Mistake (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  Mistake

  Bryce Meadows is a cop with a past, living in the moment when it comes to women. He makes a mistake taking Jenna Muirhead to his bed—and not ending their connection within his usual self-imposed time period. He didn’t convey the rules to Jenna, a survivor of a deadly marriage allowing herself a glimmer of hope after many long years of despair.

  When she shares her feelings, Bryce breaks things off, crushing her. Then Jenna’s ex-husband is released from prison, a man with violent tendencies who has anyone connected to Jenna in his sights. She agrees to pretend to live with Bryce to draw her ex out for capture before he can act out. Bryce recognizes what he has lost, the real mistake he made, and plans to take advantage of their living situation to make amends. But he must deal with Jenna’s well-honed ability to distance herself, as well as the threat her ex husband poses.

  Genre: Contemporary, Romantic Suspense

  Length: 41,183 words

  MISTAKE

  Allyson Young

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  MISTAKE

  Copyright © 2013 by Allyson Young

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-307-8

  First E-book Publication: August 2013

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Mistake by Allyson Young from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Allyson Young’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Young’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  My thanks to Jennifer Simpkins for her support and creative feedback.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  MISTAKE

  ALLYSON YOUNG

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “Can’t do this anymore, Jenna. We’re done.”

  His words fell between them as she initially froze and then inched away. Her green cat’s eyes locked with his and the mix of hurt and horror nearly made him explain, or, god forbid, take it back. But she shuttered them, the green opaque now, like bottle glass, until he could only see himself reflected, stark and resolute. And her withdrawal saved him from making the mistake. He had misjudged—thought she knew the score, was like all his other women, but she’d just crossed the invisible line.

  Rolling her glorious, silky warmth away from him, she sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched and arms flexing, and he realized she was pulling up those nylon things with the lace on the top that had undone him earlier. She rose to her feet, giving him the length of her slender back and high, heart-shaped ass, and her long, slim legs, showcased by the nylons, scissored as she moved to where her clothes were piled. Snatching them up, she stooped to retrieve a handful of lace from the floor, her thick black hair dipping to cover the side of her face, but not before he marked the pallor of her skin.

  The bathroom door shut quietly behind her and he heard water running and faint sounds of movement. When the door opened, she slipped through on noiseless feet and made her way out of his bedroom, once again the sedate receptionist, not once looking his way. Bryce remembered she’d left her car in the lot at the bar. He’d asked her to come with him in his truck while he drove them home, not wanting to lose a moment of contact until he got her into his bed. Contact he’d just ripped asunder like so much thin tissue paper, but it was for the best. They’d lasted a long time, a record for him, and his need for her seemed insatiable until she’d said it. He didn’t, couldn’t do special. Never again.

  Shit. Wrestling with the unwelcome feelings, he shoved the covers back and levered himself out of bed, groping for his pants and quickly pulling them on, ignoring his boxers. Snagging a tee from the dresser he hustled out after her. “I’ll drive you home.”

  Silence. Rounding the living room archway, cool, damp air greeted him, his front door slightly ajar and no sign of Jenna. Goddamn it. It was the middle of the night and she’d walked right out of his house, without transportation. He should have picked a better time to tell her they were over, but the thought of compounding his perfidy by sleeping beside her all night and probably waking her with early morning sex before he broke the news just hadn’t set well. Made him even more of an asshole. Better he told her bluntly like he had, even if it’d been harsh. It left no room for interpretation, being exactly what it was.

  Grabbing the truck keys, he stomped his bare feet into his boots, not pausing to grab a jacket. There was no sign of her in the immediate vicinity. A glance up and down the street didn’t detect any feminine form either. Goddamn it. How could she have ignored her safety when he’d noted how usually careful she was? He ignored the immediate answer his brain provided—he’d hurt her so badly she’d simply fled, unable to be near him, running like an animal to lick her wounds in private. Wincing at the memory of the look in her eyes, he keyed open the locks and swung into the driver’s seat, the vehicle still scented like Jenna. What d
id it say about him that his cock responded to her faint, spicy scent? Maybe his body knew better. Maybe pushing her away had been the real mistake. Bryce tamped that idea down with everything he had. Never again.

  Cruising around the block, widening the search area with every full circle didn’t garner any results and with a curse he drove swiftly to her darkened house, only the bright light above the door visible. He parked two car lengths down, out of the pool of amber cast by the streetlight and waited, working hard at pushing down his anxiety. If she didn’t arrive within fifteen minutes he’d start the search again—surely she hadn’t walked.

  After an eternity a yellow cab cruised past, brake lights flashed, and it pulled up to the curb directly in front of Jenna’s. The internal light came on and he could see her passing what had to be the fare over the seat before the back passenger door, curbside, swung open. He reached for the ignition key, deciding that he’d hang around until he was sure she entered her home, but found the key ring loose in one hand, the other on the door handle. He was out of the truck and striding toward her without any real conscious thought other than feeling extreme relief she was safe, followed by extreme anger she’d worried him. His gait slowed at his intense reaction until he reassured himself he would have felt that worried about any woman out on the streets in the dark.

  The cab peeled away, and he caught up with her at the front steps. Her body appeared smaller, deflated somehow, and jerked in reaction to his approach. But when she looked at him there was no expression on her face, her eyes blank and empty. Not even a flicker of concern that it could have been fucking anyone bearing down on her, alone and unprotected five feet from the safety of her home. She didn’t care. He’d done that to her.

  Another excess of unpleasant emotions washed through him and his hand shot out to grab her arm, pulling her fully around to face him. She didn’t fight him, her body nearly lax. “Goddamn it, Jenna! You don’t fucking walk out into the night and take that kind of chance with your safety. I’d have taken you home!”

  A lift of her shoulders signalled she’d just taken a deep breath. Those full, sweet lips, pale beneath the porch light, parted. In a deadened voice, a sharp contrast to the content of her reply, she said, “You’re right. I overreacted. I’d never been kicked to the curb immediately after being fucked before. I should have asked the kicker for a ride home. Won’t happen again.”

  She looked down at his gripping hand and back up at his face, still with no expression on her lovely features. Bryce let her go and shoved his hand into his hair before he did something different with it, like paddle her ass or soothe her. Her sarcasm-laced response wasn’t lost on him—he only wished it had reached her eyes and been reflected in her tone, any kind of emotion to replace her flat affect. It was like she was in some kind of robotic state. Bryce recognized it. He’d practised it for a long time himself in order to cope, to hide the hurt until he could lock it away and pretend he was past it. He forced himself to nod and thought to say something, although he had no clue what he might offer.

  “Are you okay?” Lame, but he was actually worried.

  “Save it.” Jenna climbed the short flight of stairs and shoved her key into the lock. He heard the tumblers fall over and she pushed through the door without a backward glance. Standing for a moment, staring at the rich red panels as they shut behind her, the lock engaging with a snap, he then retreated to his truck. Retreated, and what did that mean? He didn’t run from anything except his own deep shit.

  The lights came on then turned off in a silent trace of her movements through her house, terminating in her bedroom. He knew it was her bedroom because he’d been in there, in her bed, a soft cloud of a thing with luxurious sheets.

  Willing his fingers to start the vehicle, Bryce Meadows pulled away from Jenna Muirhead’s home, pretending regret wasn’t part of the limited scope of his emotions.

  * * * *

  She shed her clothes on the way to her bedroom, careless with the fine fabrics. Nice clothes, even respectable, professional ones, gave her enjoyment and satisfaction, having had so few luxuries in her childhood, and in her marriage for that matter. But at that moment nothing mattered. Her two best friends told her it was a mistake to get involved with Bryce, that he obviously didn’t do relationships, just short-term hookups. Adept at sniffing out information, Judith and Carla asked around and put together a short list of things they’d learned about him. The women he dated were apparently aware of his absolute disinclination to engage in anything long-term, and were allegedly content with the casual contact. Certainly there were no complaints about his company—or his sexual prowess. There were no complaints about being dumped or any hard feelings shared either. Judith and Carla didn’t see her as that kind of woman and forecast her getting hurt. That was because they’d seen her date a creep then a loser, however briefly, and knew a little about her failed marriage, over before she moved here. They also knew about her fantasy. Jenna wished she hadn’t shared that pipedream about her dream man when they’d over imbibed that one girls’ night out.

  Bryce apparently dated around and circled back to briefly sample the wares again—no harm, no foul. This Jenna knew from some comments made by the women connected to his colleagues, but she wasn’t aware of him throwing a lover out of his bed, and surely that kind of news would have leaked. Unless the woman was as hurt and humiliated as she was and would never share that with anyone, not even her very best friends. Because, after all, a secret was something you told one person at a time—until the whole world knew.

  Jenna could admit to herself she engaged in considerable self-talk when hooking up with Bryce. It had been a surprising, impulsive action on her part, but he hadn’t said anything about it being a one-off or casual and kept taking her out in the evening and back to her bed. Or to his. So she’d begun to tell herself all the self-imposed warnings about it being casual, supported by the far more dire warnings from her friends, were quite unnecessary. What she and Bryce had was obviously different and special. Uh huh. Sure it was.

  Crawling naked between the soft sheets, she huddled right on the edge of the bed, clutching her pillow to her head, her hand between it and the mattress. She was so cold. She wondered if she would ever get warm. What had happened? The evening had started out so well, just like every other time…

  Slamming the door of her car, Jenna surveyed the lot, checking her environment from long practice based on necessity and common sense. No sign of Bryce’s truck. Not unusual. He was rarely on time and always for good reason. The very nature of his job meant he kept flexible hours—being a detective on the Sarasota Police Force didn’t mean he could always book off at six. Sometimes he was really late but always let her know. She clicked the remote to lock her vehicle and fumbled for her phone. A text appeared like magic and she smiled. That often happened. She’d be thinking about him and he’d text, and vice versa. They telegraphed their needs in bed, too, so different than her other lovers. Scanning the area again, she walked quickly to the lounge entrance of the bar, where the dining room was.

  His message had read: On my way. Order. Usual 4 me.

  Bryce never signed his communications or used any endearments to conclude them so she didn’t either. They were new and while she was coming to believe what they had was different than what they’d both had before, at least what she’d had before, it was early days. But if she was honest, while the physical attraction was still incredibly strong, her heart was now involved. Jenna wouldn’t have thought that possible after such a short period of time and considering what she experienced previously...

  How could she have romantic feelings for someone she really didn’t know a lot about other than he was a player, incredible in the sack, and a well-respected cop—even grudgingly respected by the criminal element if the gossip was to be believed? His friends and colleagues were clearly important to him and had welcomed her, if not with great enthusiasm, with increasing civility, but were relatively closemouthed. She didn’t know if he’d be
en serious with anyone before, if he had family; those things people usually shared while dating. She did sense he was hiding a painful experience. She felt it, her own history tuning her in to something sad and hurtful locked deep within him, just as she hid her own issues. He hadn’t shared, but then she hadn’t told him about her past either.

  Knowing the place would be filling up with the after-work Friday crowd, she hustled inside to get their orders in before the wait became overly long. That she did know about Bryce. He was impatient, refusing to wait in line, wanting his dinner within a reasonable period of time. He tended to curse out drivers who clearly should be cruising in the slow lane and was really impatient with people who talked drivel. But he was oh-so-patient where it counted, like with old folks, and children, and with her, especially during sex when it counted.

  Placing their order, and then lifting their drinks while trying to manage her purse at the same time, she found a table toward the end, noting where Bryce could sit with his back to the wall. Something else she knew about him. The big screen television featured one of the early baseball games and she smiled to herself when she saw who was playing. The Twins were in to play the Marlins. That should mean an interesting discussion over dinner, although Bryce would probably have other ideas for the rest of the evening, ones she would even pass up a good ballgame to participate in.

  Studying the way the bubbles popped in his beer, hoping it wouldn’t be flat before Bryce arrived, she catalogued what else she knew about him. He dressed casually, but well, for work, favoring dark pants and pressed, button-down shirts under a light sports jacket, or, if the weather was cold, a leather jacket and comfortable, yet stylish shoes. She’d never seen him really dressed up but there had never been an occasion to do so. They hadn’t been going out very long. When he wasn’t working, well-worn jeans and T- shirts were the norm, coupled with his leather jacket and boots seriously resembling biker boots. Those outfits made him look incredibly hot.