Читать книгу Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart - Страница 11

The sky over Los Angeles was streaked with lavender and orange, the smog thickening the sunset into iridescent stripes. Jilly sat on the steps leading down into the tangled garden, an icy bottle of beer in her hand, waiting for Coltrane.

She had no idea what he was doing in the house. He said he’d needed to use the bathroom, and she could hardly dispute it. Nor could she wait outside the door of the ornate powder room with its pink swans and gilt faucets for him to reappear. She went back to the kitchen, took two beers and headed out for the terrace.

Not that she wanted to encourage the man. But it had been a long day, and she needed something from him. She was refusing to go out with him—she could at least offer him a beer without compromising her position.

What could he be doing in there, besides the obvious? Surely she was being paranoid—what possible interest could a stately old wreck like La Casa have for a man like him?

Her beer was half gone by the time he appeared. He’d taken off his jacket, his sleeves were rolled up and his tie was off. His streaked blond hair was rumpled, and he looked good enough to eat. Jilly ignored him.

“I don’t suppose you have another beer, do you?” He leaned against the balustrade.

She handed it to him without a word, and he took a long swig of it. She watched the line of his throat, the condensation dripping off the bottle onto his skin, and she turned to concentrate on her own beer.

“So, what are we going to do about your brother?” he asked in a casual tone.

She glanced up at him. “You wouldn’t feel like quitting your job and going back to New Orleans, would you?”

“You’ve been checking up on me.” He sounded faintly pleased, and she could have kicked herself.

“I believe in knowing one’s enemy.”

“I’m not your enemy, Jilly,” he said softly.

“Anyone who threatens my brother is my enemy.”

“That’s going to keep you pretty busy. Your brother threatens easily. Why don’t you let him take care of his own business? If he thinks your father doesn’t appreciate him then he should tell him so.”

“Oh, Jackson would just love that,” she muttered. “He’d probably tell him to stop whining.”

“Dean does whine,” Coltrane observed.

She glared at him. She was at somewhat of a disadvantage sitting at his feet, but she wasn’t about to move. She didn’t want him down on her level, either—she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to save him,” Coltrane said. “He’s going to have to pull his head out of his computer and deal with life himself.”

Jilly jerked her head around. “I could help if you’d just stop…stop…”

“Stop what?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Stop being the paragon. Maybe screw up now and then. It’s hard for Dean to compete with you around as the golden boy.”

Coltrane looked out over the lawn, an odd expression on his face. “I suppose I’ll just have to be less golden.” He glanced down at her. “What do you really want me to do? Short of packing my bags or absconding with the company’s assets, I’m at your disposal. You want me to have your father transfer some of the biggest accounts over to him? I can tell him I’m overloaded and need some help. I can tell him your brother’s the best man for the job. I have no trouble lying.”

“You’re not very nice, are you?”

“Nope. I ordered some pizza. There’s a place near here that delivers New York-style pizza that can make a grown man weep. I got enough in case your sister comes home.”

Again she felt that extra shot of unease wash over her. “Why are you so curious about my sister?”

“I told you, I’ve heard stories.”

“Don’t believe the half of them. And I don’t like pizza.”

“You’re not nearly as good a liar as I am.”

It was true, she’d never been good at lying. “Maybe I don’t need your help. Maybe all Dean has to do is stand up to Jackson.”

Coltrane shrugged. “It’s possible. Did it work for you?”

“What makes you think I stood up to him?”

Coltrane merely smiled, draining his beer and setting the bottle down on the stone railing. “Did it work?” he asked again.

“No. Jackson likes his children docile.”

“Dean’s practically a doormat, and Jackson doesn’t seem any too fond of him,” Coltrane said. “There’s our pizza.”

She hadn’t even noticed the young man coming up the walkway, but the sudden rich aroma of tomato sauce and cheese wafted toward her, and her stomach leapt. She watched as Coltrane traded the pizza for cash, trying to school her wayward stomach.

He came toward her, carrying the box, and Jilly kept a stalwart expression on her face. “Real New York pizza,” he said in a seductive voice. “No sprouts, no broccoli, no goat cheese or tofu. Do you realize how rare this is?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. She could resist a man that gorgeous, she knew she could. Real pizza was another matter.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

“Of course not. But then, neither am I. I’m afraid I have to leave.”

She almost dropped her empty beer bottle. “Leave?” she repeated idiotically.

“I know it breaks your heart, but something’s come up. We can talk about your family later. Maybe your sister might have an idea how we can help Dean. In the meantime, why don’t I just leave the pizza here? Even if you don’t like it maybe your ghosts would.”

“I doubt it.”

“Or maybe you’ll consider trying it. Have you ever even had an honest-to-God real Italian pizza in your upscale California life?” His words were gently mocking.

“I went to Princeton,” Jilly said. “They have great pizza in New Jersey.”

“But you don’t like pizza, right?” He set the box down on the step beside her, then moved away. “Think about what I said. Sooner or later your brother will have to fend for himself. Did he even ask you to go to your father?”

“Not in so many words, but…”

“I rest my case. He doesn’t want you interfering. The more you try to fix things for him the worse things will get.”

“Hi, my name is Jilly and I’m a codependent,” she said flippantly.

“If you want my help you know where to find me.”

She waited until he’d disappeared down the pathway beneath the overgrown trees, waited until the sound of his car faded away. Waited until the smell of pepperoni and cheese got too tempting, and then she tore into the box. Much good she was against the forces of darkness, she thought, dreamily shoving the pizza in her mouth. He was right—it was great pizza. She could stand firm against any onslaught and then be seduced by food.

“What are you eating?”

Jilly jumped, startled, and looked up at her sister. Rachel-Ann looked pale, sad and as beautiful as always, with her gorgeous pre-Raphaelite curls and her huge green eyes.

“Pizza,” Jilly replied, her mouth still full. “The best pizza I’ve had in decades. Have some.”

“I’m not hungry.” Despite her words Rachel-Ann sat down on the steps beside Jilly and took the slice she offered. She stared at it for a long moment, as if she’d find the answers to the secrets of the universe in the thick topping. “Besides, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Take the pepperoni off. I’ll eat it for you,” she offered generously.

Slowly, almost automatically Rachel-Ann picked off the circles of pepperoni and dropped them in the box. “Where did you get this? You’re usually too cheap to call for take-out.”

Jilly didn’t even bother to correct her. Due to the complicated terms of Julia Meyer’s will, the three siblings had possession of La Casa on equal terms, with money to support it. Rachel-Ann had gone through her share of the money in a record amount of time, but then, cocaine was an expensive habit. Jilly had no idea how much Dean had left, but she expected it wasn’t much. Certainly neither of them contributed a penny to the massive upkeep of the old place. “It’s my Scots blood,” she said cheerfully. “And I didn’t pay for it. Jackson’s golden boy had it delivered.”

“Really?” Rachel-Ann’s interest perked up, and she took a tentative bite of the pizza. Her eyes closed in a moment of luxuriant bliss. “Is he as gorgeous as they say he is?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sleeping with him?” She seemed no more than idly curious.

“No. I’ve been here every night, alone. You would have noticed if I was having an affair.”

“I don’t pay much attention to those things,” Rachel-Ann said, taking another bite, and Jilly had to concede she was right. Rachel-Ann barely noticed if it was raining or sunny, she was too caught up in the foggy world she was battling to escape. Other people tended to flit through her life unnoticed. “Mmm,” she said. “If he can provide pizza like this maybe I’ll sleep with him.”

For some reason Jilly found the notion deeply disturbing. It wasn’t as if her sister didn’t go through men like a hay-fever sufferer went through Kleenex, and while she’d remained celibate since she’d gotten out of treatment this time, it was unlikely to last. At least Coltrane would be a safer choice than some of the ones Rachel-Ann had made in the past. He wasn’t a drug dealer or an addict, as far as Jilly could tell. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said in a neutral voice. “I think he’s dangerous.”

Wrong words, Jilly thought, when Rachel-Ann’s eyes lit up with a trace of their old spark. “Dangerous, gorgeous and he brings pizza? How irresistible.”

“Resist him,” Jilly said sourly.

At least Rachel-Ann didn’t bother being coy. There was no question that Coltrane would want her—most any man did. And already he’d seemed far too interested in her older sister. It was fairly easy to guess why.

It was common knowledge that Rachel-Ann was Jackson’s favored child. An ambitious man would use that to his advantage. Jackson was clearly disappointed in his own son—maybe he needed a smart and devoted son-in-law to inherit the business. And it didn’t hurt that Rachel-Ann was sweet, beautiful and deeply wounded. She’d be dead easy to manipulate. Jackson was a past master at it, and Jilly had already seen enough of Coltrane to know he had a natural talent for it, as well.