Читать книгу Sweet Trilogy - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 20

CLAIRE WAITED on an old bench by the wall until Jesse walked out. Her sister was pale and looked as if she’d been crying. Claire stood, not sure what to say or what she wanted her sister to say. When nothing came to mind, she turned and led the way to the car.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said when they were pulling out of the parking lot.

“That’s the first time I’ve bailed anyone out of jail.”

“It’s the first time I’ve been in jail. I can’t believe she had me arrested. I never thought she’d do that. She’s supposed to love me.”

Jesse began to cry.

Claire was torn. While she sympathized with Jesse’s pain, she felt she was more comfortable siding with Nicole on this one. Jesse had crossed the line too many times.

“What did you think she would do?” Claire asked.

“Yell at me.”

“You stole the recipe and you’re selling Keyes cakes on the Internet. Yelling is usually reserved for things like violating curfew.”

Jesse turned to look at her. She brushed away her tears. “How could I steal it if I’m a Keyes, too? Dad left half the bakery to me. Isn’t that recipe half mine?”

“If that’s the best excuse you’ve got, you’re in serious trouble. Where am I taking you?”

“Home.” Jesse gave her the street address, which Claire plugged into the nav system. “I don’t get the big deal. I was making some money off the cakes. So what? It’s not like I had a job after Nicole threw me out.”

Claire couldn’t believe it. “Did you expect Nicole to keep you at the bakery after what you did with Drew? Don’t you take responsibility for anything?”

“I have to take care of myself. I’ve already told you, none of this is my fault. Nicole won’t listen to me. Whatever I say isn’t going to be good enough. I’m going to be punished forever. Nicole is never going to forgive me.”

“That’s her decision, but even if it’s true, that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to steal the cake and then sell it like that.”

“I wasn’t stealing,” Jesse repeated stubbornly. “What was I supposed to do? She threw me out of my home. I had nowhere to go. I’m living in a shitty little studio apartment, renting space from a restaurant from three in the morning until ten. I bake cakes and yes, I’m selling them. Big deal. All my customers are out of state anyway. I’m not taking anything from the bakery.”

“What about what you’re taking from Nicole?”

Jesse looked out the side window. “Now you’re taking her side in this. Figures.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. There are no sides. There’s only us—three sisters who can’t seem to get along.”

“You and Nicole are getting along. That should be enough for you.”

“I’m not taking sides,” she repeated. Not exactly.

“It seems like you are. I don’t care. I don’t need either of you.”

Claire felt both sad and frustrated. How could Jesse not see the problem with what she’d done? On the heels of sleeping with Drew, it was only making a bad situation worse.

“Why do you want to keep hurting Nicole?” Claire asked. “I thought you cared about her.”

Jesse folded her arms across her chest. “I do care about her. But I don’t have any other choices.”

“Not much of an excuse.”

Jesse turned on her. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I’m going through. Matt found out about the whole Drew thing and he won’t listen, either. I know I screwed up before, but this is different.”

It didn’t sound all that different, Claire thought grimly. “I know you’ve made some really bad decisions and you’re doing your best to avoid the consequences.”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything. You have everything and I have nothing. You don’t have any right to come back here and tell me what to do.”

Jesse opened the car door and got out. Claire stopped the engine and followed her. They hadn’t even left the police parking lot. Couldn’t they at least go a couple of miles before a blowup? “Jesse, don’t.”

Jesse turned to her. “Don’t what? Don’t get in the way? Don’t be a screwup? All my life I’ve created trouble for Nicole. I’m the reason she couldn’t do what she wanted to do. I’m why she couldn’t leave Seattle or go away to college or any of that stuff. You think I don’t know that? You think it makes me happy?”

“Then why do you keep hurting her?”

“I’m not,” Jesse screamed. “Go away. Just go away.” She started walking. “Wait. I’ll take you home.”

“I can take the bus. I’ve done it before.” Jesse pulled her coat around her and walked across the street to the bus stop. Claire returned to her car. What was she supposed to do now? She had no experience with situations like this. Should she demand Jesse get in the car? It wasn’t as if she could force her. Before she could come up with a plan, a bus pulled up and Jesse climbed on. Claire watched her go, wondering how they’d all come to this and what hope there was to ever getting it right between the three of them.

“AMY’S GOING TO SPEND the night with us Friday,” Nicole said at breakfast the next morning. “It’s time for Wyatt’s annual self-flagellation.”

“What are you talking about?” Claire asked.

“Every year, on the anniversary of Shanna leaving, he gets totally drunk and reminds himself why his romantic relationships never work out. It’s a guy thing, because it makes no sense to me. Fortunately he doesn’t want Amy to see any part of the event, so I take her and when he’s sober, he comes to get her. It’s become a tradition.”

“Sounds like a fun girls’ night,” Claire said. “Why does he have to get drunk to deal with his past?”

“Not a clue.”

Claire didn’t think she could ask Wyatt about that kind of thing yet, though they’d been out a couple more times and each date had been better than the one before. She’d wondered why he hadn’t asked her out for this weekend and now she knew why. But she didn’t know how much he still cared about Shanna or why he hadn’t told her about the annual night of drinking and solitude.

“You don’t think he’s still in love with her, do you?” she asked.

Nicole sipped her coffee. “Not even for money. That was over years ago. This is more about what he thinks about himself. He swears he comes from a long line of men who screw up relationships. Based on my brief but disastrous marriage to Drew, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Claire didn’t bother pointing out that Drew was only Wyatt’s stepbrother.

“We’ll have a good time with Amy,” she said. “What about a movie fest? We could go rent some DVDs.”

“Good idea. Wyatt normally takes a couple of days to get over his bender, but I think he’ll surface more quickly this time.” Nicole grinned. “He’ll want to see you.”

“Maybe,” Claire said, hoping it was true.

She was intrigued by the idea of a drunk Wyatt. Didn’t men want to have sex when they got drunk? She’d seen it in hundreds of movies. So far, while their dates had been fun, the physical side of the relationship hadn’t progressed at all. They were kissing and kissing, but nothing else. She knew he didn’t know she was still a virgin, so that wasn’t the reason he was holding back. Was he just being a gentleman?

If he was, didn’t that make him a nice guy? Would it be wrong of her to take advantage of him while he was drinking?

The phone rang. Nicole reached for it. While her sister was talking, Claire walked up to her room and pulled her to-do list out of her drawer.

Have sex was right there, near the top. She desperately wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man. Wyatt had flat out told her he wanted to have sex with her. She was simply considering manipulating circumstances to her advantage. Who would that hurt?

BY TEN THAT NIGHT, both Amy and Nicole were in bed. Claire had spent the afternoon trying to find something sexy to wear over to seduce Wyatt. She’d wanted to be appealing, but not obvious. There was also the issue of having to drive over to his house in whatever she chose, so lingerie was out of the question.

She’d settled on tight jeans, shoes she could slip out of and a low-cut sweater. Underneath, she had on matching bra and panties in pale pink silk.

It felt strange, dressing to seduce a man—probably because she’d never done it before. Would Wyatt be critical of her choices? Was she overthinking the process?

Unable to decide, she left her room and crept downstairs. She wrote a note and propped it against the coffeemaker, the one place Nicole was sure to look in the morning, and kept the wording vague enough that if Amy read it, as well, she wouldn’t know what was going on. Then Claire went to her car and drove over to Wyatt’s.

On the way, she tried to rehearse what she was going to say. Nothing sounded right. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to speak at all.

She got to his house and had just pulled in the driveway before she realized that while she was nervous, she wasn’t freaked. She had butterflies in her stomach but no impending sense of doom. No panic attack.

That had to be good, she told herself as she walked up to the front door and rang the bell. At least there were still lights on. She’d been worried about waking him.

He answered fairly quickly. “Claire?”

“Hi, Wyatt.”

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. I thought you might like some company.” She pushed past him and walked into the house. He closed the door and followed her into the family room.

Here she could see evidence of his party for one. There was a half-empty pizza box and a bottle of Scotch on the coffee table. The glass next to it was nearly empty.

She turned around and smiled. “How are you?”

He put one hand on the counter, as if he needed help balancing. Other than that, he didn’t seem drunk. Had Nicole been exaggerating or had he gotten a late start?

“I’m okay,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I thought you might want company.”

His eyes were slightly dilated. But she didn’t know all that much about drinking. She never partied and her big indulgence was an occasional glass of wine.

“Tonight’s not good for me,” he told her. “I’m not at my best. You should probably go.”

“You don’t have to entertain me,” she said. At least not in the way he would think she meant.

She walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. Now she could smell the liquor on his breath, but it wasn’t icky. She leaned in and kissed him.

Wyatt responded right away, kissing her back with an intensity that delighted her. This was going to be easier than she’d hoped. Then he pulled back.

“Not a good idea,” he muttered. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

“It seems like a great idea to me,” she murmured. “Come on, Wyatt. What’s the harm?”

She kissed him again, this time brushing his bottom lip with her tongue. He put both his hands on her waist and groaned. When she leaned into him, she felt the hard planes of his body and something pressing against her belly—something she desperately hoped was an erection.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her with enough intensity to set them both on fire. They circled and teased, even as his hands roamed over her body. He touched her back, her hips, then slid his hands down her rear and squeezed.

She arched against him, pressing against that intriguing ridge. This time he rubbed against her, making her almost totally sure he was aroused. That had to be good, didn’t it? She was one step closer to being just like everyone else.

He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Without warning, he stepped away and pulled her sweater up and over her head. Then he just stared at her.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he muttered. “Better than I imagined.”

He’d been thinking about her? Being with her? Was that possible?

She shivered in anticipation and maybe a little from nerves. He kissed her again and at the same time, reached behind her. Suddenly her bra was loose.

Although she’d long since left her comfort zone, she let it drop to the floor. He cupped her breasts in both hands and, still kissing her, began to explore her sensitive flesh.

He brushed her nipples with his thumbs. He stroked her curves. When he broke their kiss, it was to bend down and lick her right nipple.

It was as if someone had zapped a nerve that went all the way from her breast to that place between her legs. She jumped, then grabbed him by the head to hold him in place.

“More,” she breathed.

He chuckled, then obliged her. He moved between her breasts, licking, sucking, making her feel things so exquisite, she didn’t know how she would survive if he stopped. Then he did stop. But before she could protest, he’d dropped to his knees and was pulling her down with him.

They were on the rug in front of the coffee table, his leg between hers, kissing, with him pressing his thigh against her center. He braced himself with his hands so he was on top of her, but not crushing her. They were both being swept away. At least that’s what she tried to believe.

Claire did her best to give herself over to the experience. This was everything she’d wanted—at least that’s what she told herself. But the truth was, she’d hoped for more than the floor in the family room. She wasn’t exactly comfortable and she felt kind of exposed, as if anyone could walk in on them. Besides, now that he’d stopped kissing her breasts, she was able to think and that couldn’t be good.

Not sure how to explain she was uncomfortable without giving away the truth, she didn’t say anything. When Wyatt unfastened her jeans and tugged them off, she was okay with that. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her shoes, which was also fine. Then he bent over her and drew her nipple into his mouth again. At the same time, he slipped his fingers between her legs and began to explore her.

While she liked what he was doing, she had the sense that everything was going too fast. The sensations were good, but she couldn’t seem to get lost in them. Her stupid brain kept asking questions. Did she really want to do this right now? Here? With him drunk? They barely knew each other and—

He brushed against one spot between her thighs. A single cluster of sensation that, had she been standing, would have brought her to her knees. Her brain went totally blank.

It was as if he’d found the feel-good switch and turned it on.

He touched that place again and she groaned. The third time she wanted to know exactly what she had to promise so that he would never ever stop.

She breathed his name. She closed her eyes and felt herself sinking into the floor. It was perfect, the way he circled and brushed and rubbed.

Teasing at first, getting close, then moving away. A single stroke, then more, deeper, faster, over and over again. Her muscles tensed. She pushed toward something… anything. She desperately wanted to get what all the fuss was about.

Her breathing quickened. She parted her legs, offering herself to him. Closer, she thought, pushing and tensing and hoping that—

He stopped. He actually stopped. She opened her eyes, assuming something horrible had happened to distract him. Maybe the house was on fire or something.

He gave her a quick kiss. “Can you finish with me inside of you?”

“I, ah, don’t know.” She wasn’t sure what he was asking. When he started undressing, she got the basic idea of the question.

Oh, no. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t ready and it would probably be better if she just told him the truth. But how, exactly?

In the few seconds it took her to consider her options, he managed to get naked. She had a brief impression of lean muscles and broad shoulders, then he was kneeling between her legs.

“Wyatt? We have to talk.”

He mumbled something, then settled on top of her. Really on top of her. Apparently with all his weight. She couldn’t breathe. Mercifully, he stopped moving. After a moment, she realized he pretty much stopped doing anything.

“Wyatt?” She shoved at his shoulder. He didn’t move. “Wyatt?”

He rolled off her, onto his back. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

“Wyatt?”

Nothing, except a soft snore.

Her gaze slipped from his face down his amazing body to his erection. Or what was left of it. As she watched, it got smaller and smaller, fully illustrating how she felt inside.

He’d passed out in the middle of almost sex. Just like that. She tried to tell herself that it was because he’d been drinking, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was her? Was if she was so unexciting that he’d actually preferred sleep to making love with her?

Depressed beyond anything she’d ever felt, she collected her clothes and pulled them on. While she desperately wanted to leave, to go home and hurt in private, she was worried about leaving him alone. What if he needed medical attention?

Confident the evening couldn’t get any worse, she threw a blanket over him and then curled up on the sofa and wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she have to be such a freak? And was she really going to die the oldest non-nun virgin in the history of the universe? If she did, it would be just her luck.