Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy - Lisa Jackson

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want to know that, beneath his jaded New York attitude, beat a heart that had once touched hers. Nor did she want him to guess that he had any effect on her whatsoever. She was over him. She was! Then why did her pulse jump at the sight of him?

       Shaking inside, she walked to the door and opened it, silently inviting him to leave. Her voice, when she finally found it, was barely a whisper. “You did, Jackson. You’re what happened to me. And for that, you’re lucky I’m just holding the door open for you and not calling the police and demanding a restraining order.”

       His eyes glinted. “Does this mean the wedding’s off?” he teased cruelly, and Rachelle’s heart tore a little.

       “This means that I never want to see you again, Jackson.”

       He crossed the room, but stood in the doorway, staring down at her. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

       “I don’t think so. Just walk out the door, find the nearest plane and fly back to the East Coast. Everyone here was doing fine before you showed up. We’ll all manage to survive without you.”

       “Will you?” he asked, skepticism lifting a dark brow.

       “Go, Jackson. Or I will call the police.”

       “And here I thought you’d be anxious for an interview with me.”

       The man’s gall was unbelievable. But his reasoning was right on target. “Believe it or not, I’m not a Jackson Moore groupie,” she replied, knowing that she was lying more than a little. She’d already half promised Marcy an interview with Gold Creek’s most notorious son.

       “You were once,” he said, and his voice sounded softer, smooth as silk.

       Her throat caught, and she remembered vividly how she’d lost her virginity with this very man. She’d tried to blame him for that loss over the years, but she couldn’t. Even now she realized that she’d given herself to him willingly. But what was worse, was the knowledge that she might, given the right circumstances, do it all over again.

       “That was a long time ago, Jackson, when I was young and naive and believed in fairy tales. I trusted you, stood up for you and told everyone how innocent you were. But I’m all grown up now and I’ll never believe you again.” She forced a cold smile she hoped would pierce that insolent armor he wore so boldly. “Even fools eventually grow up.”

       His eyes burned black. “I’m innocent.”

       She let out a slow breath, her fingers clenching around the hard wood of the door. “Innocent?” She shook her head. “I believe you didn’t kill Roy Fitzpatrick twelve years ago, I believe you think you’re here to clear your name, but, Jackson, we both know you’re far from innocent.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      JACKSON WAS STILL STANDING on the threshold when the phone rang.

       “I’ve got to get that,” she said, but he didn’t budge. Fine. Let him wait. She left him at the door and picked up the phone on the fourth ring.

       “Rachelle?” David’s voice was warm and familiar. She heard him sigh with relief and a part of her melted inside. David was safe. She could count on him. He would never treat her as Jackson had.

       “Hi.” She sneaked a peek at Jackson—still so darkly sensual. Well, his good looks and bloody sexuality did nothing for her. Nothing!

       “You didn’t call,” David said, gently reprimanding her. His voice was filled with concern. “It’s getting late and I was worried.”

       “Sorry,” she said automatically. “I just got in this morning and the phone wasn’t installed until four.” She tried to concentrate on the conversation, but slid a glance at Jackson, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered that he was eavesdropping. He didn’t even try to look interested in anything other than her.

       “Well, so you’re okay?” David persisted.

       “Fine. Just fine.”

       “But you miss me,” he guessed, and she heard the tiny wheedle in his voice that was there every time he didn’t feel secure.

       “Sure,” she replied. “Of course I miss you.”

       “Good. Good. Look, I’m going to work the rest of this weekend, but I’ll get some free time at the end of next week and maybe I can come up and see you for a few days. Just you and me in the wilderness? Hmm?” he said suggestively, and Rachelle had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him. He had no idea that half their conversation was being dissected.

       “I, uh, don’t think that would be such a great idea.” She felt heat climb up her neck. She turned her back to Jackson, tried to pretend that he wasn’t only a few feet from her, and attempted to ignore the knocking of her heart.

       “Why not?” David asked in his suggestive voice. “We could have a good time.”

       “I know we could, but this is serious stuff. I’m working.”

       He sighed again, long and loud. Not quite so friendly. “It’s just a few columns, Rachelle. I thought we agreed that you’d go back, write whatever it is you have to, and then come back here. Pronto.”

       “If it works out that way.”

       “Well, try, won’t you? I miss you already.”

       “Me, too,” she replied before saying goodbye and hanging up. She wanted to sag against the wall; there was something about her recent conversations with David that seemed to suck all the life right out of her. He wasn’t a controlling man, not really, not like Jackson, but he did try to manipulate her subtly, and that bothered her. He deftly attempted to mold her way of thinking to his. She would have preferred an out-and-out confrontation. She would have preferred an honest fight with someone like Jackson.

       She brought herself up short. She didn’t mean that, of course; she couldn’t mean it.

       “Trouble in paradise?” Jackson said with just a trace of sarcasm.

       “No trouble. And definitely no paradise.”

       He glanced at the phone. “Your husband?”

       “Afraid not,” she replied breezily.

       “Boyfriend?”

       “Look, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

       Java slunk out of the bedroom. The black cat took one look at Jackson, arched her back and sidestepped back down the hall.

       “Friendly,” Jackson remarked.

       “You already told me to steer clear of the Fitzpatrick murder and I told you that I was going to do my job as I saw fit, so what is it you want from me, Jackson?” Rachelle finally asked. “I thought I made it clear that you weren’t welcome.”

       His eyes held hers for an instant too long, and the back of her throat tightened in memory. “What I want…” he said with a twisted smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, his hair, still slightly on the long side, brushing his fingers. “That’s not easy.”

       “Not what you want,” she clarified. “What you want from me. There’s a big difference.”

       He crossed to the kitchen and hoisted one leg over a barstool. Seated at the bar, he could watch her as she wiped the kitchen counter for the third time. He leaned forward, elbows on the tile, hands clasped in front of him. “What’re you trying to accomplish by all this?”

       Maybe it was time for honesty. “I needed to come back here, clear up my feelings about the past, reexamine this town because it’s time I got on with my future.”

       “With the guy on the phone?”

       She met his gaze boldly. “Yes.”

       “He gonna give you everything you want?” Jackson asked,

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