Читать книгу All or Nothing - Catherine Mann - Страница 10

Gasping, Jayne sat upright in bed, jolted out of a deep sleep by … sunlight?

Bold morning rays streamed through the part in the curtains. Late morning, not a sunrise. She looked at the bedside clock: 10:32 a.m.? Shoving her tangled hair aside, she blinked and the time stayed the same.

Then changed to 10:33.

She never overslept and she never had trouble with jet lag, thanks to her early years in nursing working odd shifts in the emergency room. Except last night she’d had trouble falling asleep even after a long bubble bath. Restless, she’d been foolish enough to dance with temptation by talking to Conrad on a moonlit Mediterranean night.

He’d talked her into staying.

God, was she even ready to face him today with the memory of everything she’d said right there between them? The thought of him out there, a simple door away, had her so damn confused. She’d all but propositioned him, and he’d turned her down. She’d been so sure she would have to keep him at arm’s length she’d checked into the room on another floor. That seemed petty, and even egotistical, now.

He’d simply wanted the common courtesy of a face-to-face goodbye and he’d been willing to wait three years to get it. The least she could do was behave maturely now. She just had to get through the next forty-eight hours without making a fool of herself over this man again.

Throwing aside the covers, she stood and came face-to-face with her reflection in the mirror. A fright show stared back at her, showcased by the gold-leaf frame. With her tousled hair and dark circles under her eyes, she looked worse than after pulling back-to-back shifts in the E.R.

Pride demanded she shower and change before facing Conrad, who would undoubtedly look hot in whatever he wore. Even bed-head suited him quite well, damn him.

A bracing shower later, she tugged on her favorite black skinny jeans and a poet’s shirt belted at the waist, the best she could do with what little she had in her suitcase. But she’d expected to be traveling back to the States today, divorce papers in hand. At least she’d thought to change her flight and arrange for more time off before going to bed last night.

Nerves went wild in her chest as she opened the door. The sound of clanking silverware echoed down the hallway, the scent of coffee teasing her nose. He’d said they would spend two days finding peace with each other, but as she thought about facing him over breakfast, she felt anything but peaceful.

Still, she’d made a deal with him and she refused to let him see her shake in her shoes—or all but beg him for sex again.

Trailing her fingers down the chair railing in the hall, she made her way through the “man cave” living room and into the dining area. And oh, God, he’d swapped her elegant dining room set for the equivalent of an Irish pub table with a throne at the head. Really?

And where was the barbarian of the hour?

The table had been set for two, but he was nowhere to be seen. A rattle from the kitchen gave her only a second’s warning before a tea cart came rolling in, but not pushed by Conrad.

A strange woman she’d never met before pushed the cart containing a plate of pastries, a bowl of fruit and two steaming carafes. At the moment, food was the last thing on Jayne’s mind. Instead, at the top of the list was discovering the identity of this stranger. This beautiful redheaded stranger who looked very at ease in Conrad’s home, serving breakfast from a familiar tea cart that had somehow survived the “purge of Jayne” from the premises.

Jayne thrust out her hand. “Good morning. I’m Jayne Hughes, and you would be?”

Given the leggy redhead was wearing jeans and a silk blouse, she wasn’t from housekeeping.

“I’m Hillary Donavan. I’m married to Conrad’s friend.”

“Troy Donavan, the computer mogul who went to high school with Conrad.” The pieces fell into place and, good Lord, did she ever feel ridiculous. “I saw your engagement and wedding announcements in the tabloids. You’re even lovelier in person.”

Hillary crinkled her nose. “That’s a very polite way of saying I’m not photogenic. I hate the cameras, and I’m afraid they reciprocate.”

The photos hadn’t done her justice, but by no means could Hillary Donavan ever look anything but lovely—and happy. The newlywed glow radiated from her, leaving Jayne feeling weary and more than a little sad over her own lost dreams.

She forced a smile on her face. “I assume that breakfast is for us?”

“Why yes, it is,” Hillary answered, sweeping the glass cover from the pastries. “Cream cheese filled, which I understand is your favorite, along with chocolate mint tea for you and coffee for me.”

And big fat strawberries. All of her favorites.

She couldn’t help but dig to find out who’d thought to make that happen. “How lovely of the kitchen staff to remember my preferences.”

“Um, actually …” Hillary parked the cart between two chairs and waved for Jayne to sit. “I’m a former event planner so nosy habits die hard. I asked Conrad, and he was wonderfully specific.”

He remembered, all the way down to the flavor of hot tea, when he’d always preferred coffee, black, alongside mounds of food. As she stared at the radically different decor, she wondered how many other times he’d deferred to her wishes and she just hadn’t known.

Jayne touched the gold band around a plate from her wedding china. “I didn’t realize you and your husband live in Monte Carlo now.”

“Actually we flew over for a little unofficial high school reunion to see Malcolm’s charity concert tonight. Word is he’s sold out, set to take the Côte d’Azur by storm.”

They were all going in a group outing? She felt like a girl who thought she’d been asked to the movie only to find out the whole class was going along. How ironic when she’d so often wished they had more married friends.

“I have to confess to having a fan girl moment the first time I met Malcolm Douglas in person.” Hillary poured coffee from the silver carafe, the java scent steaming up all the stronger with reminders of breakfasts with Conrad. “I mean, wow, to have drinks and shoot the breeze with the latest incarnation of Harry Connick, Jr. or Michael Bublé? Pretty cool. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that evening gowns are being sent up this afternoon for you to choose from, since you probably packed light and it’s a black-tie charity event. But I’m rambling. Hope you don’t mind that I’m barging in on you.”

“I’m glad for the company. Not many of Conrad’s friends are married.” When Troy had come to visit, she’d wished for a gal pal to hang out with and now she finally had one … too late for it to matter. “And when we were together, none of his classmates had walked down the aisle yet.”

“They’re getting to that age now. Even Elliot Starc got engaged recently.” She shook her head laughing. “Another bad boy with a heart of gold. Did you ever get to meet him?”

“The one who was sent to the military high school after too many arrests for joy riding.” Although according to Conrad, the joy riding had been more like car theft, but Elliot had influential friends. “Now he races cars on the international circuit.”

“That’s the one. Nobody thought he would ever settle down.” Hillary’s farm fresh quality, her uncomplicated friendliness, was infectious. “But then who would have thought my husband, the Robin Hood Hacker, would become Mr. Domesticity?”

The Robin Hood Hacker had infiltrated the Department of Defense’s system, exposing corruption. After which, he’d ended up at North Carolina Military Prep reform school with Conrad. Malcolm Douglas had joined them later, having landed a plea bargain in response to drug charges.

Taking their histories into account, maybe she’d been wrong to think she could tame the bad boy. Was Hillary Donavan in for the same heartbreak down the road?

Shaking her head, Jayne cut into the pastry, cream cheese filling oozing out. “You’re not at all what I expected when I read Troy got married.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone less … normal.” She’d always felt so alone in Conrad’s billionaire world. She hadn’t imagined finding a friend like the neighbors she’d grown up with. “I seem to be saying all the wrong things. I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way.”

“No offense taken, honestly. Troy is a bit eccentric, and I’m, well, not.” She twisted her diamond and emerald wedding ring, smiling contentedly. “We balance each other.”

Jayne had once thought the same thing about herself and Conrad. She was a romantic, and he was so brooding. Looking back now, she’d assumed because of his high school years he was some sort of tortured soul and her nurse’s spirit yearned to heal him.

Silverware clinked on the china as they ate and the silence stretched. She felt the weight of Hillary’s curious stare and unspoken question.

Jayne lifted her cup of tea. “You can go ahead and ask.”

“Sorry to be rude.” Hillary set aside her fork, a strawberry still speared on the end. “I’m just surprised to see you and Conrad together. I hope this means you’ve patched things up.”

“I’m afraid not. The divorce will be final soon.” How much, if anything, had he shared with his friends about the breakup? “We had some final paperwork to attend to. And while I’m here, I guess we’re both trying to prove we can be civil to each other. Which is crazy since our paths will never cross again.”

“You never know.”

“I do know. Once I leave here, my life and Conrad’s will go in two very different directions.” Jayne folded her napkin and placed it on the table, her appetite gone.

She couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at Hillary for being nice and happy. And Jayne hoped deep in her heart that Troy would be the bad boy who’d changed for the woman he’d married.

She’d been certain Conrad had changed, too, but he’d been so evasive about his travels, refusing to be honest with her when she’d confronted him again and again about his mysterious absences. He didn’t disappear often, but when he did, he didn’t leave a note or contact her. His excuses when he returned were thin at best. She’d wanted to believe he wasn’t like his father … or her father. She still wanted to believe that.

But she couldn’t be a fool. He kept insisting she should trust him. Well, damn it, he should have trusted her. The fact that he didn’t left her with only two conclusions.

He wasn’t the man she’d hoped, and he’d very likely never really loved her at all.

This little fantasy two-day make-nice-a-thon was just that. A fantasy. Thank God, he’d turned her away last night, because had she fallen into bed with him, she would have regretted it fiercely come morning time. Her body and her brain had never been simpatico around her husband.

But she had a great big broken heart as a reminder to listen only to her common sense.

Common sense told him that keeping his distance today would give him an edge tonight. But staying away from Jayne now that she’d returned to Monte Carlo was driving him crazy.

Seeing her on the security camera feed from the solarium didn’t help his restraint, either.

But the secure room offered the safest place for him to hang out with a couple of his high school buds—Donavan and Douglas—who’d also been recruited for Interpol by Colonel Salvatore. The colonel had his own little army of freelancers drafted from the ranks of his former students. Although God knows why he’d chosen them, the least conformist boys in the whole school. But they were tight with each other, bonded by their experiences trying to patch their lives back together.

They’d even dubbed themselves “The Alpha Brotherhood.” They could damn well conquer anything.

Now, they shared a deeper bond in their work for Salvatore. For obvious reasons, they still couldn’t talk freely out in public. But a vaulted security room in his casino offered a place of protected privacy so they could let their guards down.

The remains of their lunch lay scattered on the table. Normally he would have enjoyed the hell out of this. Not today. His thoughts stayed too firmly on Jayne, and his hand gravitated toward her image on the screen.

Donavan tipped back his chair, spinning his signature fedora on one finger. “Hey, Conrad, I picked up some great Cuban smokes last week, but I wouldn’t want to start Malcolm whining that his allergies are acting up.”

Douglas scratched at the hole in the knees of his jeans. “I do not whine.”

“Okay—” Donavan held up his hands “—if that’s the story you want to go with, fine, I’m game.”

“I am seriously going to kick the crap out of you—” Douglas had picked fights from day one “—just for fun.”

“Bring it.”

“I would, but I don’t want to risk straining my vocal cords and disappoint the groupies.” Douglas grinned just like he was posing for the cover of one of his CDs. “But then, you’ve been benched by marriage so you wouldn’t understand.”

Some things never changed. They could have all been in their barracks, seventeen years ago. Except today Conrad didn’t feel much like joining in. His eyes stayed locked on the screen showing security feed from his place.

Or more precisely, his eyes stayed locked on Jayne at the indoor pool with Donavan’s wife. He couldn’t take his eyes off the image of her relaxed and happy. Jayne wore clothes instead of a swimsuit, not that it mattered when he could only think of her wearing nothing at all. She was basking in the sun through the solarium windows.

Donavan sailed his hat across the room, Frisbee style, nailing Conrad in the shoulder. “Are you doing okay, brother?”

Conrad plucked the hat from the floor and tossed it on the table alongside his half-eaten bowl of ratatouille. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know …” Malcolm lowered his chair legs to the ground again. “Maybe because your ex-wife is in town and you haven’t stopped looking at her on that video monitor since we got in here.”

“She’s not my ex-wife yet.” He resisted the urge to snap and further put a damper on their lunch. “Anybody up for a quick game of cards?”

Donavan winced. “So you can clean me out again?”

Malcolm hauled his chair back to the table. “Now who’s whining?”

Pulling his eyes if not his attention off Jayne, Conrad swept aside the dishes and reached for a deck of cards.

Between their freelance work for Interpol and their regular day jobs, there was little time left to hang out like they’d done during the old days. Damn unlucky for him one of those few occasions happened to be now, when they were all around to witness the final implosion of his marriage.

And what if he didn’t get one last night with Jayne? What if he had to spend the rest of his life with this hunger gnawing at his gut every time a blonde woman walked by? Except no woman, regardless of her hair color, affected him the way Jayne did.

No matter what he told his brothers, he was not okay. But damn it, he would be tonight after the concert when he lay Jayne back on that sofa and made her his again.

Jayne hadn’t been on a date in three years, not even to McDonald’s with a friend. How ironic that her first post-separation outing with a man would be with her own estranged husband. And he’d taken her to a black-tie charity concert on the Côte d’Azur—the French Riviera.

Although she had to admit, his idea of finding a peaceful middle ground had merit—even if he’d all but blackmailed her to gain her cooperation.

At least seated in the historic opera house she could lose herself in the crowd, simply sit beside Conrad and enjoy the music, without worrying about temptation or messy conversations. Malcolm Douglas sang a revamp of some 1940s tune, accompanying his vocals on the grand piano. His smooth baritone voice washed over her as effortlessly as the glide of Conrad’s fingers on her shoulder. So what if her husband had draped his arm along the back of her seat? No big deal.

In fact, she’d been surprised at how little pressure he’d put on her throughout the day, especially after their intense discussions, their potent attraction, the night before. Waking up alone was one thing. But then to have him spend the entire day away from her …

His amenability was good. Wasn’t it?

That niggling question had grown during the rest of the afternoon without him. Lunchtime passed and she started to question if she’d heard his offer of a date correctly. Except Hillary had mentioned it, as well. Then the staff brought a selection of evening wear in her size. She’d chosen a silver gown with bared shoulders, the mild winter only requiring a black satin wrap.

By the time Conrad arrived at their suite to pick her up, her nerves had been strung so tightly, she was ready to jump out of her skin. The sight of him in a tuxedo, broad shoulders filling out the coat to mouthwatering perfection, had just been downright unfair. All the way to the limo, she’d thought he would make his move, only to find Troy and Hillary Donavan waiting in the limousine, ready to go out to dinner with them before the concert. But then hadn’t Hillary said Troy and Conrad were having some kind of reunion?

The evening had been perfect.

And perfectly frustrating.

Conrad’s thumb grazed the sensitive crook of her neck, along the throb of her pulse. Did he know her heart beat faster for him? Her breath hitched in her throat.

Hillary leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Wincing, Jayne resisted the urge to shove Conrad’s arm away. “I’m fine, just savoring.”

Savoring the feel of Conrad’s hand on her bare skin.

Damn it.

He shifted in his seat, his fingers stroking along the top of her arm and sending shivers along her spine. She struggled not to squirm in her seat and draw Hillary’s attention again. But that was getting tougher and tougher to manage by the second. He had to know what he was doing.

Still, if he’d been trying to seduce her, he could have been a lot more overt, starting with ditching the other couple. Her mind filled with vivid memories of the time he’d reserved a private opera box for a performance of La Bohème and made love to her with his hand under her dress.

Only one of the many times he’d diverted an argument with sex.

Yet now, he turned her down. Why?

The lights came up for intermission, and Conrad’s arm slid away as he applauded. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.

He stood then angled back down to her. “Do you and Hillary mind keeping each other company while Troy and I talk shop? He’s developing some new software to prevent against hackers at the casino.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She’d given up the right to object when she’d walked out on him three years ago. Soon, their breakup would be official and legal.

“Thanks,” he said, cupping her face in a warm palm for an instant before straightening. At the last second, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even more beautiful than the night we saw La Bohème.”

Her mouth fell open.

The reference to that incredible night had been no accident. Conrad had known exactly what he was doing. No doubt, her savvy husband had planned his every move all day with the express purpose of turning her inside out. The only question that remained?

Had he done so just for the satisfaction of turning her down again? Or did he want to ensure she wouldn’t back away at the last second?

Either way, two could play that game.