Читать книгу Just Friends To . . . Just Married - Renee Roszel - Страница 9

THE instant Jax opened his door she leapt at him. Womanly curves registered cruelly on every nerve ending her body touched. Arms encircled his neck and feathery kisses dampened and warmed his tensed jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, in pain. This wasn’t doing his vow to resist her any favors.

He inhaled, an unfortunate necessity, since her scent further degraded his declaration of resistance. He groaned inwardly, only half focusing on what she said between breezy kisses. With great reluctance, but undeniable desire, he en-folded her in his arms.

“Oh, Jax,” she said in a long sigh, her sweet breath tickling his chin. “It’s been too long.”

She clung, gifted him with light, beguiling jaw kisses as she spoke. “I’ve missed you so much.” She paused, smiled. Her green eyes glistened a bit too much, as though they were teary. Still, Jax found them to be the most breathtaking sight he’d seen in—well, for almost ever. At least since the last time he looked into them. His resistance crumbling, he smiled at her, hating himself but helpless against the depth of his feelings. “Hi, Kim.” He hugged her, fighting the urge to cover those full lips with his, show her exactly what brand of greeting he ached to give her. If she knew the immensity of his restraint, she would blush as brilliant as her auburn hair, dazzling in the porch light. “It’s—good to see you,” he said against her temple, meaning it. Damn him.

“Oh, Jax!” she said, her voice sweet but melancholy. He knew exactly what that meant. Another man had broken her heart. He tensed. “I hope you don’t mind my coming, but I really need you right now.”

Yeah, he thought, you need me right now. I need you every blasted minute of every blasted day. Naturally he didn’t say that aloud. Playing his part as the dutiful friend, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

She loosened her grip on his shoulders and drew far enough away to look into his face. Her smile, though tentative and tremulous, blew him away. If he were a man who cried in the presence of great beauty, he would be in tears. “Oh, Jax…” she whispered again, then bit her lip, the expression sexy as hell, though he knew she had no inkling. “Could we go inside? I—I’d rather not…” She indicated his front porch. Wide and deep, it held a couple of padded chairs on either side of a small table. Late September in Chicago could be nippy, and she wore no coat. “…I mean, it’s rather personal.”

“Sure.” That’s right, idiot. Do exactly what you swore you wouldn’t do. Face it. You have no will of your own where Kim is concerned. He released her and indicated her suitcase. “I’ll take that.”

Thanks.” She preceded him into his three-story condo. “The flight of steps to the porch almost killed me, lugging that bag,” she said.

“That’s the downside of stacking a fourplex of condos on one narrow lot. It makes the first floor the garage.” Kim grasped his hand as they came inside. He felt it too deeply and tugged free to wave toward the staircase, showing her the way to the bedroom floor. “I’ll take your bag to the guest room. You’ll probably want to freshen up.”

She gazed around his luxury condo, the dark granite surround of the fireplace, the earth tones, from the mossy suede couch, rust-dyed drapes, the punches of gold and red in throw pillows and accessories, to the sleek chocolate-glazed accent tables. “You have a nice place.” She faced him and smiled. “Fashionable, yet masculine.”

He shrugged. “I bought it furnished.”

She looked him up and down, then took his hand again. “Well, it’s very put together.” She squeezed his fingers affectionately. “So are you, by the way. I like the suit trousers and dress shirt. I’d call that look ‘casual elegant.’” She grinned. “Did you get all casual elegant for me?”

He shook his head. “I just got home and was changing when I got your message. Another minute and I’d have been a little too casual and a lot less elegant.”

She laughed. The musical lilt sent a sharp pain straight to his heart. “You mean you got my message minutes before I rang the doorbell?”

“‘Fraid so.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pout. “Then I’m disappointed. I thought you’d prettied up for me.”

He frowned as he always had when she put on a pout. Once again he removed his fingers from hers. “I prettied up for a client dinner.”

“Oh.” She clasped her hands before her and nodded. “I see. Well, I guess I can get over the blow to my ego.”

He scanned her from head to toe, admitting only the smallest fraction of what he thought. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked, “I presume you got all—” he wanted to say adorable, but thought better of it “—chic for me.”

She touched the collar of her pink linen suit jacket. “This thing? I flew from Vegas to St. Louis earlier today. Then when—” She cut herself off, swallowed. “Anyway, then I flew here. If I’m not a wrinkled, grimy mess, it’s a miracle.”

To him she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Since neither of us prettied up for each other, and our egos are sufficiently crushed, do you want to freshen up or talk first?”

She seemed to give the matter a moment’s thought. When her glance drifted to the staircase, he knew her choice before she spoke. “I think I’d like to take a good soak and get into sweats.” She looked at him, her expression one of hope. “Will you still be up?”

What could he say? He wanted to be asleep. He should be asleep. It had been a very long day. But he knew even if he blew her off and went to bed, he’d get no sleep tonight. Not with her in the next room. “Since when have I not been here for you when you wanted to talk?” he said. Why are you going to be here for her now? Are you that much of a glutton for punishment? he admonished inwardly, but he wasn’t listening to reason. He was too focused on Kimberly’s beautiful eyes.

“I’d have to say you’ve always been there for me.” She smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I’ll be down in a half hour.”

“Would you like something to eat.”

“I’d kill for some of your great pancakes.”

“Pancakes, it is.” He carried her bag up the steps, watching her as she moved ahead of him. Her long, slim legs hypnotized him. The slight sway of her hips transfixed him. The swinging bounce of her hair tormented him. He bit back an oath. When they reached her room he set down her bag. “See you…whenever,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

“See ya, Jax.” She hugged his neck and planted a kiss almost—but not quite—on his lips. She and her suitcase had disappeared before he could breathe again.

When he managed to turn away from her door, he ground out, “Blast you, Jax.” He headed downstairs. “You are the world’s heavyweight champion fool.”

Kim lounged in a tub of steamy water, her hair piled in a swirly heap on top of her head. Bubbly jets massaged her from all sides. Such luxury. Jax had come a long way since the days when he lived in the cookie-cutter tract house next door. She loved this bathroom. All marble and mirrors, and the guest room closet was huge. Empty and huge. Well, it was empty before she hung up her stuff. She sighed and inhaled the fragrant air. She could smell Jax’s cologne. Odd. Maybe it was in her hair. She reached up and tugged down a strand and sniffed. “Ah,” she said through a sigh. His scent lingered there. “You smell so good.” She inhaled deeply once more before stuffing the strand back up out of her face.

She closed her eyes and thought about him. How great he looked. Had she ever seen him in a suit before? She couldn’t recall. Though he didn’t have on a tie or suit jacket, he still looked very dashing, very GQ. And she liked his hair. She’d forgotten how shiny and soft and jet-black it was. With just a touch of curl. When it was slightly mussed, and an errant lock fell across his forehead, he gave off appealing, swashbuckling-pirate vibes. For a science geek, it was totally against type, but charming. His hair had been that way tonight. Slightly disheveled with a hint of “rogue pirate.” While the rest of his attire spoke of solidness, reliability and good character, that one curl screamed “sexy bad boy.”

She giggled at the absurd notion. The preoccupied nerd who won Science Fairs, who was valedictorian of his senior class and whose dog never ate his homework, a bad boy ! “Very funny,” she said aloud. She’d purposely dropped the word “sexy” from the “bad boy” image, since long ago she’d placed Jax in a category where sexy and sex and all its ups and downs had no place.

Suddenly restless, she decided she’d soaked long enough. Besides she could smell pancakes. She turned off the stimulating jets and rose from the tub, feeling better, at least physically. The delicious aroma of the pancakes reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, a cold muffin and bitter airport coffee as she ran for her flight.

“Jax,” she said as she toweled off with the softest, thickest navy terry towel she’d ever seen, “You are my rock. I love you.” She grimaced, stopped, then shrugged it off. “Of course you love him,” she said. “He’s your best friend in the world. You can say ‘I love you’ and not rock any boats.” She hung her towel on its bar and walked into a bedroom decorated in tasteful shades of green and beige. “Naturally, though, you probably shouldn’t say it to him.”

She didn’t know why not, really. It just seemed like going too far. Every man to whom she’d said those three words had eventually walked out of her life. “No,” she said. “That must never happen to me and Jax.”

A few moments later, dressed in comfortable navy sweats and a pair of thick athletic socks, she bounded down the stairs. “It smells good in here,” she called. “Where are you, Jax?”

“In the Lunar Module preparing for landing. Where do you think?”

She laughed, amazed that she could. “In the Lunar Module preparing for landing, of course. I keep up.” Around the corner from the main living area, she headed past a contemporary dining-room table and chairs. Beyond that she spied a door and walked through it into the kitchen where a small, round oak breakfast table and four matching chairs snuggled in an alcove before a floor-to-ceiling bay window.

Outside, Kim could see the light show of downtown Chicago’s high-rises. When she turned away from the scenery, she noticed the table set for one, and looked curiously at Jax. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he stood over a skillet. A platter sat beside the gas range piled high with pancakes. “Hey, how many of those do you think I can eat?”

He turned toward her. “You mean I can stop now?”

“You could have stopped about a dozen pancakes ago.” She plunked her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m attempting to keep my figure.”

He turned away and flipped the last pancake on the griddle. “Can’t say that I have,” he murmured.

“Gee thanks.” She took an extra minute to gaze at him. He was such a wonderful person, and he’d matured into a very handsome man. She couldn’t recall his shoulders being that broad, or his hips that trim. “Do you work out?” she asked, then registered she’d said it aloud. She snapped her gaze from his buttocks to his face just as he turned to look at her.

“What?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Making conversation. I asked if you work out.”

“Oh.” He nodded and turned away. “I hit the gym several times a week.”

“See, I can compliment you even if you can’t compliment me,” she teased. “You have a great butt.”

He glanced at her again, this time frowning slightly. “Thanks.”

She walked up behind him and slid her arms around his chest to hug him from behind. He felt solid. My good, solid Jax. She inhaled. My good, solid, great smelling Jax. “Isn’t it weird the way we can be apart for so long, but we get back together and it seems like we just saw each other yesterday? I don’t feel like I’ve been away at all.”

He said nothing for a moment then, “Yeah.” He sounded a little hoarse. After a few more seconds, he gently disengaged her hold on him. “Weird isn’t the word.” He turned off the gas and headed to the refrigerator. “Do you want butter, syrup, whipped cream or all of the above?”

Left alone facing the gas range, she made herself useful by taking the serving platter to the table. “Syrup and butter.” She pulled out the chair where he’d set a plate and silverware, then paused to glance at him. “Do you have any nonfat butter?”

A corner of his mouth lifted, but less with mirth than cynicism. “Yeah, sure.”

She shook her head. “Oh, fine. All my efforts will take a big nosedive if you feed me like I’m a two-hundred-fifty-pound trucker.”

“Your reservations were relatively last minute. Even I need a little time to tend to details like nonfat butter, if there is such a thing.”

“Okay, okay.” She sat down. When he brought the syrup dispenser to the table she took his wrist. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“I just ate.” He took an adjacent seat. His knee grazed hers but she didn’t move away. When he did, she experienced a stab of deprivation. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Jax seemed somehow different. Like he wasn’t completely thrilled that she was here. Oh, that’s crazy Kimberly, she told herself. He’s your best friend and you’re his. You’re just super-sensitive right now.

“I’m here to listen, remember?”

His prompt brought her back. She nodded. The reminder of why she’d come to him rushed back full force, almost overwhelming her. She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She stared at the platter of pancakes for a time, then picked up her fork and stabbed several, sliding them onto her plate. She spread butter over them and doused it all with syrup. With a quick, grateful smile in his direction, she picked up her fork, cut into the stack and took a bite. Delicious. Jax’s pancakes were so light and airy they melted in her mouth. She winked her approval at him, feeling less depressed. Upon finishing the first taste, she said, “You, Mr. Gideon, should be in jail.”

“What?” His brow crinkled. He looked so cute she felt a zing in the pit of her stomach. “Why?” he asked.

“Because, it’s a crime that you didn’t go into the pancake-making business. That’s why.”

He lay a forearm on the table and leaned toward her. “I think you’re stalling.” His expression was gentle, earthy brown eyes direct. “So tell me. What happened to get you up here to doom me to prison in the middle of the night?”

“It isn’t the middle of the night.” He might be right. She probably was stalling. But she didn’t intend to admit it, so she checked the kitchen wall clock and said, “It’s not even midnight.”

“Okay, so what got you up here at ‘not even’ midnight?”

She cut into the pancakes and took another bite. This time she had more trouble swallowing. Not because the food was any less delicious, but because Perry’s desertion loomed so large in her mind. The harsh image of that empty condo and the pile of rejected gifts hurt to think about.

Her meal blurred and she blinked back tears. Realizing putting it off would make the telling no less hurtful, she laid her fork aside, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Jax. “Okay, I thought I’d found Mr. Right. But when I got home from a business trip today, I found our place empty, except for a few shirts and other things I’d given him, in an insulting little lump on the bare floor.” She rushed through the story, not wanting to prolong it with whimpery details. “He left a note. Called me commitment phobic and—and…” She choked back a sob. If she planned to make it through without crying, she’d better hurry. “And…well, his rejection was out of the blue—and his so-called reason for leaving totally untrue. Just because I didn’t want to get married, doesn’t mean I wasn’t committed.”

She stared blankly at her cooling food, forearms on the table, every ounce of her attention attuned to the man whose opinion she held in the highest regard. He said nothing for a long time. So long, in fact, she cast him a sidelong look. He was frowning—thoughtful? Compassionate? Dubious that her argument had a leg to stand on? She couldn’t tell. “Gee, thanks, Jax. I’m all better now,” she quipped with false enthusiasm, hoping to prod him into revealing what hid behind that frown.

“He took your things, too?” he asked.

“My things?”

He nodded. “Your furniture, rugs, whatever.”

“Oh.” Why did he have to zero in on that one tiny inconsistency for her “commitment” argument. “Does my heart count?” she asked, wanting to impress upon him what was important here and what wasn’t.

She got a reaction. He winced a little. “Sure, it matters. I meant did he steal your things?”

“No, nothing like that. He left my clothes, the two framed prints I’d bought and a what-not shelf I took from my room when I left home.”

“That’s all that was yours?”

She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “So what? What are things? It’s the emotions of a relationship that matter, and my emotions were totally—committed.” Why did she falter on that last word? She had been committed to Perry and to their future together.

“Hmmm.” He nodded, his expression solemn. “But you didn’t want to get married?”

“What are you, a prosecuting attorney?” she asked, trying to keep things light so that his probing wouldn’t bug her. She didn’t want to be mad at Jax. “It’s not a felony to say no to a marriage proposal.”

He didn’t smile.

“Come on, Jax. Lighten up. My heart may be broken but I don’t need a transplant. Just tell me it’ll be okay and give me a hug and help me heal like always.”

He cocked his head, watching her. “So you came here for a hug?”

She broke eye contact, embarrassed and unsure why. Antsy, she picked up her fork and toyed with it. “Well…duh.” She ran the fork prongs through the melted butter and syrup, making a curvy row of lines from one edgeof the plate to the other. When she peeked at him again, she was serious. “You know my mother’s story, Jax. Marriage doesn’t guarantee anything. I thought we were fine the way we were. Why rock the boat with meaningless contracts and promises?”

“Apparently they weren’t meaningless to him.”

She hadn’t come here for an inquisition. “Since when did you join the debate team?” she asked, annoyed. “I need a friend—a hug—not a cross-examination.” Slapping her palms to the table, she bolted up. “Look, if you can’t see that he was in the wrong, then I made a mistake coming to you. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend. I’m only trying to get the whole picture.”

“The whole picture is I’m upset and I need you to be on my side. Be my friend. Tell me he’s a beast and I’m well rid of him.”

“Okay, he’s a beast and you’re well rid of him,” he dead-panned.

She crossed her arms and glared. “That’s a good start. Now let’s work on making it sound like you mean it.”

He eyed her silently, then said, “I am your friend, Kim. But a friend tells you the truth. If you want a yes-man then you’ll have to hire one. From me, you get honesty.”

“Is that so?” she asked, “Then how much would you charge to be my yes-man?”

“Stop kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.” She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She didn’t know why she was so agitated or why she was on her feet. Apparently her relaxing bath with all those yummy bubbly jets were no match for Jax’s disapproval, even if, at this stage, it was only a possibility on the horizon. She patted around on her hips as though searching for pockets. “I don’t have any money on me, but if I run upstairs and get ten bucks, would it buy me a ‘Perry is a big jerk and everything will be all right’?”

“Perry.”

“Huh?”

He seemed to have turned inward for a second. When she spoke, he refocused on her. “Nothing.” Appearing vaguely troubled, he worked his jaw. She wondered what he was thinking. After a second, he indicated her food. “Why don’t you eat, then get a good night’s rest. We can talk when you’re fresher.” He stood. “I think it would be best if I leave you alone for a while.”

She was so surprised and disconcerted by his abrupt decision to go, she couldn’t move or speak. She didn’t want him to leave. The whole point of coming here was to be with him. When she opened her mouth to say so, he stopped her by taking her arm and firmly guiding her back to the chair. “Sit.” With both hands on her shoulders, he coaxed her down. “Eat.”

Once sitting, she stared up at him. “But—”

“You’re tired. I’m tired,” he said, before she could go on. “I can see you’re in no mood to be rational.”

“Rational!” She started to stand, but he foiled her plan by placing a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Sit.” He shook his head at her. “Stay.”

She made a face. “I am not your dog.”

He exhaled heavily and turned away, mumbling something that sounded like “A dog would be less trouble and more affectionate.”

“What?”

He didn’t turn back, merely shook his head. “I said leave the dishes and turn off the lights as you go to bed.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

“Good night, Kim,” he called back, disappearing from view.

She glared at the empty kitchen door, fists balled. After a few seconds, she calmed down enough to realize he was right. She needed time and distance from this afternoon to be totally rational on the subject of Perry’s desertion. Jax was an expert on “totally rational” because if there was one thing Jax was, besides brilliant, it was rational.

She could hear his rapid tread as he jogged up the stairs two at a time. He was really going. “Hey,” she shouted. “What happened to my hug?”

Somewhere in the distance a door slammed.