by Lori Wilde
She certainly hadn’t planned on kissing him. A smart woman didn’t go around kissing her best guy friend on the lips. Not if she intended to keep him as her friend, and she considered Jack’s friendship one of her most prized possessions.
But what a Leonardo DiCaprio/Kate Winslet/Titanic sort of kiss it was! CeeCee sank as hard and fast as the ill-fated ocean liner.
Jack’s clean-shaven cheeks were smooth against her palms, a pleasing contrast to the scruffy-faced men she normally dated. Driven by spontaneous impulse, she pressed her mouth to his in the heat of the moment, intending nothing more than a quick peck to thank him for rescuing her from Lars.
Instead, his mouth welcomed her warmly. She had allowed her eyelids to drift shut, her lips to part.
Blood strummed through her veins, pounding loudly in her ears. Her knees drooped like overcooked spaghetti. Her skin tingled as if she had sprinted a mile in under a minute flat.
Oh, she never wanted to stop.
In the course of the past five months she had touched Jack many times. She had brushed against his fingers reaching into the same popcorn bowl they shared while indulging in their mutual passion for Monty Python movies. She had patted his shoulder to comfort him when things had not gone well with one of his patients at the hospital. She had even taken his hand and helped him from his car in the bright sunlight and into his apartment after he’d had eye surgery to correct his nearsightedness.
While touching him in the past had been a pleasant experience, it had never raised the kind of feelings in her that kissing him did.
She wanted to keep on kissing him until the earth stopped spinning. Until the sun stopped rising and setting. Until birds stopped migrating and the polar ice caps melted like Popsicles in Arizona.
Holy cow, what was wrong with her?
She could not risk romantic involvement with Jack. Not now. Not ever. She was cursed. Any love affair could only end tragically, and she would never hurt him like that.
Ever.
He was too good for the likes of her. CeeCee’s eyes flew open and she found herself staring deeply into Jack’s startled eyes.
Instantly they broke apart and dropped their gazes, neither able to look at the other.
“Um... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I got carried away.” CeeCee lightly fingered her sizzling lips, both amazed and terrified at what had just transpired between them.
What had she done? Without intending to do so, she’d caused a gigantic shift in their relationship.
“You took me by surprise,” Jack admitted, a good-natured smile flitting across his lips. “But it was a very nice surprise.”
“Whew.” She focused her gaze on the garbage strewn across the upstairs landing. Her next words were very important. She had to treat the kiss casually, as if it meant absolutely nothing.
“Whew, indeed.”
“What a mess. I’ll find fresh garbage bags and help you clean up.”
He reached out a hand and lightly encircled her wrist with his fingers. “Forget the garbage for now. I think we should talk about what just happened.”
Nervously she laughed and pushed her free hand through her hair. His fingers burned like a brand against her skin. “You want to talk about Lars?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I want to talk about you and me and that kiss.”
CeeCee swallowed hard. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. It was just a ‘thank-you’ kiss.”
“It felt like much more to me.”
“Please, Jack,” she begged.
She didn’t want things to change between them. If she admitted she’d experienced something monumental when their lips met, then he would want more. She knew Jack. Whenever he fixed his mind on something he wanted, he never let go until he got it.
“Please, what, CeeCee?” His voice was husky, his body tense.
“Let’s forget about the whole thing.”
“I don’t want to forget it.”
The expression in his dark-brown eyes clearly said, I want to be waaay more than friends with you.
That look scared the bejesus out of her.
CeeCee cleared her throat. She couldn’t have Jack believing they might have a romantic future together. Better to hurt his feelings a little now than to break his heart later.
Cruel to be kind, so the saying goes.
Opening her mouth, CeeCee told the biggest whopper of her life. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jack, but it was like kissing my brother.”
Like kissing her brother?!
Jack fumed to himself twenty minutes later after he’d disposed of the garbage and taken a cocky Muffin, complete with a hank of long blond hair triumphantly plucked from the Missing Link’s head, back to Miss Abercrombie.
Apparently, the wrestler’s poodle phobia had been well founded. Jack actually felt a little sorry for the guy. Muffin could be more protective than a pit bull.
He washed up in his bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. How did CeeCee know what kissing a brother was like? She didn’t even have a brother.
He studied his reflection. Okay, maybe he was a bit stodgy and maybe he didn’t have the animal magnetism of the Missing Link, but to say kissing him was like kissing her brother.
Ouch! Low blow.
Plus, he knew she was lying.
He had felt her willing response. Her breathing had quickened; her lips had softened; her arms had gone around his neck. She had murmured deep in her throat like a contented kitten. Then, when she had told him the kiss had not affected her in the same way it had affected him, her cheeks had flushed tomato-red and she’d been unable to look him in the eyes.
Yep. She’d fibbed.
What he didn’t know was why, but he was determined to find out.
Jack left his apartment, then stalked across the courtyard and up the stairs to her place. His palms were sweating, the voice in the back of his head shouting that he would screw up his friendship with CeeCee if he wasn’t careful.
Jack took a deep breath and told the voice to take a hike. Pretend you’re Zack. What would your twin brother do? He plastered a bedroom grin on his face, cocked his hips forward, and knocked on her door.
A long minute passed.
Do-do-do-do. Do-do-do. The theme song from final Jeopardy ran through his head as he waited, the emotional tension mounting.
He knocked again.
No answer.
Had she fallen asleep? He looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. She had to be at work at seven in the morning. He couldn’t blame her for going to bed. He should be considerate, head home, and save the discussion for tomorrow. He had an early surgical case himself.
He turned to leave, but something stopped him.
No, by God, he wasn’t leaving this for tomorrow. He was tired of losing out on the good things in life.
Jack raised his hand to knock again and the door opened.
CeeCee peered out, hair turbaned in a towel. She was barefoot and wore a silky yellow caftan that melded to her curves like cling wrap.
His pulse skittered wildly.
“Sorry,” she apologized and crinkled her cute little nose. “Just got out of the shower. I must look a fright.”
“You look gorgeous.”
Raising a hand to tuck a damp tendril of ginger-colored hair back up inside the turban, she snorted. “No makeup, hair in a towel. I don’t think so.”
She was a beautiful woman, yes, with a body that wouldn’t quit. But he liked so many other wonderful things about her. He admired her inner fire, her lively spirit. Whenever he was near her, Jack felt like more of a man.
Tonight, he had reached a crossroads. He was sick of watching her date creeps. Sick of remaining silent waiting for her to notice him in a sexual way. His patience had run out.
A drop of water glistened on her cheek. Jack ached to reach out and whisk the droplet away.
Go ahead. Why not? It’s what Zack would do.
And so he did.
CeeCee sucked
in her breath at his touch and took a step backward. Instead of waiting for her to invite him inside as he normally would have, Jack breezed past her.
“Come on in,” she said, closing the door behind them. “Have a seat. Would you like some iced tea?”
He nodded, not because he was thirsty but because he needed to have something to do with his hands…hands hankering to caress her.
“Be right back.” She headed for the kitchen, stopping long enough to turn on the MP3 player. Strains of Duke Ellington filled the room. They had discovered on the first day they’d met that they both loved jazz.
Jack sank onto the couch.
CeeCee returned a minute later, handed him a glass of iced tea, then curled up beside him, tucking her legs beneath her in an unconsciously sexy manner. He couldn’t pry his eyes off her, his gaze tracking her every movement.
How to start the conversation?
Not yet ready for the direct “Zack Attack” approach, he took a sip of iced tea, then asked, “How did you cause Lars to bite his tongue?”
“I swear it was an accident.” CeeCee chuckled. “But he shouldn’t have been trying to shove the thing down my throat without my permission.”
“Remind me never to get fresh with you.”
“As if you would.” She waved a hand, effectively dismissing him as any kind of threat. “You’re much too honorable of a man to force yourself on a woman.”
Her glibness bugged Jack. Did CeeCee actually consider him completely harmless, and was she really so clueless about his feelings for her? Powerful sexual feelings he barely managed to camouflage.
He shifted on the couch, looked her in the eyes, and asked her the question he’d been dying to ask her for five months. “All kidding aside, CeeCee, why do you keep going out with guys like Lars?”
“Lars wasn’t a real date.” She shrugged. “He’s an ex-patient, and I was trying to convince him to appear at the hospital charity auction, not date him. Guess he’s not gonna say yes now.”
“Probably not.”
“Damn. I promised the director I could secure a celebrity to help sell tickets. Maybe someday I’ll learn to stop shooting my mouth off.”
Tilting her head back, CeeCee took a swallow from her glass.
Jack’s gaze melded to her throat. He couldn’t seem to peel his stare from her slender, swanlike neck. His mouth watered; his stomach heated.
You shouldn’t be having these lascivious feelings toward your best friend, his cautious voice urged. Not if you want to keep her as your best friend.
“Back on the subject,” he said, ignoring his interfering conscience. Opportunity had knocked and he was flinging open the door. “I’ll grant you that Lars wasn’t your dream date and you weren’t picturing settling down and making babies with him.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“But you’ve definitely got a pattern going, CeeCee. What’s the deal? Why do you keep picking emotionally immature men?”
“I’m just having fun.” She shrugged.
“Why don’t you go out with a nice, dependable guy?” Jack toyed with his glass.
A guy like me.
CeeCee rolled her eyes. “In a word? Nice guys are boring.”
Her statement sliced his gut. She thought he was boring. He’d always suspected as much, but now he knew for sure.
“Present company excepted, of course,” she said quickly.
But it was too late, he already knew what she thought of him. She wanted wild fun, a good time. Something he didn’t think he could provide. Oh sure, he could pretend to be that guy for a little while, but it just wasn’t his nature.
“Jackie.” She leaned over and touched his hand.
Blistering white sparks shot through him, and it took every ounce of control he possessed to remain calm, cool, and collected.
“I appreciate your concern, I really do, but you don’t have to worry about me. I can fend for myself. Honest.”
“Like with Lars tonight?”
She pursed her lips. “He was an exception. Most guys aren’t that pushy.”
“Cee, if you keep going out with bad boys, how are you ever going to find a good man? One who’ll cherish and respect you the way you deserve to be cherished and respected.”
“That’s the whole idea, Jack. I don’t intend on getting married.”
“Ever?”
She shook her head.
Dumbstruck, he could only stare. “But why not?”
“It’s a long story.” She sighed and waved a hand. He couldn’t help admiring her long, shapely fingers.
“I’ve got two ears and all the time in the world. I want to know why a beautiful, vibrant young woman with so much to offer the right man never wants to marry.”
“Swear you won’t laugh at me?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay. I suppose I do owe you an explanation, considering you’ve seen me through several miserable dates and rescued me from the Missing Link.”
Nervously CeeCee took a deep breath and peeped at him through lowered lashes.
Jack sat up straight, not saying a word.
Every time she peeked over at him, she kept thinking about their kiss. Damn it! Jack was her friend and nothing else. She could not, would not let their relationship become anything more than platonic. For both their sakes. Her entire life she had trained herself not to expect much from the male sex. She knew from experience they couldn’t be counted on in the tough times.
“Have fun with men,” Gramma Addie had told her, “but don’t think you can escape the curse.”
She had learned to make the most of fate. In high school she’d been dubbed the girl most likely to break hearts. In college, her roomies had razzed her about putting in a revolving door for all her boyfriends. At the hospital, her colleagues believed her to be lighthearted and free-spirited and always up for a good time.
Essentially, she was all those things.
She’d striven to cultivate her adventuresome, no-holds-barred personality. She told jokes around the water cooler and regularly threw parties. She went out three or four nights a week, dancing, karaoke, hanging out with club bands. On weekends she liked to rent watercrafts or go to martial arts tournaments or ride in bike-a-thons.
Yet no one ever guessed that deep down inside she longed for something more.
Just once she’d like to be known as the quiet one or the smart one or the complex one. Not even her closest friends had the slightest clue she was secretly aching to be loved by a man who could promise her happily ever after.
But it wasn’t going to happen, and she knew that. No man could promise her a rosy romance. There was no point pining for things she couldn’t have. Melancholia wasn’t part of her nature. She was a “pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps-and-get-on-with-it” kind of gal. She didn’t waste much energy feeling sorry for herself.
“I’m listening,” Jack prompted.
Except for her two best girlfriends, nurse Lacy Calder and Dr. Janet Hunter, she’d never discussed the curse with anyone outside her family and she’d certainly never broached the subject with a man, but if anyone deserved an explanation it was Jack.
Besides, he wasn’t like most guys. Jack was different—quiet, strong, understanding.
And therein lay the problem. Jack was a forever kind of guy, and CeeCee was not a forever kind of woman no matter how much she might wish she could be.
“Remember when I told you my mother had been married and divorced four times?” she asked.
Jack nodded. “So?”
CeeCee squirmed. “Even though I had four fathers, I had no real male role models.”
“Don’t tell me your mother’s bad experiences have soured you on the entire institution of marriage. You’re not your mother, CeeCee.”
She raised a hand. “That’s not the whole of it. It’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“Go on.”
“I’m cursed.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Cu
rsed?”
“My whole family is.” Then in excruciating detail, she told the story of Grandma Addie and the fortuneteller.
When she had finished, Jack stared at her incredulously. “You’re such a smart woman. I can’t believe you would buy into that ridiculous myth.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” she denied, feeling a tad defensive that he thought she should be able to overcome a lifetime of indoctrination by a sheer effort of will. He had no idea what it was like to live with the Jessup family whammy.
“Okay, it’s a dangerous myth.”
“It’s not a myth. See this?” She fingered the charms on the gold bracelet adorning her left wrist.
“Yes. You’re always wearing it.”
“The bracelet’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“To stay single. Each charm represents the occupation of all seventeen of my family members’ ex-husbands.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. There’s dice for my gambling grandfather. He’s the one who left the fortuneteller for Grandma Addie, but she went through two more husbands before finally calling it quits. The saxophone is for my father. Haven’t seen him in fifteen years. Last I heard he was playing in strip clubs in New Orleans.”
She held out her wrist and picked another charm to hold up to the light. “A race car for Aunt Sophia’s seventh husband. A wine bottle for Aunt Beverly’s alcoholic second mate. A tennis racket for my sister Geena’s cheating soon-to-be first ex-husband.”
“That’s bizarre, CeeCee.”
“Tell me about it.”
“All right, I’ll grant you it’s not just a myth. It seems to be a self-fulfilling prophecy in your family. Somehow the fortuneteller scared your grandmother badly enough to believe in the evil eye. Your grandmother passed on her screwball values. Your mother and your aunts and you and your sister bought into them. Are you really going to allow your grandmother’s fears to rule the rest of your life?”
“The fortuneteller vowed no male babies would be born into the Jessup family for three generations and guess what? None have been. How do you explain that, Mr. Skeptic?”
“Coincidence.”