Desperate (Modern Jane #3)

Prologue

A Silly Mistake

Wyatt

I opened the door to find a woman standing in the moonlight.

I couldn’t think of her name. Her face was familiar, but even my drowsy, half-drunk brain knew that we weren’t close enough for her to be visiting me in the middle of the night.

Ah, but she was pretty—so pretty. Blonde hair framed her face while big, luminous eyes gazed up at me with rapt devotion.

“I drove straight from work,” she said urgently, “because I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

It had to be a dream—a very realistic dream, since crickets chirped in the pine-scented woods behind her.

As she stepped closer, I caught a whiff of her perfume. She placed one hand on my bearded cheek. “I like the beard,” she whispered. “I didn’t think I would, but it suits you.”

Her other hand reached the back of my head, where her fingers took a moment to play with my hair, sending pleasant shivers up and down my spine.

Maybe I should stop this? I thought. But I didn’t want to, not really.

And I was so sleepy. I just rolled with it, curious where this bizarre dream would take me.

“I love you,” she said. Something about the tone of her voice and earnest expression on her face convinced me that she meant it. “I love you with all my heart, and I hate life without you.” Her words nestled into my chest as she swayed toward me, her pink lips almost touching mine. My mind cleared.

“Caroline?” I whispered.

“Shut up and kiss me.” Well, this dream just got better.

Her lips claimed mine. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer.

Who would have guessed that buttoned-up Caroline Bingham could be so passionate?

Not me. But I was here for it. It made no sense; a minute before, I couldn’t think of her name.

But kissing her—I felt a wave of emotion. Dreams can be strange that way.

We stumbled back over the threshold into the cabin.

Fisting my T-shirt, Caroline pulled me closer and deepened the kiss.

The synapses in my brain went wild, firing rapidly, finally connecting.

This encounter was way too lifelike for a dream.

I could hear her breathing, taste her lips.

Her soft fingers ran through my beard. Caroline—my cousin Greg’s girlfriend—was kissing me as if her life depended on it.

This was not a dream. It was real. It was happening.

I had to stop her. Make sure she knew I wasn’t Greg.

But first, just one more kiss... She slipped a cool hand up my T-shirt.

“Greg?” She blurted. “There’s hair on your chest!”

The game was up. Curse Greg and his obsession with manscaping. I stepped away, raking a hand through my hair.

“I’m not Greg.” I flipped the switch on a nearby table lamp. “It’s Wyatt.”

Caroline yelped and jumped back.

“Wyatt!” She hissed my name with horror. “You kissed me! We kissed!” Her face twisted with disgust. “Why did you kiss me?” Good question.

“Um, Caroline, need I remind you... you told me to shut up and kiss you.” With her hand over her mouth, she stared at me, her eyes wild.

“But... but... you should have stopped me. You... you were into it.” I wanted to point out that she was also very “into it.” But why bother? My head throbbed. My stomach churned. The bottle of whiskey I shared with my dad earlier was coming back to haunt me.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my joggers. “Yeah, about that, I thought I was dreaming. I swear.”

She nodded, settling down on the sofa, a white, pillowy piece from Arhaus.

Not the obvious choice for a rustic cabin.

But whenever Grandmother Scott redecorated (which was often), her old furniture was relegated to one of the many small cottages on their lakeside property.

This particular cabin, The Stag House, was traditionally assigned to the single young men in the family.

“This is a total nightmare! How could I confuse you and Greg?”

“Beats me.” I scratched my chin.

“It’s the beard!” She pointed to my face as I leaned my pounding head against the doorframe of my room. “I’ve never seen Greg with a beard, and he told me he was growing one.”

I nodded like that made sense. But it didn’t, not really.

For one thing, Greg didn’t have a beard.

I wondered when Caroline had last seen him.

And then how could she possibly confuse me with my cousin?

I was more than a little insulted. Our faces were similar, fine, but my hair was longer, and I was a lot bigger than my cousin, by at least two inches and 25 pounds.

It always irked Greg that his no-good, younger cousin was taller and stronger than him.

He expected to be the best at everything.

“Where is Greg?” She peered into his empty room marked by a wooden sign reading Elk’s Lodge. Large antlers hung above the door.

I had another sickening recollection—Greg was with another woman. I couldn’t tell Caroline this. Not right then.

“He’s . . . um . . . not here,” I said lamely.

“Obviously, or he’d be pummeling you for making out with his girlfriend.”

“Listen, Caroline. I’m sorry. I thought it was a dream... at first.”

“At first?” she asked with some heat. “How long did you think it was a dream?”

“Nearly the whole time, I swear.”

“Nearly the whole time? So at some point, you knew. Why did you keep kissing me?”

“Is this a trick question?” I huffed.

“What would your girlfriend say about you kissing me?”

“There’s no girlfriend.” It had been a year since my last relationship. I hadn’t really bothered with dating once my mom got sick. “If there was, I certainly wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Aha!” She pointed at me. “That’s what I’m saying. How do you think I feel?” She was getting kind of screechy, and my head hurt. “You didn’t stop me from kissing you, but you knew I had a boyfriend—your cousin, no less.”

With each moment, I became a little more alert and a lot more uncomfortable with the situation. “Hey! Sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, all two seconds that I realized I wasn’t dreaming.” I pointed between her and myself. “You’re right and I’m wrong and I’m going to bed.” I turned around.

“What about me?” she asked. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Greg’s bed. He’ll be back in the morning.” I was in my room, ready to shut the door.

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?” I glanced back. She looked so forlorn. I felt an ache of affection toward her, probably some lingering after-effect of that kiss.

“Of course, he’ll be thrilled, Caroline,” I said gently. “Now go to bed.”

“You’re not going to tell him about this?” she asked meekly.

“I would never.” Greg would definitely consider kissing his girlfriend a good excuse to pick a fight. And though I knew I could take him, I didn’t really want to confirm my family’s worst expectations. “What would be the point?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “I mean, it was nothing, just a silly mistake.”

“Yeah.” I closed the door on her and wandered into my room and flopped into bed, replaying that silly mistake, over and over and over.