A light was on at the back of the house, the casement cranked open in the window he’d identified as her bedroom, curtains blowing through to the backyard. She hadn’t put the screens in yet. He killed the bike’s engine and kicked down the stand, then swung his leg over. Maybe she was in bed, maybe she was in pain—he’d make this as easy as possible for her. He sidestepped between two lilac bushes and rapped on the window frame. “Erin,” he said quietly, trying not to scare her.
The breeze blew the curtains back just enough to show her sitting up in bed, dressed in a soft T-shirt and pajama pants, a book open in her lap. She looked up, then eased out of bed and came over to the window.
“Jack,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
The scent of lilac was heavy in the night air. “Change your mind, Erin.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to keep your word. Break your promise to me. Change your mind.”
She shook her head. “You’re just saying that because—”
“Come with me to Istanbul,” he said. “That’s what I’m saying.”
She blinked. Stared. “Istanbul? As in the capital of Turkey?”
“I start work there in a couple of weeks. I can’t promise I’ll be around all the time. I might not work for weeks, and I might work for months straight. But Istanbul is a seriously cool city. Lots of history. You can travel. Istanbul sits at the intersection of Europe and Asia. Greece, Italy, France, Germany, Egypt, Morocco, all just a couple of hours by plane. I’m taking over Keenan’s lease. He said the neighbor’s sweetheart of a cat adopted him. Think of the kitty. Someone has to feed the poor, helpless kitty while I’m working…” His voice trailed off.
Her eyes were widening, color flooding her cheeks. “You … want me to come with you? Quit my job? You’re the SEAL, Jack. I’m just an ordinary woman, and ordinary women don’t quit good jobs.”
Fuck that. Sideways. “Erin. You’re not ordinary.”
“With you I’m not ordinary.”
“So be with me. Always.”
Her eyes widened, disbelief and hope warring on her face. He tried to think like an ordinary person, about pension plans and 401k programs and money in the bank. “Take a sabbatical,” he hedged, “like your professor friend. Be extraordinary. With me.”
“Librarians don’t get sabbaticals,” she said, but he could see her brain churning. “But I might be able to arrange a leave. Or … I could quit my job.”
She was trying it on for size, and if he knew anything about Erin Kent, it was that once an idea took hold in her mind, she wouldn’t let it go. “Or quit, if you can’t take a leave. I know it sounds crazy, but contractor work pays well, and I—”
“I have savings,” she interrupted.
“And I love you,” he finished.
“And I’m getting an insurance check for my bike,” she said over him, obviously warming to the possibility, then blinked. Really looked at him. “You love me?”
“I do,” he said, listening to the crickets, the leaves rustling in the warming breeze, the evening primrose under Erin’s window giving off a soft, innocent scent. Spring in Lancaster was a potent time. He reached down and snapped off a blossom, then held it out to her. “I do, Erin. I give you my word.”
“I give you mine,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”
“Use some of the insurance money to buy a plane ticket,” he said, warming to the idea. “And delete that Tinder profile. I don’t want to date you. I want to live every single second of the rest of my life with you. Dating is for ordinary people. You and me, we’re not ordinary.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. He saw wild hope and soaring joy in her eyes. “We aren’t,” she agreed.
“Change your mind, Erin,” he murmured.
She leaned forward and kissed him. “Hi, Jack,” she said. “I changed my mind.”
“Good,” he said. “Stand back.” He hoisted himself up and swung a leg over, letting himself into the room, into her life.
Forever.
Welcome to Eye Candy, the East Side’s hottest nightclub where the bartenders are hot, the cocktails are fancy, and danger lurks just under the surface …
READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF UNDER THE SURFACE!
ONE
Sex on a stick, Lord, that’s all I need … walking, talking sex on a stick. If he can mix a decent drink, so much the better.
Eve Webber shifted two boxes of limes to the far end of the bar and considered apologizing to the Almighty for making the risqué request. Not a single lesson in eighteen years of Sunday school covered petitioning the Lord for a good-looking man. But with a location on the edge of Lancaster’s struggling East Side and nine people depending on her for their paychecks, Eye Candy’s success depended heavily on gorgeous male bartenders who lived up to the bar’s provocative name. She’d take all the help she could get.
“Drop dead sexy, knowledgeable, with just a smidgen of honor. That’s all I need,” she muttered.