Heart Breaker (Break on Through) Read online

  Just then, Jackson Sullivan walked over to us, with his lush black hair falling in his eyes. In spite of that, I could tell his baby blues were zeroed in on me, as if he had a mission to accomplish. Unlike “Golden Boy” (my new nickname for the staring stranger), Jackson looked like he belonged with the other men in the room, with a visible tattoo sleeve covering his left arm and rough, calloused hands from working on the sites of his many house flips. He had only been with Lauren since New Year’s, but I could tell it was already serious. If they weren’t at work, they were together, and now they were cohosting this Super Bowl party.

  I liked that. I adored Jackson for Lauren and we both loved her. She had moved into the neighborhood about a year before our parents had been killed, and when we moved back to the house, Lauren had been the first one over with tons of food. Added bonus was her lending out Jackson to help with the trickier renovation projects. Jessica was already planning their wedding cake in her head.

  “Great party, Jackson.” Jessica took a sip of her favorite cocktail. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “Glad we got both of you over here.” He looked straight at me. “With the way Lauren was talkin’, thought we’d only get Jess.” He glanced over at my sister, a shadow of concern briefly plaguing his features. “Didn’t mean it the way it came out, honey. You know we love havin’ you here.”

  Jess shooed the air in front of her away. “No offense taken whatsoever. We’ve all been worried about Samantha.”

  Then he turned his penetrating gaze back and offered me a smile that warmed me like Christmas hot cocoa. “Sam, good to see ya out. ’Bout time, woman.”

  I really didn’t like being called Sam as a general rule and usually only allowed those closest to me to use it. But I didn’t mind with Jackson. Maybe because, in spite of it being a very short time, he and Lauren were already starting to feel like family.

  I tossed my long hair over one of my shoulders, attempting to look relaxed and casual when I was anything but. I knew everyone thought it was a big deal I was out of the house for something other than Home Depot supplies.

  “Feels good to dust off my social butterfly wings,” I teased Jackson. “And I hear you actually cooked most of this food. Impressive.”

  He threw his head back and laughed with his whole body. “Damn, you’re the third person to make that comment. Do the men of Vienna not cook?”

  Jess and I looked at one another and busted out laughing, “Oh please,” I interjected. “Unless the cooking happens on a grill, most don’t bother.”

  Jessica nodded and kept talking with Jackson, and all the while I have to admit I was losing focus on the conversation because my attention kept veering over to the same guy watching me. He really was stunning, leaning against the arm of the couch, longneck in one hand with the other deep in his pocket.

  Being an actor, I made a habit of studying people—their facial expressions, the way they moved their bodies. So I could tell this man was comfortable in his own skin and knew the effect he had on others, especially women. He was definitely a player, and I should know because I used to consider myself one as well, but I could also tell he wasn’t just a pretty boy. Nothing got past this guy; his attention was fixed on me in a way I knew he was assessing everything about me—the way I held myself, the kind of dress I had chosen to wear that day, even the way I was watching him.

  As much as I enjoyed the exchanging-heated-gazes-across-a-crowded-room cliché, I decided it was time to throw down a challenge. The next time he caught my gaze, I raised the stakes by arching an eyebrow and offering a sly grin, essentially saying without saying, “Hey, I see you over there, staring at me. What are you going to do about it?”

  Have I told you recently how much I love being a woman?

  Just then, I noticed that Jackson and Jessica had stopped talking and followed the direction of my gaze back to Golden Boy. Jackson broke out in a shit-eating grin, with his eyes crinkling in the corners.

  “Glad to see you’re not dead there, Sam,” he joked, giving me a playful nudge.

  “Oh please. A little eye-fucking with your golden boy over there hardly means I’m ready for anything.” Then I cocked my head and gave an exaggerated eyelash flutter. “Besides, I’m just minding my own business. I can’t help it if he can’t stop staring at me. Maybe you need to leash him in.”

  Jackson shook his head on a low chuckle. “Woman, that’s Kyle Masterson. No one’s ever gonna leash ’im in.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to let out a cackle. “Ah, the classic commitment-phobe player. I know him well. Hell, that used to be me!”

  Jessica and Jackson stole a glance at one another and then looked back at me with an emotion between surprise and shock written all over their faces. If I wasn’t mistaken, I may even have caught a whisper of a smile on the corner of Jess’s mouth.

  “Used to be you? That’s a new one, Sam.”

  “Yeah, what’s changed for you, darlin’?” Jackson asked.

  I decided to play it naïve. “What do you mean?”

  He narrowed his eyes some, which I took to mean bullshit in biker body language.

  “From what I’ve heard from your sister and Lauren, there was a time when the idea of planting roots with a man would’ve made you break out in hives.”

  I rolled my eyes at him again. “I wasn’t that bad, Jax.”

  “Um, yes you were!” interjected my pesky sister. Geez, it was like she was ten years old all over again. “The longest you’ve ever been with a boyfriend was a year and that’s because you were on tour for eight months of it!”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask for your input. Okay?”

  Jackson’s hand reached out and cradled my shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze.

  “Don’t get all riled there, girl,” he said in that low, gravelly voice which could make any woman cream her panties. “Just sayin’, sounds like you’ve made a one-eighty. Curious as to why.”

  This was supposed to be a party, not a Catholic confessional. I was getting annoyed, but opted for charm over truth. I executed another classic girl hair flip, effectively removing Jax’s hand from my shoulder, which I also was now finding irritating. “Darlin’,” I mimicked, “it’s always a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, now, isn’t it?”

  He stared for a couple of beats and then shook it off. “Not buyin’ it, but I’ll let it go for now.”

  I breathed out a heavy sigh. “That would be good, Jax.”

  His smile back was pained and sweet. Some movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention just then, and I saw my admirer trying to make his way across the room to me, only to be blocked by some of the other women at the party. I didn’t recognize them and figured they must’ve been some of Lauren’s fellow mural artist friends from her job.

  “Like to meet my boy Kyle?” Jackson asked, redirecting my attention.

  I held Jackson’s eyes, then softly replied, “Jackson, I just finally got my ass out of my house after practically being a shut-in, grieving mess for seven months. Don’t you think it’s too soon for, um, even me to be hooking up with one of your friends?”

  Jackson’s face fell. “Not like me to push, Sam.” One of his hands came up to rub down his face and the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”

  “You’re a good man, Jackson, one who’s fallen hard for one of the best women I know.”

  Jackson looked across the room to find Lauren standing at the edge of it, and watched her watching everyone else at the party. His focused blue eyes immediately went soft and warm, with a hint of a smile growing.

  “Falling in love’s one of the best rides out there,” I continued. “Makes sense you’d want to see a friend out of suffering and into some joy for a change. It’s beautiful you’d want that for me. But I’m, well, I’m not…”

  “You’re not ready. I get it,” he int
errupted. “Actually, if I wanted to give you a forever, Kyle’s the last man I’d pick.”

  Jessica’s body gave a little jolt. “Well then, definitely do not introduce him to my sister. I’m finally getting her to think about more serious dating choices and you want to hook her star up with one of your man-whore friends? Uh—”she narrowed her eyes at him and got in his face, “—no. Not gonna happen.”

  I ignored my sister, wondering where he was going with this. “Oh really? Do tell.”

  Jackson’s hands fell on his hips as he looked to the side. He tilted his head back and replied, “Honestly? Kyle’s the shit…salt of the earth to his friends and one of the smartest guys I know.” Then he sighed and shook his head. “But he’s fucked in the head when it comes to women. You want a good time, shake the dust off, he’s your man. Anything else? Fuckin’ run, don’t walk.”

  The irony was I used to always say that to be tied down in your twenties was “a waste of youth and good stories for when you’re old”. While Jessica was looking for her happily ever after, trying to find her dark prince in need of her light and love in order to be saved, I was never looking for anything more than the high the next new romance offered, saying that men were my favorite drug, one I used recreationally without getting addicted.

  Part of my casual attitude came from the fact that I took my career seriously. I liked remaining flexible, living like a gypsy, being available to take an amazing part at the last minute, if need be. Although lately I had accepted more roles in DC, but who could blame me? The city had a truly inspiring theater scene, one that embraced both the classics and newer, more experimental productions. That said, the last thing I wanted was to be tied down to someone back home if I were to go on a national tour. That was a recipe for disaster—and heartbreak.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what I want anymore.” I ran my fingers through my hair and fanned it out behind me. “And until I do, I think hooking up with anyone is probably a bad idea.”

  He nodded, told me again it was good I’d come by, grabbed a couple of beers from the bar and went straight over to Lauren on the other side of the room. Jessica gave me a reassuring wink and then went into the kitchen to grab some food, so I turned around and started fixing myself my favorite drink. I certainly needed one after the heavy turn of the last conversation. Who knew badass bikers gave mental health checks at a Super Bowl party? As I was mixing it all together, I suddenly felt the heat from someone behind me.

  “Hmm,” drawled a deep, male voice. “Rum, lime juice, pineapple juice, grenadine? Looks like someone’s making an El Presidente. Good choice.”

  The voice was smooth, sonorous, like spun silk being rubbed across my bare skin. I slowly turned around and had to crane my head up just to get a full view of him. I was only 5’2” and wearing flats that day, and he was easily 6’1” or 6’2”.

  “You always sneak up on a woman like that?” I took a sip of my drink and scanned Golden Boy up and down, finally settling in on his eyes, which were the color of dark bourbon. He also had the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man, but there was no questioning the masculine beauty of his face. He had strong features but they weren’t too jagged or hard, with just enough of a sensual roundness to his face, his mouth, to make him approachable. He crooked his head slightly while dragging his perfect teeth across his bottom lip.

  In a voice dripping in honeyed heat he replied, “You knew I was coming for you, so don’t pretend I snuck up on you now.”

  He was close enough to me that I caught his scent, which was like fresh air, clean linens and spicy soap. Dear Lord, no man has a right to smell this good. Plus he was a wall of strength, with cords of glorious, sinewy muscles running through his arms. Arms that were now caging me in between himself and the wet bar.

  “I’ve been watching you ever since you arrived.” He inched even closer, our bodies just a hairsbreadth away from touching. “Thought I’d met all of Lauren’s friends but definitely haven’t seen you before.” Then, just before I was beginning to feel overwhelmed by his proximity, he stepped back and offered me his hand.

  “Kyle Masterson. And you are…?” He dragged out the last part as a question, obviously wanting me to share my name.

  I gave him my hand, which he grasped quickly, as if I would escape somehow. His palm was warm, dry and smooth. Definitely not typical of Jackson’s friends. This guy had never worked a day in his life with those hands.

  “Samantha Lockhart,” I answered. I tried to let go, but he held on, covering my right hand with both of his.

  I gave him a questioning look. “Yes, Mr. Masterson?”

  His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “Please, call me Kyle. I insist.”

  I loved his voice, all deep, rich tones with just a slight trace of a Southern drawl I couldn’t quite place. I tore my eyes away from his golden amber gaze and glanced down at how his large, warm hands completely enveloped mine, his heat invading my cool skin. I bit my bottom lip, my teeth sinking into the plump flesh. I wanted just a small sting of pain, to keep at bay the lull of his liquid seduction. And while I couldn’t be sure, I thought I heard a low groan coming from him as I ran my tongue along the seam of my lips.

  “Can’t deny an admirer some up-close stargazing now, would you?”

  My eyebrows knitted together, and Kyle finally released my hand.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  A slow, Cheshire grin spread across his handsome face.

  “Saw you last year in Hamlet here in town and, before that, a play in New York. It was cool how the audience followed members of the cast around.”

  “Sleep No More was the production,” I informed him, trying to contain how stunned I was that he knew the last two plays I was in, especially one in New York. “I can’t believe you recognized me from something you saw so long ago. If you’re ever looking to flatter an actor, well, that’s the way to do it.”

  “I thought you were amazing in both.” His voice was soft now, and he moved his gorgeous body closer to me while taking my hand again, threading his fingers with mine. For some reason, the simple act felt intimate, even more than a kiss. I didn’t know why, though, and I didn’t feel like analyzing it either.

  “If I hadn’t been with a date both times, I would’ve waited for you backstage, insisted on celebrating, taking you out.”

  For once in my life, I was speechless, still in awe that he recalled my work. In spite of being a fairly successful, regularly working actor, I mostly did theater work and, therefore, I didn’t get recognized often. I’d done a couple of national commercials, but that was years ago, and when I was recognized, it was because of that work, not my characters on stage. He didn’t seem deterred by my gawking silence.

  “I remember watching you, this tiny thing up on that big stage with this mane of beautiful auburn hair, and I wondered how God had managed to put so much power and talent into such a small package. Nothing less than a miracle, I think. Don’t you?”

  I finally made a sound, letting something between a laugh and a cackle escape me. Not my most ladylike or seductive moment.

  “I think considering myself a modern-day miracle is even beyond an actor’s typical level of narcissism, don’t you think, Kyle?”

  He offered a silent chuckle and a boyish grin. “A fair point, Ms. Lockhart. Still doesn’t make me believe any less that you’re really something.”

  “Did Jackson put you up to this?” I still couldn’t believe he recalled all this without any help. “It’s okay to admit it. I’ll still be flattered you went to the trouble.”

  “No ma’am.” He beamed, still harboring just a glint of something, like he was keeping a juicy secret.

  “Spill it, Masterson.”

  “What?” He feigned innocence.

  I tried to suppress a smile, but didn’t say anything. Instead, I just stared him down.

  His face broke o
ut into an even wider grin, radiating a playful energy I found quite alluring. He gazed down at me and, after giving him my best flirtatious smirk, I knew he was ready to spill.

  “All right, have you ever heard of hyperthymesia?”

  I guess my blank face was his answer.

  “Right, well it’s the ability to be able to remember every moment of one’s life.”

  All of a sudden, I recalled something I had seen on 60 Minutes not so long ago. “Wait a second,” I interrupted. “Isn’t that the thing that actress Marilu Henner has?”

  His face lit up, and he seemed pleased I knew what he was talking about. “Yes! Exactly the same thing!” He paused, pondering something.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he started. “Just not used to someone actually hearing of it. You surprised me, and I’m a man not often surprised by much.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Really, how so?”

  I paused to consider before I answered. I wanted to make sure I phrased what I wanted to say the right way. “Let’s just say as an actor I study human behavior, like, constantly. If you do it for long enough, well enough, you realize after a time that most people are highly predictable. Even in supposedly spontaneous activities, like an improv exercise. Not quite the same as your superpower there, but I can relate on a certain level.”

  We both stood silently for a bit, each absorbing what the other had shared. It wasn’t awkward at all, but I suddenly had the need to return to shallower ground.

  “So you’ve obviously seen me in action, how about you? It’s obvious you’re not a mechanic or house flipper. What do you do?”

  That mischievous spark returned to his eyes. “What makes you think I’m not a grease monkey of some sort?”