  When she accepted the assignment, she’d known getting Jack Torrence on her side would be the biggest obstacle. Huge to be more exact. Maybe even monumental. But not impossible. The man might be surly, uncommunicative, and demanding, and she might want to strangle him, but she refused to let him see he was getting to her.

  “Mr. Torrence,” she practiced her most agreeable voice, “I think we have a problem.” And it’s called, You!

  He ignored her and continued punching numbers into the calculator.

  Rude man. She tried again, “Perhaps we should discuss whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” he grunted above the sound of rapid-fire calculator paper as it spewed from the machine.

  Right. “Fine.” Let him pout and play his little game. Sam snatched her pencil and studied the drawings in front of her. “I’ll just make my own adjustments to these specs.”

  “Like hell you will.” Jack Torrence reached across the table and snatched the papers from her hands. He stood and glared at her, eyes narrowed, jaw twitching, teeth clenched. “You want to know what’s wrong?” he snarled.

  Sam had a feeling he was about to tell her in loud, earth-shattering decibels. “Yes, I’d like to hear your version.” She set down her pencil and waited.

  “You’re what’s wrong, Miss Samantha Whitcomb. You.” He pointed a finger at her. “This historical museum is my project. It’s been my brainchild since I was a kid. And I resent like hell having to turn it over to a New York City snob who can’t possibly understand what this building could mean to a struggling city like this one.”

  Sam said nothing. She’d seen the passion in his eyes when he spoke about the project. It wasn’t just another job to him; it was his dream. And whether she meant to or not she was stealing it from him, which made her the enemy.

  She understood how he might resent her but she needed his help if she were going to have success. Of course, that was a lot to ask, but it was critical. The results of this project and her ability to see it through would open the door to new opportunity and Sam didn’t intend to fail.

  Maybe there was a compromise somewhere. She studied the man across the table and said, “Have you spoken with Mr. Deeling?”

  “Of course I have.” Jack ran a hand through his wavy black hair. “He says my skills are needed elsewhere. I’ve got to move on, start troubleshooting again. That’s my specialty. New plans, new problems, new agendas.” His hazel eyes darkened, “It’s always about the bottom line.”

  She was about to say something when there was a light rap on the door, followed by Richard Deeling’s deep voice. “How are the two of you doing?”

  “Fine,” Jack said, before she could answer.

  Fine? The man certainly had a strange definition of the word.

  “Good.” Richard Deeling nodded his white head and smiled. “I had a feeling the two of you would get along.”

  “Actually, Mr. Torrence and I—”

  “Mr. Torrence? His name is Jack. Not John, or Jonathan, or Jackson. Just Jack. You got that, Sam?�
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  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’d like to invite you both to dinner tonight at the club.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued, “And Jack, since Sam is new in town, would you mind escorting her? Thanks. I’ll see you both tonight. Seven-thirty.” He waved a hand and was gone.

  “The man doesn’t know the word ‘no’, does he?” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “He’s always been that way.”

  Jack pinned her with an inquisitive look. “Always? Interesting comment. Just how far back do you and Richard go?”

  She hesitated a half second and forced the calm into her voice. “A long time,” she murmured. He expected her to say more, she could tell by the frown on his face and the stillness of his body. Sam looked away and busied herself with the notebook in front of her. A tiny part of her wished she could tell him the truth and get it out in the open, but that was impossible. This was only the beginning in the string of lies she’d be forced to throw at Jack Torrence. She’d have to be careful with this man because he was no fool.

  But then, neither was she.

  ***

  Jack arrived at Sam’s apartment that evening at seven o’clock. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t like the idea of having Samantha Whitcomb thrust on him. But here he was, standing attention, waiting for her to open her apartment door with her cool smile and sophisticated airs.

  Why hadn’t he just told Richard he had a previous engagement tonight? It would have been much simpler, much cleaner to have no outside association with the woman, even if it was at Richard’s request. And it would have been very easy to come up with a previous engagement. Hell, he probably had one and forgot about it.

  When the door opened he knew it had been a mistake to come. Samantha Whitcomb wore a simple black dress cut several inches above the knee. Jack’s gaze fell to her legs. Fatal error. He was a leg man, always had been and this woman had great legs. He’d noted that point this morning, among a few others, even as he tried to deny her attractiveness.

  But seeing those long shapely legs clad in black silk with three-inch heels made him lightheaded. He looked up quickly and fumbled for something to say. Had she noticed his preoccupation with her legs? God, he hoped not, that would make him look depraved, or interested, and he was neither. “I’m early,” he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

  She smiled, her lips full and pink and inviting. And definitely kissable. Where had that come from? What was wrong with him? She might look like sex and seduction but this was the woman who’d snatched the most important project of his life from him and he’d do well to remember that.

  “I’m almost ready,” she said. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  Jack followed her inside, focusing on the slight sway of her glossy brown hair as it brushed against her neck. She’d wrapped her hair in a twist of some sort. He liked the effect. Simple and elegant, like the woman.

  He wondered how long her hair was. Shoulder length? Mid-back? What would it feel like gliding through his hands? Or along his belly? Snap out of it. You don’t even like the woman. But there’s something about her… She’s got your project, remember? That did it.

  She turned and he found himself staring at a slender column of bare neck. She wore a single strand of pearls, real no doubt. Nothing fake about this woman. First class all the way, from her designer dress to her red nail polish.

  Samantha Whitcomb was beautiful, alluring, and utterly unattainable. And if he had to add to his list of guesses, he’d say she was spoiled and self-centered. What did he care? He only had to spend one night with her to satisfy Richard. Then it was back to business. On his terms.

  She gave him a hesitant smile as her red nails worked the pearls in a slow circular motion. Now why did she have to go and do that? Jack swallowed hard, watching her fingers move, gliding and stroking over the pearls. Beads of sweat popped along his forehead as those hands held him in a seductive trance.

  For just one insane moment he forgot their differences, forgot that she was the enemy, and let his mind wander. What would it be like to get under that carefully erected façade of hers, to strip away the pearls and fancy hairdo? Peel away the refinement and get to the heat of the woman? Taste her skin, her lips? Touch her softness? Hear her …

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said, crash landing him back to reality. She turned and he watched her walk away, watched the sway of her hips, the movement of her long legs and called himself a thousand kinds of fool for what he was thinking.

  ***

  They spoke little on the ride across town. Jack wanted the night to be over. He’d allow for a drink or two, dinner, a cup of coffee or a Baileys, maybe a dessert. Two hours max. Another twenty minutes for the drive home and then he could deposit Samantha Whitcomb on her doorstep. Mission accomplished.

  He could handle that. He just didn’t like the way his pulse quickened when he looked at her in that black dress.

  Why was she wearing that skimpy little thing anyway? This was a business affair. She belonged in a suit with a blouse buttoned up to her throat. And not one of those silky flimsy little see-through blouses either. She should be wearing something sturdy and totally unfeminine, like cotton. And clunky shoes, not those spiky things that made her legs look a mile long. And why was she smiling so much? Too much smiling. She should stop the smiling.

  A hint of mint and lavender drifted over him and he gripped the steering wheel harder. Didn’t she know some people were allergic to scents? Not that he was but there were people who were and she should be considerate of that fact. Damn it, all he could smell now was her.

  He frowned and shot a sideways glance at her profile. High cheekbones, straight nose, slender neck, creamy shoulders. Perfect breasts. He wished he hadn’t noticed the last one but that would be like asking a musician not to notice sound. Jack cleared his throat. Where were those little horn-rimmed glasses she’d worn at work? They should be on her face.

  This was a business meeting he reminded himself and she was a business associate. Period. Someone should have Samantha Whitcomb so she could dress more appropriately, not in stilettos and a black dress that hugged her curves.

  What was wrong with him? Why did he keep thinking about this woman and her delectable body? He was seriously depraved. Or maybe he was merely deprived. That was the problem. Jack heaved a sigh and relaxed. He needed to get back in the social whirl again. Circulate. He’d dated far more beautiful women than this one. Not that he was dating her—of course he wasn’t dating her—that was ridiculous. He was only obsessing over her right now because the museum project had taken up so much of his time these past several months that his social life had suffered. Once he redirected his attention and efforts to the dating scene he wouldn’t give Samantha Whitcomb a second glance. As a matter of fact, he was going to start the redirection process tomorrow morning.

  By the time he pulled in front of The Aurora Country Club, Jack had a solid plan of action and the gritty determination to see it through. He jerked the car into the first parking place he spotted, dreading the next few hours and the polite interest he’d be forced to show her. He hated games, hated subterfuge and pretending, but that’s what Richard had forced on him with this ridiculous dinner. Well, it couldn’t be over soon enough.

  Jack was in a foul mood when he and Sam walked through the glass double doors of the club. Perhaps he’d just tell Richard to go to hell and walk away from the project and the company tonight.

  He should do it; it would serve the old man right. But Jack knew he wouldn’t. Richard wanted a successor and he’d been very clear he wanted Jack to be that man. And hell, Jack wanted to be that man.

  Richard spotted them from across the room and waved them to his table. “Good to see the two of you,” he boomed, slapping Jack on the back. “How are you, my boy?” He pulled Sam toward him, clasping her hands between his own. Had Richard just winked at her?

  “Jack. Hello, dear.”
Richard’s wife, Eugenia, smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling with delight.

  “Eugenia, you look beautiful as usual.” Jack’s mood lightened as he bent to kiss her cheek. She was definitely the bright spot in her taciturn husband’s life.

  “Oh pooh, I’m an old woman.” Her gaze settled on Sam. “Now this young lady is what I call beautiful.” There was a softness in her voice, an almost gentle caring when she spoke. “Don’t you think so?”

  Jack and Sam stared at one another, Jack doing most of the staring until a faint pink tinged Sam’s cheeks.

  “Yes, she’s beautiful,” he admitted grudgingly. “But she already knows that.”

  “Ah, but a woman never tires of hearing it,” Eugenia informed him. Turning her attention to Sam, she smiled again and said, “Samantha, it is a pleasure to see you again. And I do hope we’ll be seeing much more of you and Jack.”

  Jack blinked. Wait a minute. What did she mean by that remark? Was that ‘you and Jack’ as in separate or a couple? A dating couple? Eugenia had been after him for over a year to look for a wife or she’d find one for him. She’d even made a few half-hearted attempts to match him up with her friends’ daughters. Nothing ever materialized because Jack refused to meet them, but that didn’t stop Eugenia from vowing that one day she’d find him his match.

  Maybe she thought that day had arrived. Jack didn’t like the way Eugenia’s expression brightened each time her gaze swept from Jack to Sam. The more she looked at them, the brighter her gaze grew. And the more uncomfortable Jack became.

  It got worse. Halfway through his salad, Jack wished he were anywhere but sitting next to Sam, listening to Eugenia and Richard Deeling carry on a lively conversation about the joys of children and the institution of marriage. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the older couple thought Sam and Jack would make a perfect match. Sam, for all of her usual composure, turned crimson and tried to change the subject at every available opportunity. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the least bit successful. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Richard was trying to get the two of them together.