Читать книгу Nothing to Hide - Isabel Sharpe, Isabel Sharpe - Страница 12

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“JONAS SAID, ‘TURN RIGHT on driveway after the big blue mailbox.’ Okay.” Sandra scanned the side of the road, her wipers going full power. Blue? She couldn’t tell blue from orange in the dark, and the rain wasn’t helping. Wait...there was a mailbox. Big, yes. Blue? She had no idea, but she was turning. Who would build a house out here in the middle of east bejeezus on purpose? Besides Bigfoot? She’d bet there wasn’t a decent slice of pizza or cup of coffee within fifty miles. Forget mani-pedis.

Her tires bumped and bounced, sending her swaying back and forth. Secondhand car—its suspension was already shot when she bought it five years earlier. Ahead of her, the road continued through the rain-blurred woods as far as her headlights reached. Lord have mercy, Jonas called this a driveway? No. Driveways were about fifty feet long with nice, smooth pavement.

She should have waited to drive up until the next morning, but she hated mornings. Getting up any time before ten required an entire pot of coffee. And when Gina, the “sick” friend Sandra had agreed to cover for tonight—she glanced at the car’s clock—make that last night, had made up with her boyfriend, she’d also miraculously recovered from her illness and could perform. Which meant Sandra was able to come early and surprise Jonas.

Lightning illuminated a clearing ahead. Thank you, God. Must be the place. Two cars were there already: the insatiable Erik’s and that of the very enticing and wonderful Jonas Meyer.

She didn’t entirely regret ending their sexual relationship—how many years ago now? Eight? Well, okay, sometimes she did regret it. He was hot and she was human. But it had been the right thing to do. She’d started having more than casual feelings for Jonas, had started seeing him as an easy rescue from her financial and personal struggles. The problem with that? Jonas hadn’t given up on true love yet, and as much as he adored her, she knew she was never going to be “the one.”

Three years after she cut off their contact, they’d bumped into each other and met up shortly afterward for such a nice lunch that they’d decided to stay in touch. He was probably one of her closest friends.

Ever since Jonas’s nasty breakup with that bitch Missy left him cynical and bruised, Sandra had been wondering if hooking up together permanently could still work out. They enjoyed each other. The sex had been great. They both liked kids. And, oh yes, his lovely money would make her life a hell of a lot easier. She was thirty-four and had just about reached the end of her tolerance for a life lived paycheck to paycheck. Not to mention she had next to nothing saved for retirement.

They’d joked about ending up together, but she had a feeling neither of them had been totally joking. Maybe this was the weekend to have a serious talk with him if the opportunity presented itself.

As she brought the car to a stop, the rain let up and visibility improved enough that she could see around her. Nice lake. Cute little cabin on the beach. Farther in, by the edge of the woods, the house. No, that couldn’t be it. Too small. There it was, nearly behind her. A mega-mansion, all lit up as if it was some kind of monument.

She took a moment to breathe and tamp down the pain inside her. Ancient history, honey. This life didn’t belong to her anymore, hadn’t since she left home and then her marriage. She had no one to blame but herself for losing it all, and no one but herself to rely on if she wanted it back now. Living hand-to-mouth had been a satisfying rebellion in her twenties, but not so much in her thirties. Afterward came the forties and fifties, when her appeal to men her own age would wane. God knew she wasn’t going to get rich performing, and she didn’t have the brains or patience to go back to school. If she wanted financial security, she’d have to start nailing him down now.

Practical, yes, but a bit sickening. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up in this situation when she’d marched defiantly out of her parents’ lives. Ah, the stupidity of pampered youth. Apparently she’d expected that money would just keep showing up, as it always had.

The rain started coming down harder again. She cut the engine, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and bolted for the mega-mansion’s front door before it decided to pour again. Peering up, she couldn’t see any lights on in the house, not that she expected to. Most people were asleep at this hour. Performers were a different breed.

Not wanting to wake anyone, she tried the door, even though she was sure it would be locked against the inevitable psycho with a shotgun who favored remote lake areas.

The door wasn’t locked.

Sweet Jesus, these Meyers were certifiable.

Making her way inside the house, she shut the storm out behind her, locking the door as any sensible person would, and found a switch that bathed the entry in warm light. Wow. Look at this chilly museum of a place. She tried to picture Jonas as a kid, probably not allowed to bring sand or candy inside. Feeling as if you weren’t welcome or didn’t belong in your own home sucked. She should know.

No wonder he leaned toward the conservative side. A place like this would beat the wildness out of anyone. It was a beach house, for heaven’s sake. Even her uptight parents decorated their place in the Hamptons with summery stuff. Nautical print rugs, painted buoys and model ships, seashell upholstery on the furniture, paintings of oceanscapes and sailboats on the walls. No big shock that Jonas wanted to sell. This wasn’t a house you fell in love with. He’d mentioned buying a place on Cape Cod. She could seriously get behind that concept.

Climbing the stairs, she heard a door open and saw a man stumble out into the hallway. Not Jonas. Erik, then. Drunk? Or sleepy?

“Hello?” She reached the landing in time to see him turn toward her voice.

Well. Jonas’s brother was adorable. Not that she was surprised, given his success with women. Kind of a more casual, blonder version of Jonas, carrying a few more pounds that softened him and made him seem more approachable. The kind of guy you’d slap on the back instead of shake hands with.

“I’m Sandra McKinley.”

“Sandra.” He blinked his baby blues in confusion. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

She spread her hands to say whatcha-gonna-do, adopting the South Boston persona she’d created for herself so long ago that it was nearly instinctive. “Tomorrow is today now. And I’m here.”

“What time is it?”

“Two a.m. Where’s Jonas?”

“Not coming until tomorrow. I mean today.”

“No, baby, he’s here now.”

“Hmm.” His eyes focused on her, his mouth twisted in a half grin. Cute. Definitely cute. A very boyish thirty. “Baby?”

“You don’t like it?” She shrugged. “I’ll call you something else.”

“Erik works.” He put his hands on his hips, looking swagger-confident in an old T-shirt and boxers. “I remember now, Jonas texted me about showing up early.”

“Uh-huh. Where does he sleep? East wing? West wing? North? South? How many wings you got in this place?”

He laughed easily. “The house too much for you, baby?”

“Not for me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing’s too much for me.”

“Well, well.” He took a step closer and pointed down the hall, fully alert now. Not drunk then, just groggy. “Jonas usually sleeps in the last room there on the right. I’m sure he’d love you to join him. If you want your own room, there’s one made up for you across the hall.”

She was only mildly surprised that he thought they were still lovers. Erik and Jonas weren’t the closest of brothers. And Jonas wasn’t big on sharing personal information.

“Thanks. Anything else I need to know?”

“Bathroom’s behind me on the left. No, your right. Towels are in the closet opposite if there aren’t any in your room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off her. “Should be a robe in your room, too.”

Sandra stared back, expecting him to drop his gaze. He didn’t. “What’s the matter, you never seen a woman before?”

“Thousands.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “But Jonas didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t tell you what?” She let her arms drop to her sides, sure she’d just handed him the opportunity for one of his favorite lines.

Here it came.

“That you were so beautiful. So exotic, like Salma Hayek. And so...” He gestured toward her body. “Beautiful.”

“Ah, I see.” She pretended complete nonchalance, but deep down she was pleased even knowing his reputation as a flatterer. “Should he have told you?”

“Maybe not.” Erik shrugged. “Most men would brag.”

“Jonas isn’t most men.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “So I keep hearing.”

Ah, sibling envy. Interesting, since Erik wasn’t exactly passed over when it came to handing out gifts. He had the looks and charm and was good at his job, too, from what Jonas had told her, as well as being a connoisseur of food and wine. But family dynamics didn’t thrive on logic. They often thrived in spite of it.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Erik. I look forward to getting to know you better this weekend.” She gave him a sultry smile because why not, and started down the hall, rolling her suitcase along, swinging her hips since she was sure he was watching.

“Oh, Sandra. Jonas might not be up here. Sometimes he sleeps in the cottage.”

“Cottage?” Sandra turned, smirking. “You mean that whole other house outside?”

He smirked back. “You got a problem with money, Sandra?”

“Only in that I don’t have enough, Erik.”

He chuckled, a laugh remarkably similar to his brother’s. “I like you. You’re not Jonas’s type at all.”

“No? Whose type am I?” When he just kept grinning, she and her suitcase turned back and started again down the hall. “See you in the morning, baby. Butler serving breakfast?”

“Yuh-huh. Seven a.m. sharp. You miss it, you don’t eat.”

“I’ll see what I can manage to—”

A frantic pounding came at the front door, then the sound of male laughter and a female squeal, followed by a cascade of giggles.

Sandra turned to stare at Erik, who stared back. “Expecting company?”

“It sounds like—”

The front door burst open.

“We made it.” Jonas’s voice, out of breath. “Thank God I remembered the extra key.”

“I’m soaked!” Unidentified woman’s voice.

Behind Sandra, Erik’s footsteps, approaching fast. Apparently that unidentified voice was now identified.

Sandra descended the curve of the staircase with Erik close behind. And there they were, Jonas and Allie, dripping wet, smiling at each other in a way that people who had only just met generally didn’t, and standing much closer than strangers usually did, even if they were very nearsighted. Which Jonas, at least, wasn’t.

Sandra’s heart contracted sharply. Jealousy, unwelcome and unwarranted. Allie was supposed to be Erik’s project up here. Jonas was supposed to be hers.

Above them, on the landing, her suitcase fell over with a loud thud.

Jonas and Allie looked up.

There was a brief and deliciously awkward silence.

“Sandra,” Jonas said cheerfully.

“Hello, Jonas,” she replied calmly.

“Allie!” Erik, mildly apoplectic.

“Oh. Hi, Erik.” Allie spoke too loudly, her tone a combination of guilty and giddy.

Well.

What an interesting weekend they were all going to have.

* * *

Text from Allie: Julie, you would not believe what happened tonight. It involves Jonas, me and a bed. Nothing actually happened, but it felt like it could have. People magazine knows nothing. This is the sexiest man alive.

* * *

ALLIE’S EYES FLEW OPEN. Morning. How early was it? She squinted at her watch. Nearly eight. She hadn’t slept well, not surprising after all the excitement the night before. Terror and titillation and tremendous awkwardness. She and Jonas had run out of the cottage, intending to head straight for the main house, but Jonas had grabbed her hand and swerved, leading them down to the lake. The rain really let them have it then, but instead of escaping, they’d sprinted, splashing, along the water’s edge, getting soaked and having a total, exhilarating, childish blast. Allie was a sucker for men who could play. After meeting Jonas in New York, as polished and interesting as he was, she wouldn’t have thought he had that in him.

Yum.

Back inside, breathless and laughing, they’d found Erik and Sandra sending them such icy looks she was surprised the water hadn’t frozen on their bodies.

A waste of their energy. Jonas and Allie’s fun had been entirely innocent.

Well, mostly innocent.

Okay, buried under a thick layer of sexual tension there had probably been a speck of innocence somewhere.

Sigh.

With the four of them there, together for the first time, it had been hard to know what to say to whom, how to frame their entrance, or whether to apologize for something they hadn’t really done. It was a complicated mess, with relationships among the quartet poorly defined all the way around. Were Jonas and Sandra really just friends? Had Erik really told his brother he had feelings for Allie? Did he?

Allie had no idea. The best thing to do was get up, have breakfast and start over. But first, she’d scramble out of bed and have a long look out the window—being careful not to leave smudges or fingerprints or shed skin cells on anything.

The morning was glorious. A cool breeze blew in through the screen and the lake sparkled in the sun, shining out of a cloudless sky. Ahhh, much better than the city, at least for this week.

She showered and dressed in black shorts with a peacock feather design—from the Artists & Fleas market in Brooklyn, her favorite source for relatively inexpensive secondhand clothing—and a simple white top. Minimal makeup. She wasn’t out to seduce anyone. Right, Sandra? Right, Erik?

At least she probably wasn’t.

Ready for the day, she wandered out into the hall, noting the still-closed doors. Nobody up but her? Erik had said breakfast was a free-for-all, that their house elf, Clarissa, would have stocked the kitchen and they could rummage around and grab whatever they wanted.

She was fine with that. In fact, it would be good to grab a bite and have a leisurely jolt of caffeine to fortify herself before she had to deal with anyone else.

Except...Jonas was already up, standing with his back to her, barefoot in the cinnamon-smelling, sparkling clean, nearly antiseptic kitchen. He was wearing a royal-blue T-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and khaki cargo shorts that emphasized the sexy shape of his ass.

“Good morning.”

“Hey, Allie, good morning.” He swung around, wearing a natural grin that made her relax. There might be lingering tension with Sandra and Erik this morning, but at least she had an ally. “How did you sleep?”

She debated whether to be polite or honest, and chose the middle ground. “Not too bad.”

“But not too good? Same here. Coffee?” He pointed to the pot. “I’ll pour.”

“Love some.” She perched on a stool by the huge kitchen island, thinking how much more welcoming and cute the cottage kitchen was than this stainless steel, white-countered bastion of state-of-the-art perfection. She would have loved to see the kitchen original to the house.

“Clarissa’s got fresh fruit for us and pecan cinnamon rolls. That sound okay?”

“I thought I smelled heaven. That sounds wonderful.” She accepted her mug and sipped gratefully. The brew was dark, rich and strong, just the way she liked it.

“I’m guessing Erik and Sandra will be asleep for a while.” Jonas pulled a pan of the fragrant rolls out of the oven. “They’re both night owls and late sleepers. So we’re on our own for a few more hours.”

“Okay.” She liked the sound of that, but not the concept of him being familiar with Sandra’s sleeping habits.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go kayaking on the lake.”

“Sure, I would love that.” Allie twisted her lips wryly. “At least I think I would.”

“You’ve never been in a kayak?” He asked offhandedly—not as if he’d never heard of anything so outrageous—and set out a plate and napkin for each of them.

“Nope.” Her family’s idea of summer water sports was to fight the crowds at public pools in Brooklyn, a fact she’d stopped admitting after her friend Melanie made a huge deal about how disgusting they were.

“I think you’ll enjoy it.”

She hoped so. And that she wouldn’t be completely inept. The women Jonas knew were probably all kayak experts. Sandra was likely a national kayak champion, though she didn’t look the sporty type. She seemed to be more of a city girl, like Allie, only more beautiful, more voluptuous, more exotic, probably more experienced in bed...

Ugh. She was tying herself up in knots. Julie accused her of overthinking everything, especially where men were concerned. Julie was undoubtedly right. Allie would do her best to think of Jonas’s interest in her as a different version of his brother’s knee-jerk flirtation, nothing to do with his feelings for her, personally. Because the more she fantasized them into a relationship the more it would hurt when he dragged Sandra into his bedroom tonight. The fact that he could turn Allie on by biting into a cinnamon roll would remain her little secret.

The fact that she could get turned on by biting into a cinnamon roll wouldn’t. “Oh my heaven, these are amazing. Does Clarissa make them?”

“She gets them from a bakery in town.” Jonas sat opposite her at the kitchen island. “They’ll have to build a cardiac hospital in Lake George if people keep eating them.”

“Worth it.” She licked buttery frosting off her lips. “A shorter life is a small price to pay.”

“You know I suggested kayaking without thinking.” He helped himself to a second roll. “Would you rather get started on the clothes in the attic?”

“Oh, no, there’s time for that.” Jonas was probably the only thing in the world more tempting to her than the contents of that attic. “Kayaking sounds fun. And I think Erik wanted to show me around...”

“Ah. Right.” He nodded abruptly and concentrated on his roll. “Absolutely.”

Allie put down her coffee. This warranted a discussion. “Do we have to get weird and tiptoe over who has rights to whom all weekend? I really don’t want to.”

“No, you’re right. We’ll keep it simple. You’re here with Erik. I’m here with Sandra.”

“Okay.” Served her right for bringing it up.

“But when they’re still asleep...” A slow smile spread over Jonas’s face. “We can cheat on them.”

Allie giggled, wilting into relief. “That’s exactly what I meant!”

“Don’t worry.” He finished his coffee and took his plate to the sink. “It’s not going to be a big deal. Sandra and I are friends...”

Allie jumped on his hesitation. “With privileges?”

“Not anymore.”

“She knows that?”

“Her idea. Years ago.” He turned back to Allie, not displaying any sign of discomfort that might indicate he was lying. “Last night was weird, but it won’t be that way going forward. Erik will calm down. It’s all good. We can hang out on kayaks with our consciences clear.”

She wasn’t totally convinced. Sandra had looked as if she could cheerfully tear Allie apart with her teeth. “Okay.”

“But only because kayaks don’t have beds in them.”

“Huh.” Allie shook her head at him, shame-on-you, and devoured the last of her roll’s buttery bliss. Kayaking was exercise, right? She’d burn off the calories of one roll paddling for only...twenty-five or twenty-six hours. And if she came back from this outing with Jonas and found Sandra and Erik upset again, that was it. She would make sure she and Jonas weren’t alone again.

The idea made her instantly miserable.

After breakfast, she and Jonas changed into their bathing suits, slathered on their sunscreen and met down at the boathouse where Jonas found water shoes that fit her and selected kayaks and paddles. He gave her a short lesson, which, while she was swinging the paddle around on the beach, made Allie even more certain she was going to be hopeless at this.