by Kris Jayne
Two to Tangle
Kris Jayne
Copyright © 2020 by Kris Jayne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Kris Jayne/Write Shout
[email protected]
www.krisjayne.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Two to Tangle/ Kris Jayne. -- 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1-944460-20-4
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Also in the Thirsty Hearts Series
About the Author
Chapter 1
Griffin
“Nice of you to join us,” my father grumbled.
He stretched his arm to reconfigure the web of tubes and cords with the loose drape of his gown. His color was good. His voice powerful and arrogant as ever. If not for being propped up in a hospital bed, you wouldn’t think him ill.
All the tension, fear, and guilt I felt on the plane ride from Dallas to Raleigh dissipated, replaced by suspicion. Marisa made it sound like the man was on death’s door. She wasn’t a stupid woman or the histrionic type. What she says she means—lies and all.
So what am I doing here?
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Dad.”
“I guess she called you.”
“Who?” I crunched my brow as if his statement confused me.
He huffed. “Marisa. I told her not to bother. If you had any sense of family obligation, we’d have seen in you the flesh in the last five years.”
It had been seven—at least since I’d seen her. The anger squeezed in my chest so fast I thought I might need to hit the nurse call button. I pulled back my shoulders and drew in a slow, full breath. After holding it for a stretch, I hissed it out even slower. One of many breathing tricks I stole from yogic meditation to reduce tension. I wanted neither to end up like my father nor to let him pull me offsides with his usual shenanigans.
So what if he blamed me for our estrangement? So what if he and his wife—and my ex-girlfriend—both thought me weak for staying away? They had each other to comfort them in their superiority, and I had the peace of not having to watch.
Until now.
I walked around the foot of the bed and smoothed a corner of the top sheet. “I thought you were being prepped for heart surgery.”
“Surgery? No. It’s an episode. That’s all. They want me to stay here for monitoring. I’ll go home tomorrow.” He gave his head a small, declarative nod, almost like he was willing that to be true.
“‘Episode’ doesn’t sound like an official diagnosis, Dad.”
He glared at me over top of his reading glasses. “Angina. Chest pains. My blood pressure was erratic. All stable now.”
I started counting the number of blinking lights and trailing connectors from his broad but aging body and gave up. “So, you’re fine?”
“Of course, I’m fine,” he blustered and raised his arms to protest before the rope of IV lines and electric cords caught on the raised arm of the hospital bed. “Goddammit!”
A monitor squawked like a demented bird call until he lowered his arms. The door behind me swung open.
“Mr. Kelso?”
I turned. A young nurse with a ponytailed twist of braids slung over her shoulder strode in. I stepped aside to give her clear access to her troublesome patient.
“I don’t know why you people have strapped me to all this goddamned machinery.”
“We’re monitoring your vitals, sir.” The woman’s monotone response failed to calm him.
“Well, loosen it or something. This whole thing is a mess,” he barked.
Hurrying to his bedside, the nurse rearranged his attachments and adjusted the clips, pacifying him with a ready smile and a promise to ask the doctor about disconnecting one of the monitors.
I wheeled a wobbly stool to the other side and had to balance to keep from careening into the bed. “Where’s Marisa? I figured she’d be here when I got here.”
“She went to get breakfast. Gregory Jr. wanted pancakes. It’s his birthday, in case you forgot.”
“I sent a birthday gift along with his Christmas present.” Normally, you might feel bad for a kid whose birthday was the day after Christmas, but I knew my father and his young wife kept him swimming in toys.
“Anyway, she went to get the children a reasonable breakfast. She was here all night.” He pulled the bleached white sheets up to his midsection. “How did you get here so fast?”
“She called me early this morning. She—” I left out the part where she’d made it sound like the Grim Reaper was warming up in the batter’s box. “Jamie loaned me his company plane. I thought you were having bypass surgery today.”
A smirk twitched at the corners of Dad’s mouth. “No.”
My friend Jamie, his girlfriend, and his family had decamped to Italy for the holidays, but I was able to reach him and borrow the plane to get here first thing instead of flying commercial and not arriving until the evening. I wished he were in the States so I could whine in peace about my dad. Or maybe I didn’t. He’d lost his father a couple of months ago. Complaining that mine was still alive would be insensitive.
I sighed and flicked a quick glance at my watch. I’d flown for three hours and rented a car for nothing. I wonder if the jet had headed back to Dallas already. If I called now—
“Already planning your escape, are you?” Dad’s sneer contained a shred of wistfulness as threadbare as my guilt.
“I had Christmas plans, and if you’re not having surgery and you’re going home tomorrow, I’d like to get back to them.”
Delilah. Had it been less than twenty-four hours? Yesterday, my only concern had been which bottle of wine she might like. I headed to my ex-secretary’s house for a friendly dinner to save my lonely ass from a grinchy Christmas by myself.
The comfort and ease of being with her surprised me. Then, the awkwardness of our mutual attraction faded away, and instead of a lonely holiday, I’d shared a sweet, sexy Christmas for two.
Damned Marisa. To be cockblocked by her lies had a terrible irony.
I could have woken up in the warm bed with a hot woman and spent the day having sex and eating more of Delilah’s homemade desserts. Everything below my chest tightened thinking of her creamy, mocha skin. The taut curves of her hips. The way she sighed my name like she was
opening a long-awaited Christmas present that surprised and pleased her. I could still feel her. I could still smell her.
I wanted to go home.
Dad poked my leg. “Griffin! I know you must not have gotten a lot of sleep, but wake up.”
“Trust me. I’m awake,” I grumbled.
“What plans could you have that are more important than family? You can finally meet your brother and sister. I don’t know how Marisa got you here, but remind me to thank her. Hell, Grace is starting to wonder if you’re real. The only thing she knows of you are the gifts you send at Christmas. You might as well be Santa Claus and not her big brother.”
Half-brother. “Not Santa. I send presents at her birthday, too.”
“Don’t be snide, Griffin. It’s juvenile.”
Unlike chasing a woman half your age who was dating your son. Was that supposed to be mature behavior? I forced my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.
This was why I didn’t come home. Reminders of my humiliation made me bitter.
Visiting my mother in South Carolina never turned out any better. She loved bringing up Dad and Marisa’s marriage to point out how ridiculous he is. The thrill of smearing her ex-husband outweighed every other consideration. To hear her talk, you’d think he left her for the younger woman. Nevermind that their marriage ended close to two decades before Dad and Marisa married, when she packed her bags and left. It was Christmas Eve, and my parents had just wrapped up a screaming match as well as my presents. I was nine at the time.
Rather than continue down a road of dark memory, I excused myself with the pretense of going to the bathroom and dug my phone from my pocket. “Vance, hey,” I greeted the pilot of my friend’s corporate jet. “What time are you scheduled to leave?”
“Late afternoon. I’m refueling the plane and myself. Figured as long as I was here, I’d grab some Carolina barbecue ‘fore heading back,” he chuckled. “How’s your old man?”
“Basically fine. The situation isn’t exactly as it was presented to me.” I aimed the last bit at the sleek brunette now two feet in front of me. Or half brunette. Marisa had bright streaks of blonde in her hair, which normally matched the sooty fans of her lashes. That was new. As were the small, wide-eyed children flanking her and clinging to her pants legs.
“Well,” Vance smacked into the phone like he was mid-bite, “let me know. I figure I’ll be turning around at about four.”
“I don’t see why I can’t be ready to fly back at four.” I pointed my gaze at Marisa. She frowned, dropping her little boy’s hand and crossing her arms.
Vance told me to call him back when I firmed up my plans, and we hung up.
“You can’t leave yet,” she demanded once I slid the phone in my pocket.
“Why not?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer.
“Are you our brother Griffin?” The little girl turned up her cherubic face, fringed with dark, wavy hair. She had a candy cane sticker on one plump cheek.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She darted her green eyes up to her mother’s, which matched in color if not innocence. “He looks like all the pictures.”
Marisa nodded and smiled at me. “He does. Isn’t he handsome?”
Oh, good God. I knelt down to the kids’ level to avoid dealing with whatever their trampy mother was cooking up. They had nothing to do with that. “You’re Grace?”
“Yeah.” She ducked her head behind her mom’s leg, suddenly shy.
I turned to the little boy who gripped the coat slung over his mother’s forearm like a life raft. His thumb was suctioned to his face.
“You must be Gregory,” I said, leaving off the junior that was supposed to be mine. Mom refused to name me Gregory Jr., but Dad’s second round of children gave him what he wanted. All the “Gr” names weren’t enough. He wanted a male namesake.
Mini-Gregory sucked at his tiny thumb more vociferously to less than intimidating effect. That wouldn’t make the old man proud, but it amused me. I ruffled his hair. He pulled the digit from his mouth with an audible pop and began wailing. His screeching pierced the library-like quiet of the hospital waiting area as if an ambulance were passing through.
Marisa sighed and hoisted him up to her hip, wiping his tears and bouncing him without making eye contact. “He just woke up from his nap, and he’s not good with new people. I wish Jacinda weren’t on vacation.”
“Jacinda?”
She rolled her eyes. “The nanny. It’s inconvenient for her to be off at the holidays. I mean, I know she has a family, but this is a crazy time of year even under normal circumstances. I should have brought in an emergency nanny, but I didn’t have time. The housekeeper is off today, too. Now, with your dad’s health problems, this Christmas is a fiasco.”
Then, don’t marry an old man and have babies. I bit my lip to keep from saying it out loud. “Most people want to spend the holiday with their families. Go figure.”
Marisa sniffed. The dense sweep of her artificial eyelashes dipped in accusation. “Your dad said you were with one of your girlfriends.”
“No. With my girlfriend. Period.” Okay, slight exaggeration, but I intended to keep things exclusive with Delilah. She wasn’t the type of woman you juggled and dismissed. She didn’t deserve that, and moreover, I didn’t want to. I liked her.
Yes, I wanted her. Delilah’s sexuality flowed strong and deep like an underground river. But she was also smart, kind, and decent.
Plus, I didn’t like the way Marisa’s eyes narrowed over my alleged girlfriends. And her stupid compliment about how handsome I am? I might not have seen her in years, but my Marisa manipulation detector hit DEFCON 1.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.” She hugged her son closer to her chest.
I lifted a shoulder and dug my other hand deeper into my pocket. “Why would you? We don’t speak.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. We’re family. We’ll always have a connection, Griffin.” Her voice softened, and her bottom lip trembled as her eyes saucered. “Don’t fly back yet. We need you here.”
“Bull—” The expletive nearly made it out of my mouth before I glanced down and saw Grace staring up at me with curiosity and an attentiveness akin to federal surveillance. “Dad said he’s fine.”
“You already saw him, then?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you saw how…” Marisa stopped, pursed her lips, and repeated. “We need you.”
“I’m not an emergency nanny or a housekeeper. I’m not good with…” My gaze drifted back to Grace’s guileless eyes. “I need to get back. I’ll hang out for a few hours, but I’m heading to the airstrip after lunch.”
“Nonsense. It’s Gregory Jr.’s birthday. We’re not having a party anymore, but we’ll still have cake.” She raised a coiffed eyebrow and turned her first full smile toward her daughter. “Don’t you want your brother to stay, Grace? You’ve been asking to talk to him ever since his presents arrived. Now, he’s here. Tell him.”
Marisa nudged the little girl’s shoulder.
Grace stretched her arms out, burying her fingers in the ends of her long, knit sleeves. Her mouth twisted up into a trembling knot under her trickling nose. “I missed you.”
Despite her mother’s questionable urging, her sincerity drilled me like a fist to the gut—unexpected and breath-stealing. It tripped up my tongue. “B-but we just met.”
“I know.” Sadness expanded in her soft response, and I understood—even though we’d known each other two minutes.
I wasn’t leaving at four.
Chapter 2
Delilah
The pop-up on my phone with Griffin’s name sent my stomach tumbling. He wanted to video call, and I tapped to accept the request.
The usually careful shape of his dark sandy hair had fallen into sexy disarray.
“Hey, you.” Fatigue narrowed his eyes, but as he spoke, they brightened, reflecting the glow of his grin.
“Hey, yours
elf. I’m glad your dad is doing better.”
He texted me when he landed in Raleigh, when he got to the hospital, and then with an update of his father’s condition. He hadn’t had a heart attack after all. A tiny piece of me wondered if he’d been so freaked out by our night together that he’d felt the need to construct an elaborate ruse to escape.
Until last night, our relationship had been strictly professional. The entire time I worked as his executive assistant in the last year, he’d never hinted at seeing me in any other light. When he reached out to me last week wanting my help to start a new business, I didn’t expect to end up inviting him for Christmas dinner. My first Christmas after the divorce—without Terrence or Katerina—was supposed to be a relaxed affair with all my holiday favorites and the joy of no outside expectations.
Certainly, neither of us expected to end up falling into bed.
Yes, I always thought he was handsome and oozing with playboy charm, but he wasn’t even my type. Until last night when the floodgates opened. I’d hooked up with my ex-boss who was ten years younger and who had a string of young, perky, shiny ex-girlfriends. When I was his secretary at Lumina Incorporated, I’d even picked goodbye bouquets for some of them until I told him I didn’t feel comfortable conducting his personal business.
Now, I was his personal business. The memory washed my body with heat and a measure of embarrassment at how he had fled in the middle of the night. Despite our sizzling connection, I thought he’d run out on me until I got his early morning messages. His father’s wife called to tell him his dad was in the hospital.