Читать книгу Just Friends To . . . Just Married - Renee Roszel - Страница 11

FOR Jax the night became an endless roller-coaster ride. He got no rest, tossing, turning, pacing and glaring out of the window, then tossing and turning some more. He couldn’t bear to have Kim around, so near him, her scent driving him to distraction, her soft, radiant hair begging to be stroked. Her blasted need to be hugged, with those “best friend” pecks on his cheeks and jaw driving him crazy. Was it possible she didn’t know what she did to him? Or was she so narcissistic she needed to torture him to get her jollies?

He ground out a blasphemy. Of course, she didn’t know. He blamed his frustration and fatigue for such asinine thinking. Standing before his window, exhausted yet wide-awake, he peered at his watch. Illuminated by the rosy glow of dawn, its silver hands broke the bad news: 5:33 Heaving a weary groan, he decided he might as well go in to work. Yawning between mumbled curses, he went through the motions, his mind clouded by conflicted emotions.

He heard no stirrings from the guest room, so he quietly went downstairs to find the kitchen spotless. Apparently Kim hadn’t left the dishes after all. “Thanks for that, at least,” he grumbled. “You kept me up all night, wanting you, knowing I can never have you, but the dishes are clean.” Resentment spiked in him. The trade-off was light-years away from being even.

By rote he made his usual pot of coffee and filled his insulated travel mug. Before he left he scribbled Kim a note about being back around six, suggesting she relax and promising to bring home the makings for her favorite dinner. Taco salad. A favored meal would set a better tone for a frank discussion. Perhaps she might even be willing to admit her commitment phobia. Maybe she could begin to understand that if she ever wanted to have a lasting relationship with a man, she needed to deal with that first. If he did his job as friend and fixer well, one day Kim would find lasting happiness with some man.

Some other damn man.

He headed down the stairs to his garage, slid into his Jaguar coupe, and fired up the engine. “The irony is,” he muttered, “the one relationship she’s genuinely committed to is ours—so pathetically platonic it’s killing me.”

At six-thirty, he arrived at the high-rise office of Gideon and Ross, Business Productivity Consultants, to find his partner, Tracy Ross, already there. No great shock, since she practically lived in her office. Her door stood open, so as he passed by he crossed her line of sight.

“Hey,” she called, “I didn’t expect you for another hour. What gives? Problem?”

He didn’t want to air his “problem” with Tracy, but knowing her burr-under-the-saddle personality, he might as well come clean, or she’d poke at it until it bled. Tracy was an exceptional businesswoman and an able partner, but she was an equally exceptional snoop with an exceptional snoop’s radar.

He glowered at her. “Is it illegal to come in early?”

She grinned at him from behind her polished steel and Plexiglas desk. Tracy was a handsome woman with a close-cropped cap of naturally platinum hair and features made striking by exquisite bone structure. Designer half glasses perched on her slender nose. In heels she towered nearly as tall as he, which made her an intimidating six-three. She was as no-nonsense in business as she was classy in her choice of attire. Without any long-term, personal relationships and no interest whatsoever in the male sex, her life was her work.

Therefore, their business relationship was simply that, un-complicated by sexuality. They both knew that many of their clients assumed they were lovers. The premise amused them. In actuality, they were a well-oiled machine, moving up fast in their profession, with an outstanding reputation for competence and positive results. He respected Tracy, prized her business acumen, was comfortable with their relationship, except at moments like these, when a male partner would ignore an awareness of a problem or never detect one at all.

“It’s not illegal to come in early, Jax Man.” She removed her reading glasses and set them on the legal-size notepad in front of her. “If it were, I’d be a lifer.” She motioned for him to come in. “I brought muffins.”

He half smiled. Even as all-business as she was, there were times when she reminded him of his grandmother. “Homemade?”

“Naturally.” She shoved the open tin toward him. “These are not only delicious, they’ll add ten years to your lifespan.” As he approached her desk her grin faded. “Man, you look like twenty miles of bad road.”

Here it came. “Only twenty?” he asked, his tone sardonic.

“I was being generous. It’s more like fifty.”

“Ah, the truth,” he said, without smiling. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” She lifted the tin in his direction, as though it was imperative that he benefit from their life-enhancing sustenance. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Wrong.” He lifted his insulated mug.

She wrinkled her nose. To her, caffeine was poison. “You need a muffin. Did you even shave?”

He thought he had but he felt his jaw to verify. Instead of smooth skin he detected definite stubble. “Damn. I guess not.”

She set down the tin. “I’ve never seen you with a 6:30 a.m. shadow before.” Pausing, she assessed his new look, then shook her head. “I have to say, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being fantabulous, I give it a minus one thousand.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at her barbed assessment. “When you make up your mind about how you really feel, don’t hesitate to tell me.” He picked up a muffin and took a bite. For health-nut food, it was actually good.

“So what brings you here at daybreak with us workaholics? Or are you coming down off an all-night bender? Maybe you spent the night in jail for speeding around in that British playtoy you drive?” She eyed him critically as he finished the muffin and downed the rest of his coffee. “On third thought, after I left you at dinner last night, did our client, Derk, drug your coffee and have his way with you in the alley?”

Jax didn’t have to work hard to show aggravation. Frustrated and tired, he was in no mood for jokes. “A comedienne you’re not.”

She sat back in her jade-green leather chair and clamped her hands on the padded arms. “Okay, you tell me what brought you in here at this hour, looking like a hit-and-run victim?”

She didn’t know how painfully close to the truth her comparison came. Characterizing Kim’s connection to Jax as hit-and-run was horribly precise.

He propped a hip on the corner of Tracy’s desk, and broke eye contact to gaze unseeing out of the window. He glanced down at Lake Shore Drive. Bumper to bumper traffic snaked along as the morning rush hour kicked into gear. His gaze drifted across the greenbelt of parkland and trees to Lake Michigan, sparkling in the morning sun like a placid, inland ocean. “Kim’s here,” he said simply.

A silence filled the room that was so profound it had the effect of a shrill, protracted scream. Tracy remained uncharacteristically mute for a long time. Though their partnership started after he’d last seen Kim, Tracy knew about her—of her acceptance of him when others thought he was weird. Of her generosity, her warmth and her easy laughter that could brighten even the most awkward and alienated geek’s gloom.

Tracy knew being with Kim was like being home, to Jax. She also knew, with every date Jax went on with another woman, he tried to wash a bit more of Kim’s memory from his heart. Kim had been the warmth in his life, a warmth he still struggled to learn to live without.

“Oh,” she finally said. Right now he wished he’d never told Tracy about Kim. Hearing pity in her voice made him cringe. After another drawn-out silence, she asked, “Why now? After all this time when you’d almost…” She didn’t go on, but he knew what she meant. When he’d almost broken free of the hold she had over him.

He returned his attention to her face. She looked so sad for him he felt a tug of compassion and tried to shrug it off. “The usual. Another broken heart.”

“And you’re supposed to fix it,” Tracy said.

He grinned with bitter irony. “When she says she needs her Jax Fix, she’s usually talking about a heart overhaul.”

“Lord!” Tracy bent over and bumped her head on the legal pad, a prime theatrical bit. With her face on her desk, she covered the top of her head with her hands. “Now that I’ve heard everything, I might as well croak.”

He looked out of the window again, then back at his partner, so dramatically overwhelmed. “It’s what she needs,” he said quietly.

Tracy rolled to her cheek and frowned at him from her desktop-view. “What about your needs, Jax?” She sat up and lay her hands flat on the desk. “You’ve told me enough that I know it kills you to be with her, yet—not be…”

He appreciated her loyalty and sensitivity and reached over the muffin tin to lay his hand across hers. “You’re a good friend, Trace. And it is hard, but…” How did he put into words the horror that squeezed his heart at the thought of never seeing her again. Being with her was hell, but all the years he’d been without her had been worse. At a loss, he shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Tracy snorted. “If I had one measly dollar for every time I’ve heard that pruney old cliché from a friend in a one-sided relationship, my household staff would consist of France. ”

He squeezed her fingers and kidded, “Instead you can only afford to employ the population of little old Nebraska.”

She smirked. “Okay, laugh it off. But clearly the matter of our success doesn’t solve life’s problems because you—who could actually afford to employ all of France—look like you just clocked off a gritty, all-night shift in hell.”

He stood up. “Then I’d better go shave.”

“That would be a start, since looking the way you do, you’d scare the hirelings.” She flicked her wrist over to check her gold watch. “Speaking of whom, a few early birds will be arriving very soon.”

He nodded. “Point taken.”

As he walked away, she said, “I worry that she’s using you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Trace.” He left her office and headed toward his.

More than anything in the world, he wished Tracy’s impassioned misconception of Kim were true. If she really were that selfish, using him to salve her ego, he could make quick work of ridding himself of her. But she wasn’t, and deep down Tracy knew it. She knew Jax well enough to know he didn’t suffer fools or false friends easily.

Kim was one of the most giving people he’d ever known. She simply took their closeness for granted, like breathing. If anybody deserved to be blamed, he did. It wasn’t Kim’s fault that he didn’t have the guts or the heart to tell her how much her visits hurt. Being highly sensitive she would be wounded beyond repair to discover that the faintest touch of her hand could bloody his heart.

Kim heard the garage door open and knew Jax was back. That morning she was disappointed to find him gone. She’d hoped they could chat over breakfast. Last night she spent a lot of pent up energy going through his cabinets, planning a breakfast of veggie omelets, whole wheat muffins and her famous strawberry-banana smoothies. Hopefully tomorrow she could coax him to stay later, let her fix him breakfast, since he obviously consumed nothing this morning but coffee. She knew he had a busy life and she didn’t want to impose. Just because she had a little free time and a broken heart was no excuse.

But he was home now and she planned to make herself useful. He was wonderful to let her show up out of the blue, so she wanted to make her time there as pleasant for him as she could. Tonight they’d have taco salads a la Kim. She checked herself in the mirror over the dining room buffet then fluffed her hair and the neck ruffle of her silk blouse. She was almost as excited to see Jax as she had been to see Perry. For different reasons, of course. Jax wasn’t her lover. He was more important than a lover. He was, well, Jax.

She could hear footfalls on the back stairs that led up from his garage. When he came into the kitchen, she positioned herself in front of the kitchen table, arms wide. “Well, give, Jaxon! I’m starved. Lets get going on those taco salads.”

He carried a brown bag in each arm. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said, his smile half-cast.

She plunked her fists on her hips. “Well, naturally it’s good to see you. That goes without saying. I always adore seeing you.” She took one of the bags from his arms and gave him a smooch on the jaw. “Mmm, you smell good. What is that cologne?”

He walked to the stainless steel countertop and set down the other bag. “I think it’s called Badboy.”

She set her sack next to his. “Badboy?” Hadn’t she used that exact description while thinking about him last night? She noticed the wayward curl that gave him such a roguish quality dangling over his forehead. “‘Badboy is very appropriate.”

He’d begun to empty the groceries. When she made the remark he paused, glanced at her. “It is?”

She laughed at his dubious tone. Clearly he’d never thought of himself as a bad boy. She reached up and ran a finger along the errant lock. “That’s the bad boy look I love, right there. Such a deliciously delinquent curl. It makes you seem so…” She stopped, thought about it. “So…” The word “sexy” almost slipped out but she caught it in time and searched for a substitute word.

“So—what?”

Feeling oddly restless she lowered her hand from his hair and looked away, busying herself with the groceries. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Like a mobster or something.”

“A mobster?” He sounded doubtful. “A la Al Capone?”

She couldn’t help smiling and glanced his way. “Well, maybe a mobster’s accountant.”

He squinted at her, evidently not flattered by the comparison. Could she blame him? But she dared not admit that the misbehaving curl made him look like a sexy pirate. Such a remark would be blatant flirting, and—well, that’s not why she came to Jax.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “If we’re through discussing my hair, why don’t you finish putting this stuff away while I change.”

“Sure.” She avoided eye contact. “Take your time. Even better, let me fix the salads. You relax. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, I said I’d help. I’ll be right down.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He stilled. She couldn’t help looking at him and experienced a tingle of pleasure at the sight. His attempt at erasing the mobster curl had failed. “I have a secret ingredient,” he said. “Therefore you can’t do it alone.”

She cocked her head in playful challenge. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, appearing serious. “Just grate the cheese. Is that understood, woman?”

Clamping her lips together she fought a grin. When she could manage it without giggling, she said, “My, how masterful you’ve become.”

He indicated the cheddar on the counter. “Just grate. I’ll be right back.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Don’t let that mobster accountant thing go to your head.”

He turned away, headed toward the door. “You can’t un-ring a bell, sweetheart.” His voice mimicked the distinctive delivery of an old-time movie tough guy.

“Heaven help me,” she said, laughing. “I’ve created a monster.”

“No, a mobster’s accountant,” he corrected in the same tough-guy voice.

After he disappeared from view, she took up the cheese package and began to open it, grinning to herself. Jax could be so cute. Strange. She had a perfectly awful day, accented by bouts of crying and feeling sorry for herself. Then Jax shows up, and—bam!—sunshine streams in to warm her cold, old soul.

After dinner, Kim insisted they leave the dishes for her to do later. She took Jax by the hand, leading him into the living room to drink their coffee. When they reached the sofa she gently pushed him down, then took a seat, kicked off her sneakers and curled up on the far side. “Can we have a fire?” she asked, feeling better than she had all day. “I love the smell.”

“Sure.” He grabbed a remote off the end table and pressed a button. Instantly fire flared in the hearth.

“Oh—my—heavens!” She giggled, set her coffee on the end table and leaned over to run a hand along his biceps. “What a pioneer type you are. That must have been quite a strain.”

He lay the remote aside. “The wood fairy didn’t carry in that wood, you know.”

She smiled. “I’m kidding. Your place is awesome. Pushbutton fires, yet.” She lounged back, picked up her coffee, but continued to look at him. He’d changed into jeans and a soft, golden sweater that accented his torso nicely. Looking at Jax made her feel better, and she sighed. Then she had an amusing thought. “So your secret taco ingredient is taco seasoning, huh?”

He peered her way. “Yep.”

She laughed. “I hate to tell you, but your secret’s out.”

He frowned, faking shock. “No.”

She nodded, giving him a pitying look. “‘It’s true.”

“Damn. There goes my shot at a show on the cooking channel.”

She laughed, scanned his wayward bad boy lock of hair, his well toned chest, flat belly, solid thighs…” You work out, don’t you?” she said, surprised to hear the remark aloud.

He sat his coffee on the sleek, espresso-brown coffee table. “I told you that last night.”

How embarrassing. Not only because she had asked a second time, but because neither time had she meant to say anything out loud. She crossed her arms before her, pretending to be casual and conversational. “Oh? Must have slipped my mind,” she lied. “Well, it shows.” She winced inwardly. Had she lost the ability to think something without blurting it out?

His brow crinkled, as though he wasn’t sure how to take the remark. “Thanks.”

“Feel free to smile, Jax. I won’t tell.”

That remark provoked a bona fide glower.

She sat up, concerned, and scooted over to him. “What’s the matter? Have I done something to upset you?” She took his hand. “I know I’m a terrible disruption, and I was only thinking of myself when I burst in on you. All through dinner all I did was babble about Perry and my job. It’s been me, me, me, and you’ve been so good, listening and…” The sentence died as she had a distressing thought. “Heavens—it’s a woman, isn’t it?”

“What?” She’d clearly caught him off guard with that question. He stared, looking cautious.

“You have a girlfriend, and you think you have to neglect her while you baby me.” She grasped his hand with both of hers. “That’s it, isn’t it? Well, you don’t have to. I’d love to meet her,” she said. “I don’t want to screw up your social life. But that’s exactly what I’m doing. You want to be with her and you have to babysit me.” She felt terrible guilt. “I’m such a selfish—”

“No,” he interrupted gruffly. “You’re not a selfish anything. And there’s no other woman I’d rather…” He paused, cleared his throat. “I have no one serious in my life at the moment, so don’t beat yourself up for no reason. You know me well enough to know if I didn’t want you around I’d…” He paused, looked as though he had a troubling thought.

“You’d tell me?” she prompted.

He glanced at his coffee cup, picked it up and took a gulp, then set it down heavily. “Yeah—right.” After a second, he returned his attention to her face.

She showed her doubt by narrowing her eyes. “I don’t know that I do know that, Jax. I can’t remember you ever telling me to get lost as a kid. And I must have been an awful annoyance at times. A twelve-year-old kid tagging after a fifteen-year-old teenager.” She cuddled up to him, hugging his arm with both of hers. “You never, ever told me to get lost. How could I know you’d tell me to now?”

“I never told you to get lost?”

She smiled. “Never. I would remember because I’d have been crushed.”

He shifted his gaze to the fire. “Apparently I have a high tolerance for awful annoyances.”

“So you’re okay with me being here?”

He watched the fire without speaking.

“Jax?” she coaxed. “Did you hear me? Are you okay with me being here?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. He glanced at her and nodded, his smile brief but as welcome as the fire’s warmth. “Of course.”

“I’m glad.” She lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Doesn’t the fire smell nice?”

He didn’t respond. At least Kim wasn’t aware of any response. She was exhausted from the emotionally draining day. Stress had taken a toll, sapped her, and Jax’s nearness felt so comforting. When sleep beckoned, she floated toward it, entirely relaxed for the first time in…too tired…to think…

Jax sat motionless, almost not breathing. Kim’s scent coiled around him like a siren with no regard for the mortal soul damned to eternal loneliness by her flagrant yet innocent cruelty. Her breasts, pressed against his arm, burned seductively. His gut clenched with hot desire.

Steeling himself, he glared unseeing into the fire, its mellow, woody smell a poor second to the sweet essence of the woman cuddled there, unknowingly laying waste to his heart. After a mercifully short time, he could tell she slept by the low, even rhythm of her breathing.

To keep from waking her, he carefully disengaged himself from her grasp and lowered her head to a pillow. He covered her with a cashmere throw and turned off the table lamp. For a moment he couldn’t move, so captivated by the sight of flickering firelight setting her hair aglow. A glossy tendril fell across her cheek. With no capacity or desire to resist, he smoothed it away from her face, then kissed the freckled cheek where the curl had rested.

She stirred, sighed, the slight, throaty sound piercing his heart. Abruptly he straightened and grabbed his cup, then retrieved hers. He had two choices, either clean up the kitchen or ravage the woman he wanted desperately not to love. Gritting his teeth on a curse, he distanced himself from her before he did something unforgivably stupid.