Looking for Trouble (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 1)

Was it a tragedy or just something someone had done wrong? Eventually, they’d settled on the latter. Everyone had.

Especially Rose Bishop.

Not at first, though. At first she hadn’t been involved. The story of Sophie’s mother had sustained itself. Long through those first months back at school. Long past the point when Sophie had finally figured out the threads of the story. It had taken a full year for interest to die down, and that was when Rose had risen to the challenge. No one was allowed to forget her husband. And no one was allowed to forget that Dorothy Heyer had been the cause of the trouble. Whatever Wyatt Bishop had done—run off, disappeared, been injured, been killed—it had been at Dorothy’s instigation. Her jezebel temptations. Her lies and whoring ways.

It had never been Wyatt’s fault. Always Dorothy’s. Dorothy was a devil in female form. And Sophie had looked just like her.

Not that the good folks of Jackson were that gullible. They understood that it took two to tango. But really...men ran off. It happened. But what kind of woman walked away from her little babies?

So they tutted. And whispered. Their eyes had gleamed with excitement over the tragedy that had infiltrated every single second of her childhood. And they all watched Sophie like she might show signs of becoming her mother any day. Rose had made sure they did.

Sophie pressed a hand to her turning stomach. The tea wasn’t helping.

It was only 2:00 p.m., yet she couldn’t imagine doing anything productive for the rest of the day. But if she gave in to her desire to crawl into bed and comfort herself with a terrible movie, that would hardly be penance for what she’d done to Alex, would it?

Then again, she hadn’t really harmed him. Nobody knew about it, and he’d had a good time.

“Well,” she muttered into her tea, “I had a good time.” He hadn’t even gotten off. God, she was the worst kind of lying slut there was. No movie and cozy bed for her. Maybe she should drive out to her dad’s house and wash her brother’s laundry. That would be punishment.

She was still staring into her teacup when the doorbell rang. The sound startled her so much it took her a moment to realize who it probably was.

“Oh, God,” she groaned. Despite that she’d been waiting for him, she’d decided he wasn’t coming and now the idea of talking to him terrified her. But maybe if she got up and answered the door and faced his justified anger, she could call that punishment enough. The thought of hiding in bed for the rest of the day was exactly the incentive she needed to push to her feet. But she still jumped like a little chicken when his fist hit her door in a booming knock.

She

tiptoed over, but then made herself take a deep breath and stand tall before she answered. She hoped he didn’t notice the way she stepped back when she caught sight of his angry face.

She’d meant what she’d said earlier. That he wasn’t handsome until he smiled. He wasn’t. He was stark and masculine and intimidating. And right now? With his jaw tight and his brow low and that almost-sneer on his mouth? He was gorgeous.

“Damn it, Sophie,” he snarled.

“I’m sorry.”

He did notice when she stepped back that time, and he apparently took it as an invitation to come in, because he slipped past her arm and closed the door behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

God, his voice was a rumbling menace. Her skin prickled with nervousness, but despite her alarm—or maybe because of it—her nipples went tight, too.

“I meant to,” she said. “Last night.”

“Jesus.” He scrubbed both hands over his head, his bare arms flexing with the movement. He looked dangerous inside her small living room. Dangerous and strong, the deep colors of the tattoos rippling as he moved. And those big hands.

Sophie could no longer separate fear from arousal. She swallowed hard and tried not to think of those blunt fingers shoving into her.

“Sophie,” he finally sighed. “You should have told me.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to say it. And then I’d waited too long. You must be so angry—”

“You’re damn right I am. That’s why you didn’t want to be seen with me, right?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “People would talk. It’s all bad enough right now with the memorial and your mom and...”

“If you’d told me, I never would’ve exposed you to that.”

“You...” Sophie paused and blinked several times to try to clear her thoughts. “What?”

“I’m sorry. She’s obviously made your life difficult. I wouldn’t have pursued you that way if I’d known. I wouldn’t have teased you.”

Sophie pressed a hand to her thundering heart and tried to think past her shock. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who let you take that risk. Of people talking. Of dredging everything up.”