Best Laid Plans Read Free Page B

on his knees in front of her. “Violet, I’m the one who should be sorry. I feel like I’ve taken advantage of you. I’m not really a writer, I’m a photojournalist. The book I just finished is called An American in South Africa . I immerse myself in the day-to-day life of a place for six months or a year, and then I work with my editor for a few months, choosing the pictures and writing the text. It’s what I’ve been doing in Boston this spring.”
    “Oh.” This is what comes of being spontaneous, she told herself. You find the man you think could be Mr. Right, have the best sex of your life, and then find out he’s a globe-trotting adventurer. Worse than her father, who had been constantly on the road with his band while she was growing up, eventually resulting in the break-up of her parents’ marriage. She had pictured an author as someone who was always home, pounding the keyboard in his office down the hall. This was worse, even, than if he’d been married.
    “‘Oh’? That’s all you have to say?”
    Jake’s distress was genuine, she knew. He believed she’d been fully aware last night was going to be a one-night stand, or at best a same-time-next-year scenario.
    “Listen, there’s been no harm done here.” She forced herself to smile. “Last night was great. Not my usual style, I admit, but fun. Nobody needs to be sorry.” She didn’t tell him it had seemed like so much more than fun to her at the time.
    He stood up, checking his watch, and she rose with him.
    “No time for coffee?”
    She was relieved when he shook his head. No sense prolonging this goodbye; she had a life to get on with.
    “Can I look you up in Boston when I get back?” he asked at the door.
    “Of course!” She accepted his light kiss on her lips but did not respond. A year from now she did not expect to be single, waiting to hear from Jake Macintyre. Even if she was, there was no way she would take his call. All she wanted to do was forget the last twelve hours had ever happened.

Chapter Two
    After an entire year away from home, Jake had a severe case of culture shock. Just a few days earlier, he’d been in Tibet, living in a Buddhist monastery. He’d eaten no meat, spoken only rarely, and scrubbed the rough floors by hand. Now he was sitting at his brother Jamie’s opulent dining table, where the odor of charred flesh assailed his nostrils.
    Jamie poured ruby-red wine into the crystal wineglass in front of him. “I picked up a case of this Merlot the last time I was on the West Coast.” He flashed the wicked grin all women loved. “Along with a full-bodied redhead to match.”
    Uncle Matt threw back his head and laughed. “Eat up, boys. The steak is perfect. Medium-rare.”
    Jake watched his uncle bring a forkful of meat to his mouth. Its center was a glistening shade of red-black. His stomach clenched as he considered eating the bleeding lump of meat on his own plate. He took a sip of the wine instead, but the tart liquid seemed to expand in his mouth and he had to swallow hard to get it past the lump in his throat. Even the water he gulped from the heavy goblet tasted peculiar, and he imagined invisible contaminants entering his purified body.
    Matt speared the steak on Jake’s plate with his fork and transferred it to his own. “I think you’re jetlagged, boy. Don’t worry, you’ll be back on your feed in a day or two. Meanwhile, no sense wasting prime beef.”
    Jake had grown up with Jamie and Matt, and he knew the three Macintyre men had a reputation in Wickham for being typical, taciturn New Englanders. Yet it seemed like since he’d been back, they’d done nothing but talk, talk, talk.
    “You’re right. I’m exhausted.” He rubbed his forehead, where it felt like his brain had swollen and was pushing against his skull. “I think I’ll just crash in the den and grab something to eat later.”
    Although Jamie’s apartment, a penthouse with a view of Boston harbor, was decorated in a minimalist,